THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 JOHN RANDOLPH HAYNES 
 
 AND DORA HAYNES FOUNDATION 
 
 COLLECTION
 
 WII.I.V 1,'KIU.Y AND THE COOLEEN BAWN.
 
 WILLY REILLY 
 
 AND 
 
 HIS DEAR COOLEEN BAWN. 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM CARLETON, 
 
 " Oh, rise up, Willy Reilly, and come alongst with me, 
 I mean for to go with you, and leave this counterie, 
 To leave my father's dwelling, his houses and free lands : — 
 And away goes Willy Reilly and his fair Cooleen Bawn."— Ballad. 
 
 11 Ah me ! for aught that ever I could read, 
 Could ever hear in tale or history, 
 The course of true love never did run smooth." — Shakspeare. 
 
 WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 By J. D. HEATH and THOMAS GOODMAN. 
 
 BOSTON : 
 
 D. O'LOUGHLIN, 
 
 CATHOLIC BOOKSELLER, 
 
 630 Washington Street.
 
 A A 
 
 PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 
 
 MOST of our Irish readers must be aware that the fol- 
 lowing story is founded upon an incident in the 
 history of the affections, which, ever since its occurrence, 
 has occupied a large portion of popular interest. From the 
 very first discovery of their attachment, the loves of " Willy 
 Reilly" and his " Fair Cooleen Bawn" became celebrated, 
 and were made the burden of many a rude ballad through- 
 out Ireland. With the exception, however, of the one 
 which we subjoin, they have all nearly disappeared ; but 
 that production, rude as it is, has stood its ground, and is 
 permanently embodied as a favorite in the ballad poetry of 
 the people. It is not, though couched in humble and un- 
 pretending language, without a good deal of rustic vigor, 
 and, if we may be allowed the expression, a kind of inartis- 
 tic skill, furnished either by chance or nature — it is difficult 
 to determine which. We are of opinion, however, that it 
 owes a great portion of its permanent popularity to feelings 
 which have been transmitted to the people, arising not so 
 much from the direct interest of the incidents embodied in 
 it, as from the political spirit of the times in which they oc- 
 curred. At that unhappy period the Penal Laws were in 
 deadly and terrible operation ; and we need not be sur- 
 prised that a young and handsome Catholic should earn a 
 boundless popularity, especially among those of his own 
 creed, by the daring and resolute act of taking away a Pro- 
 testant heiress — the daughter of a persecutor — and whose 
 fame, from her loveliness and accomplishments, had already 
 become proverbial among the great body of the Irish peo- 
 ple, and, indeed, throughout all classes. It was looked 
 upon as a kind of triumph over the persecutors ; and, in 
 this instance, Cupid himself seemed to espouse the cause of 
 the beads and rosarv, and to become a tight little Catholic. 
 
 ' 76458S
 
 6 PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 
 
 The character of Sir Robert Whitecraft (a fictitious name) is 
 drawn from traditions which were some time ago floating 
 among the people, but which are fast fading out of the pop- 
 ular mind. The mode of his death, and its concomitants, 
 the author has often heard told in his youth, around the 
 hob, during the long winter evenings. With respect to the 
 description of the state of the unhappy Catholics, however I 
 may have diminished, I have not exaggerated it ; and I trust 
 that I have done ample justice to the educated Protestants 
 of the day, many of whom not only opposed the Govern- 
 ment openly and directly — whose object was extermination 
 by the withering operation of oppressive laws — but threw 
 up their commissions as justices of the peace, and refused to 
 become the tools and abettors of religious persecution. To 
 such noble-minded men I trust I have rendered ample jus- 
 tice. The following is the celebrated ballad of " Willy 
 Reilly," which is still sung, and will long continue to be 
 sung, at many a hearth in Ireland : 
 
 " Oh ! rise up Willy Reilly, and come alongst with me, 
 I mean for to go with you and leave this countrie, 
 To leave my father's dwelling, his houses and free lands — " 
 And away goes Willy Reilly and his dear Cooleen Baton. 
 
 They go by hill and mountains, and by yon lonesome plain, 
 Through shady groves and valleys all dangers to refrain ; 
 But her father followed after with a well-arm'd chosen band, 
 And taken was poor Reilly and his dear Cooleen Baron. 
 
 It's home ihen she was taken, and in her closet bound, 
 Poor Reilly all in Sligo jail lay on the stony ground, 
 Till at the bar of justice before the Judge he'd stand, 
 For nothing but the stealing of his dear Cooleen Bawn. 
 
 " Now in the cold, cold iron, my hands and feet are bound, 
 I'm handcuffed like a murderer, and tied unto the ground ; 
 But all this toil and slavery I'm willing for to stand, 
 Still hoping to be succored by my dear Cooleen Bawn.* 1 
 
 The jailer's son to Reilly goes, and thus to him did say, 
 " Oh ! get up, Willy Reilly, you must appear this day, 
 
 For great Squire Folliard's anger you never can withstand ; 
 I'm afear'd you'll suffer sorely for your dear Cooleen Bawn. 
 
 " This is the news, young Reilly, last night that I did hear, 
 The lady's oath will hang you, or else will set you clear." 
 
 " If that be so," says Reilly, " her pleasure I will stand, 
 Still hoping to be succored by my dear Cooleen Eawn."
 
 PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. J 
 
 Now Willy's drest from top to toe all in a suit of green, 
 His hair hangs o'er his shoulders most glorious to°be seen ; 
 He's tall and straight and comely as any could be found, 
 He's fit for Folliard's daughter, was she heiress to a crown. 
 
 The Judge he said, " This lady being in her tender youth, 
 If Reilly has deluded her, she will declare the truth." 
 
 ^ Then, like a moving beauty bright, before him she did stand. 
 
 " You're welcome there my heart's delight and dear Cooleen Bawn!" 
 
 " Oh, gentlemen," Squire Folliard said, " with pity look on me, 
 This villain came amongst us to disgrace our family, 
 And by his base contrivances this villany was planned ; 
 If I don't get satisfaction I will quit this Irish land." 
 
 The lady with a tear began, and thus replied she, 
 " The fault is none of Reilly's, the blame lies all on me : 
 I forced him for to leave his place and come along with me ; 
 I loved him out of measure, which has wrought our destiny." 
 
 Then out bespoke the noble Fox. at the table he stood by, 
 
 Oh, gentlemen, consider on this extremity, 
 
 To hang a man for love is a murder you may see, 
 
 So spare the life of Reilly, let him leave this countrie." 
 
 " Good, my lord, he stole from her her diamonds and her rings, 
 Gold watch and silver buckles, and many precious things, 
 Which cost me in bright guineas, more than five hundred pounds, 
 I will have the life of Reilly should I lose ten thousand pounds." 
 
 " Good, my lord, I gave them him as tokens of true love ; 
 And when we are a-parting I will them all remove : 
 If you have got them, Reilly, pray send them home to me ; 
 They're poor compared to that true heart which I have given to thee. 
 
 " There is a ring among them I allow yourself to wear, 
 With thirty locket diamonds well set in silver fair ; 
 And as a true-love token wear it on your right hand, 
 That you may think on my broken heart when you're in a foreign 
 land." 
 
 Then out spoke noble Fox, " You may let the prisoner go, 
 The lady's oath has cleared him, as the Jury all may know : 
 She has released her own true love, she has renewed his name, 
 May her honor bright gain high estate, and her offspring rise to 
 fame." 
 
 This ballad I found in a state of wretched disorder. It 
 passed from one individual to another by ear alone ; and 
 the inconsecutive position of the verses, occasioned by inac- 
 curacy of memory and ignorance, has sadly detracted from 
 its genuine force. As it existed in the oral versions of the
 
 8 PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITIOX. 
 
 populace, the narrative was grossly at variance with the reg- 
 ular progress of circumstances which characterize a trial of 
 any kind, but especially such a trial as that which it under- 
 takes to describe. The individuals concerned in it, for in- 
 stance, are made to speak out of place ; and it would ap- 
 pear, from all the versions that I have heard, as if every 
 stanza was assigned its position by lot. This fact, how- 
 ever, I have just accounted for and remedied, by having 
 restored them to their original places, so that the vigorous 
 but rustic bard is not answerable for the confusion to which 
 unprinted poetry, sung by an uneducated people, is liable. 
 As the ballad now stands, the character of the poet is satis- 
 factorily vindicated ; and the disorder which crept in during 
 the course of time, though strongly calculated to weaken its 
 influence, has never been able to injure its fame. This is a 
 high honor to its composer, and proves him well worthy of 
 the popularity which, under such adverse circumstances, 
 has taken so firm a hold of the present feeling, and survived 
 so long. 
 
 The author trusts that he has avoided, as far as the truth- 
 ful treatment of his subject would enable him, the expres- 
 sion of any political sentiment calculated to give offence to 
 any party — an attempt cf singular difficulty in a country so 
 miserably divided upon religious feeling as this. The expe- 
 rience of centuries should teach statesmen and legislators 
 that persecution, on account uf creed and conscience, is not 
 only bad feeling, but worse policy ; and if the author, in 
 these pages, has succeeded in conveying this self-evident 
 truth to his readers, he will rest satisfied with that result, 
 however severely the demerits of his work may be censured 
 upon purely literary grounds. One thing may be said in his 
 defence — that it was utterly impossible to dissociate the 
 loves of this celebrated couple from the condition of the 
 country, and the operation of the merciless laws which pre- 
 vailed against the Catholics in their day. Had the lovers both 
 been Catholics, or both been Protestants, this might have been 
 avoided ; but, as political and religious matters then stood, 
 to omit the state and condition of society which resulted 
 from them, and so deeply affected their fate, would be some- 
 what like leaving the character of Hamlet out of the tragedy. 
 
 As the work was first written, I described a good many of 
 the Catholic priests of the day as disguised in female appa-
 
 PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. 9 
 
 rel ; but on discovering that there exists an ecclesiastical 
 regulation or canon forbidding any priest, under whatever 
 persecution or pressure, to assume such apparel for the pur- 
 pose of disguising his person or saving his life, I, of course, 
 changed that portion of the matter, although a layman might 
 well be pardoned for his ignorance of an ecclesiastical 
 statute, which, except in very rare cases, can be known only 
 to ecclesiastics themselves. I retain one instance, however, 
 of this description, which I ascribe to Hennessy. the de- 
 graded friar, who is a historical character, and who wrought 
 a vast weight of evil, as an informer, against the Catholic 
 priesthood of Ireland, both regular and secular. 
 
 With respect to the family name of the heroine and her 
 father, I have adopted both the popular pronunciation and 
 orthography, instead of the real. I give it simply as I 
 found it in the ballad, and as I always heard it pronounced 
 by the people ; in the first place, from reluctance, by wri- 
 ting it accurately, to give offence to that portion of this 
 highly respectable family which still exists ; and, in the 
 next, from a disinclination to disturb the original impres- 
 sions made on the popular mind by the ballad and the 
 traditions associated with it. So far as the traditions go, 
 there was nothing connected with the heroine of which her 
 descendants need feel ashamed. If it had been otherwise, 
 her memory never would have been enshrined in the affec- 
 tions of the Irish people for such an unusual period of time. 
 
 Dublin, February, 1855.
 
 PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 
 
 I AM agreeably called upon by my bookseller to prepare 
 for a Second Edition of " Willy Reilly." This is at all 
 times a pleasing call upon an author ; and it is so especially 
 to me, inasmuch as the first Edition was sold at the fashion- 
 able, but unreasonable, price of a guinea and a half — a price 
 which, in this age of cheap literature, is almost fatal to the 
 sale of any three-volume novel, no matter what may be its 
 merits. With respect to "Willy Reilly," it may be neces- 
 sary to say that I never wrote any work of the same extent 
 in so short a time, or with so much haste. Its popularity, 
 however, has been equal to that of any other of my produc- 
 tions ; and the reception which it has experienced from the 
 ablest public and professional critics of the day has far 
 surpassed my expectations. I accordingly take this oppor- 
 tunity of thanking them most sincerely for the favorable 
 verdict which they have generously passed upon it, as I do 
 for their kindness to my humble efforts for the last twenty- 
 eight years. Nothing, indeed, can be a greater encourage- 
 ment to a literary man, to a novel writer, in fact, than the 
 reflection that he has an honest and generous tribunal to 
 encounter. If he be a quack or an impostor, they will at 
 once detect him ; but if he exhibit human nature and truth- 
 ful character in his pages, it matters not whether he goes to 
 his bookseller's in a coach, or plods there humbly, and on 
 foot ; they will forget everything but the value and merit of 
 what he places before them. On this account it is that I 
 reverence and respect them ; and indeed I ought to do so, 
 for I owe them the gratitude of a pretty long literary life. 
 
 Concerning this Edition, I must say something. I have 
 already stated that it was written rapidly and in a hurry. 
 On reading it over for correction, I was struck in my cooler 
 moments by many defects in it, which were kindly over-
 
 PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. II 
 
 looked, or, perhaps, not noticed at all. To myself, how- 
 ever, who had been brooding over this work for a long time, 
 they at once became obvious. I have accordingly added an 
 underplot of affection between Fergus Reilly — mentioned as 
 a distant relative of my hero — and the Cooleen Bawns maid, 
 Ellen Connor. In doing so, I have not disturbed a single 
 incident in the work ; and the reader who may have pe- 
 rused the first Edition, if he should ever — as is not unfre- 
 quently the case — peruse this second one, will certainly 
 wonder how the additions were made. That, however, is 
 the secret of the author, with which they have nothing to do 
 but to enjoy the book, if they can enjoy it. 
 
 With respect to the O'Reilly name and family, I have 
 consulted my distinguished friend — and I am proud to call 
 him so — John 0' Donovan, Esq., LL.D., M.R.I. A., who, 
 with the greatest kindness, placed the summary of the his- 
 tory of that celebrated family at my disposal. This learned 
 gentleman is an authority beyond all question. With re- 
 spect to Ireland — her language — her old laws — her history 
 — her antiquities — her archaeology — her topography, and the 
 genealogy of her families, he is a perfect miracle, as is his 
 distinguished fellow-laborer in the same field, Eugene 
 Curry. Two such men — and, including Dr. Petrie, three 
 such men — Ireland never has produced, and never can again 
 — for this simple reason, that they will have left nothing 
 after them for their successors to accomplish. To Eugene 
 Curry I am indebted for the principal fact upon which my 
 novel of the " Tithe Proctor" was written — the able intro- 
 duction to which was printed verbatim from a manuscript 
 with which he kindly furnished me. The following is Dr. 
 O'Donovan's clear and succinct history of the O'Reilly 
 family from the year 435 until the present time : 
 
 " The ancestors of the family of O'Reilly had been celebrated in 
 Irish history long before the establishment of surnames in Ireland. 
 In the year 435 their ancestor, Duach Galach, king of Connaught, 
 was baptized by St. Patrick on the banks of Loch Scola, and they had 
 remained Christians of the old Irish Church, which appears to have 
 been peculiar in its mode of tonsure, and of keeping Easter (and, 
 since the twelfth century, firm adherents to the religion of the Pope, 
 till Dowell O'Reilly, Esq., the father of the present head of the name, 
 quarrelling with Father Dowling, of Stradbally, turned Protestant, 
 about the year iSool
 
 12 PREFACE TO THE SECGXD EDITION. 
 
 " The ancestor, after whom they took the family name, was Reillagh, 
 who was chief of his sept, and flourished about the year qSi. 
 
 "From this period they are traced in the IrishAnnals through a 
 long line of powerful chieftains of East Breifny (County Cavan), who 
 succeeded each other, according to the law of Tanistry, till the year 
 1585, when two rival chieftains of the name, Sir John O'Reilly and 
 Edmund O'Reilly, appeared in Dublin, at the parliament summoned 
 by Perrot. Previously to this, John O'Reilly, finding his party weak, 
 had repaired to England, in 15S3, to solicit Queen Elizabeth's interest, 
 and had been kindly received at Court, and'mvested with the order of 
 Knighthood, and promised to be made Earl, whereupon he returned 
 home with letters from the Queen to the Lord Deputy and Council of 
 Ireland, instructing them to support him in his claims. His uncle, 
 Edmund, of Kilnacrott, would have succeeded Hugh Connallagh 
 O'Reilly, the father of Sir John, according to the Irish law of Tanis- 
 try, but he was set aside by Elizabeth's government, and Sir John set 
 up as O'Reilly in his place. Sir John being settled in the chieftain- 
 ship cf East Breifny, entered into certain articles of agreement with 
 Sir John Perrot, the Lord Deputy, and the Council of Ireland, whereby 
 he agreed to surrender the principality of East Breifny to the Queen, 
 on condition of obtaining it again from the crown in copite by English 
 tenure, and the same to be ratified to him and the heirs male of his 
 body. In consequence of this agreement, and with the intent of 
 abolishing the tanistic succession, he, on the last day of August, 1590, 
 perfected a deed of feofment, entailing thereby the seignory of Breifny 
 (O'Reilly) on his eldest son, Malmore (Myles), surnamed Alainn (the 
 comely), afterwards known as the Queen s 0' Reilly. 
 
 " Notwithstanding these transactions, Sir John O'Reilly soon after 
 joined in the rebellion of Hugh, Earl of Tyrone, and died on the first 
 of June, 1596. After his death the Earl of Tyrone set up his second 
 brother, Philip, as the O'Reilly, and the government of Elizabeth sup- 
 ported the claim of Sir John's son, Malmore, the comely, in oppo- 
 sition to Philip, and Edmund of Kilnacrott. But Malmore, the 
 Queen's O'Reilly, was slain by Tyrone in the great battle of the 
 Yellow Ford, near Benburb, on the 14th of August, 1598, and the 
 Irish of Ulster agreed to establish Edmund of Kilnacrott as the 
 O'Reilly. 
 
 " The lineal descendants of Sir John passed into the French service, 
 and are now totally unknown, and probably extinct. The descend- 
 ants of Edmund of Kilnacrott have been far more prolific and more 
 fortunate. His senior representative is my worthy old friend Myles 
 John O'Reilly, Esq., Heath House, Emo. Queen's Co., and from 
 him are also descended the O'Reillys of Thomastown Castle, in the 
 County of Louth, the Counts O'Reilly of Spain, the O'Reillys of Bel- 
 trasna, in Westmeath, and the Reillys of Scarva House, in the County 
 ot Down. 
 
 " Edmund of Kilnacrott had a son John who had a son Brian, by 
 Mary, daughter of the Baron of Dunsany, who had a famous son 
 Malmore, commonly called Myles the Slasher. This Myles was an able 
 military leader during the civil wars of 1641, and showed prodigies of 
 valor during the years 1641, 1642, and 1643 ; but, in 1644. being en-
 
 PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 13 
 
 camped at Granard, in the County of Longford, with Lord Castle- 
 haven, who ordered him to proceed with a chosen detachment of 
 horse to defend the bridge of Finea against the Scots, then bearing 
 down on the main army with a very superior force, Myles was slain 
 at the head of his troops, fighting bravely on the middle of the bridge. 
 Tradition adds, that during this action he encountered the colonel of 
 the Scots in single combat, who laid open his cheek with a blow of 
 his sword ; but Myles, whose jaws were stronger than a smith's vice, 
 held fast the Scotchman's sword between his teeth till he cut him 
 down, but the main body of the Scots pressing upon him, he was left 
 dead on the bridge. 
 
 " This Myles the Slasher was the father of Colonel John O'Reilly, 
 of Ballymacadd, in the County Meath, who was elected Knight of the 
 Shire for the County of Cavan, in the parliament held at Dublin on 
 the 7th of May, 16S9. He raised a regiment of dragoons, at his own 
 expense, for the service of James II., and assisted at the siege of 
 Londonderry in 1689. He had two engagements with Colonel Wol- 
 sley, the commander of the garrison of Belturbet, whom he signally 
 defeated. He fought at the battles of the Boyne and Aughrim, and 
 was included in the articles of capitulation of Limerick, whereby he, 
 preserved his property, and was allowed to carry arms. 
 
 " Of the eldest son of this Colonel John O'Reilly, who left issue, 
 my friend Myles J. O'Reilly, Esq., is now the senior representative. 
 
 " From Colonel John O'Reilly's youngest son, Thomas O'Reilly, of 
 Beltrasna, was descended Count Alexander O'Reilly, of Spain, who 
 took Algiers ! immortalized by Byron. This Alexander was born 
 near Oldcastle, in the County Meath, in the year 1722. He was Gen- 
 eralissimo of his Catholic Majesty's forces, and Inspector-General of 
 the Infantry, etc., etc. In the year 1786 he employed the Chevalier 
 Thomas O'Gorman to compile for him a history of the House of 
 O'Reilly, for which he paid O'Gorman the sum of .£1,137 iar., the 
 original receipt for which I have in my possession. 
 
 " From this branch of the O'Reilly family was also descended the 
 illustrious Andrew Count O'Reilly, who died at Vienna in 1832, at the 
 age of 92. He was General of Cavalry in the Austrian service. This 
 distinguished man filled in succession all the military grades in the 
 Austrian service, with the exception of that of Field Marshal, and was 
 called by Napoleon ' le respectable General O'Reilly.' 
 
 " The eldest son of Myles J. O'Reilly, Esq., is a young gentleman 
 of great promise and considerable fortune. His rencontre with Lord 
 Clements (now Earl of Leitrim) has been not long since prominently 
 before the public, and in a manner which does justice to our old party 
 quarrels ! Both are, however, worthy of their high descent ; and it is 
 to be hoped that they will soon become good friends, as they are both 
 young, and remarkable for benevolence and love of fatherland." 
 
 As this has been considered by some persons as a histori- 
 cal novel, although I really never intended it as such, it may 
 be necessary to give the reader a more distinct notion of the 
 period in which the incidents recorded in it took place.
 
 U PREFACE TO THE SECOXD EDITIOX. 
 
 The period then was about that of 1745, when Lord Ches- 
 terfield was Governor-General of Ireland. This nobleman, 
 though an infidel, was a bigot, and a decided anti-Catholic ; 
 nor do I think that the temporary relaxation of the penal 
 laws against Catholics was anything else than an apprehen- 
 sion on the part of England that the claims of the Pretender 
 might be supported by the Irish Catholics, who then, so 
 depressed and persecuted, must have naturally felt a strong 
 interest in having a prince who professed their own relig- 
 ion placed upon the English throne. Strange as it may ap- 
 pear, however, and be the cause of it what it may, the Cath- 
 olics of Ireland, as a people and as a body, took no part 
 whatever in supporting him. Under Lord Chesterfield's 
 administration, one of the most shocking and unnatural Acts 
 of Parliament ever conceived passed into a law. This was 
 the making void and null all intermarriages between Cath- 
 olic and Protestant that should take place after the 1st of 
 May, 1746. Such an Act was a renewal of the Statute of 
 Kilkenny, and it was a fortunate circumstance to Willy 
 Reilly and his dear Cooleen Bawn that he had the consola- 
 tion of having been transported for seven years. Had her 
 father even given his consent at an earlier period, the laws 
 of the land would have rendered their marriage impossible. 
 This cruel law, however, was overlooked ; for it need hardly 
 be said that it was met and spurned not only by human rea- 
 son, but by human passion. In truth, the strong and influ- 
 ential of both religions treated it with contempt, and tram- 
 pled on it without any dread of the consequences. By the 
 time of his return from transportation, it was merely a dead 
 letter, disregarded and scorned by both parties, and was no 
 obstruction to either the marriage or the happiness of him- 
 self and his dear Cooleen Ban';:. 
 
 I know not that there is any thing else I can add to this 
 preface, unless the fact that I have heard several other bal- 
 lads upon the subject of these celebrated lovers — all of the 
 same tendency, and all in the highest praise of the beauty 
 and virtues of the fair Cooleen Bawn. Their utter vulgarity, 
 however, precludes them from a place in these pages. And, 
 by the way, talking of the law which passed under the ad- 
 ministration of Lord Chesterfield against intermarriages, it 
 is not improbable that the elopement of Reilly and the Coo- 
 leen Bawn, in addition to the execution of the man to whom
 
 PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. 15 
 
 I have given the name of Sir Robert Whitecraft, may have 
 introduced it in a spirit of reaction, not only against the 
 consequences of the elopement, but against the baronet's 
 ignominious death. Thus, in every point from which we 
 can view it, the fate of this celebrated couple invoked not 
 only popular feeling, but national importance. 
 
 I have not been able to trace with any accuracy or satis- 
 faction that portion or branch of the O'Reilly family to 
 which my hero belonged. The dreary lapse of time, and 
 his removal from the country, have been the means of 
 sweeping into oblivion every thing concerning him, with the 
 exception of his love for Miss Folliard, and its strange con- 
 sequences. Even tradition is silent upon that part of the 
 subject, and I fear that any attempt to throw light upon it 
 must end only in disappointment. I have reason to believe 
 that the Counsellor Fox, who acted as his advocate, was 
 never himself raised to the bench ; but that that honor was 
 reserved for his son, who was an active judge a little before 
 the close of the last century. 
 
 W. CARLETON. 
 
 Dublin, December, 1856.
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 AN ADVENTURE AND AN ESCAPE. 
 
 SPIRIT of George Prince Regent James, Esq., forgive 
 me this commencement ! * 
 It was one evening at the close of a September month and 
 a September day that two equestrians might be observed 
 passing along one of those old and lonely Irish roads that 
 seemed, from the nature of its construction, to have been 
 paved by a society of antiquarians, if a person could judge 
 from its obsolete character, and the difficulty, without risk 
 of neck and limb, of riding a horse or driving a carriage 
 along it. Ireland, as our English readers ought to know, 
 has always been a country teeming with abundance — a 
 happy land, in which want, destitution, sickness, and fam- 
 ine have never been felt or known, except through the men- 
 dacious misrepresentations of her enemies. The road we 
 speak of was a proof of this ; for it was evident to every ob- 
 server that, in some season of superabundant food, the peo- 
 ple, not knowing exactly how to dispose of their shilling 
 loaves, took to paving the common roads with them, rather 
 than they should be utterly useless. These loaves, in the 
 course of time, underwent the process of petrifaction, but 
 could not, nevertheless, be looked upon as wholly lost to 
 the country. A great number of the Irish, within six of the 
 last preceding years — that is, from '46 to '52 — took a pecu- 
 
 * I mean no offence whatsoever to this distinguished and multitudi- 
 nous writer ; but the commencement of this novel really resembled 
 that of so many of his that I was anxious to avoid the charge of 
 imitating him.
 
 iS WILLY RELLLY. 
 
 liar fancy for them as food, which, we presume, caused 
 their enemies to say that we then had hard times in Ireland. 
 Be this as it may, it enabled the sagacious epicures who 
 lived upon them to retire, in due course, to the delightful 
 retreats of Skull and Skibbereen,* and similar asylums, 
 there to pass the very short remainder of their lives in 
 health, ease, and luxury. 
 
 The evening, as we have said, was about the close of 
 September, when the two equestrians we speak of were pro- 
 ceeding at a pace necessarily slow. One of them was a bluff, 
 fresh-complexioned man, of about sixty summers ; but 
 although of a healthy look, and a frame that had evidently 
 once been vigorous, yet he was a good deal stooped, had 
 about him all the impotence of plethora, and his hair, which 
 fell down his shoulders, was white as snow. The other, 
 who rode pretty close to him, was much about his own age, 
 or perhaps a few years older, if one could judge by a face 
 that gave more undeniable evidences of those furrows and 
 wrinkles which Time usually leaves behind him. This per- 
 son did not ride exactly side by side with the first-men- 
 tioned but a little aback, though not so far as to prevent 
 the possibility of conversation. At this time it may be men- 
 tioned here that every man that could afford it wore a wig, 
 with the exception of some of those eccentric individuals that 
 are to be found in every state and period of society, and who 
 are remarkable for that peculiar love of singularity which gen- 
 erally constitutes their character — a small and harmless am- 
 bition, easily gratified, and involving no injury to their fel- 
 low-creatures. The second horseman, therefore, wore a 
 wig, but the other, although he eschewed that ornament, if 
 it can be called so, was by no means a man of that mild and 
 harmless character which we have attributed to the eccentric 
 and unfashionable class of whom we have just spoken. So 
 far from that, he was a man of an obstinate and violent 
 temper, of strong and unreflecting prejudices both for good 
 and evil, hot, persevering, and vindictive, though personally 
 
 * Two poor-houses in the most desolate parts of the County of Cork, 
 where famine, fever, dysentery, and cholera, rendered more destruc- 
 tive by the crowded state of the houses and the consequent want of 
 ventilation, swept away the wretched inmates to the amount, if we 
 recollect rightly, of sometimes from fifty to seventy per diem in the 
 years '45 and '47.
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 19 
 
 brave, intrepid, and often generous. Like many of his 
 class, he never troubled his head about religion as a matter 
 that must, and ought to have been, personally, of the chief- 
 est interest to himself, but, at the same time, he was looked 
 upon as one of the best and staunchest Protestants of the 
 day. His loyalty and devotedness to the throne of England 
 were not only unquestionable, but proverbial throughout the 
 country ; but, at the same time, he regarded no clergyman, 
 either of his own or any other creed, as a man whose inti- 
 macy was worth preserving, unless he was able to take off 
 his three or four bottles of claret after dinner. In fact, not 
 to keep our readers longer in suspense, the relation which 
 he and his companion bore to each other was that of mas- 
 ter and servant. 
 
 The hour was now a little past twilight, and the western 
 sky presented an unusual, if not an ominous, appearance. 
 A sharp and melancholy breeze was abroad, and the sun, 
 which had set among a mass of red clouds, half placid, and 
 half angry in appearance, had for some brief space gone 
 down. Over from the north, however, glided by impercep- 
 tible degrees a long black bar, right across the place of his 
 disappearance, and nothing could be more striking than the 
 wild and unnatural contrast between the dying crimson of 
 the west and this fearful mass of impenetrable darkness that 
 came over it. As yet there was no moon, and the portion 
 of light or rather " darkness visible" that feebly appeared 
 on the sky and the landscape, was singularly sombre and 
 impressive, if not actually appalling. The scene about them 
 was wild and desolate in the extreme ; and as the faint out- 
 lines of the bleak and barren moors appeared in the dim 
 and melancholy distance, the feelings they inspired were 
 those of discomfort and depression. On each side of them 
 were a variety of lonely lakes, abrupt precipices, and exten- 
 sive marshes ; and as our travellers went along, the hum of 
 the snipe, the feeble but mournful cry of the plover, and 
 the wilder and more piercing whistle of the curlew, still 
 deepened the melancholy dreariness of their situation, and 
 added to their anxiety to press on towards the place of their 
 destination. 
 
 " This is a very lonely spot, your honor," said his ser- 
 vant, whose name was Andrew, or, as he was more famil- 
 iarly called, Andy Cummiskey.
 
 -o . WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 "Yes, but it's the safer, Andy," replied his master. 
 11 There is not a human habitation within miles of us." 
 
 11 It doesn't follow, sir, that this place, above all others in 
 the neighborhood, is not, especially at this hour, without 
 some persons about it. You know I'm no coward, sir." 
 
 11 What, you scoundrel ! and do you mean to hint that 
 r m one ?" 
 
 " Not at all, sir ; but you see the truth is, that, this being 
 the very hour for duck and wild-fowl shootin', it's hard to 
 say where or when a fellow might start up, and mistake me 
 for a wild duck, and your honor for a curlew or a bittern." 
 
 He had no sooner spoken than the breeze started, as it 
 were, into more vigorous life, and ere the space of many 
 minutes a dark impenetrable mist or fog was borne over 
 from the solitary hills across the dreary level of country 
 through which they passed, and they felt themselves sud- 
 denly chilled, whilst a darkness, almost palpable, nearly 
 concealed them from each other. Now the roads which we 
 have described, being almost without exception in remote 
 and unfrequented parts of the country, are for the most part 
 covered over with a thick sole of close grass, unless where a 
 narrow strip in the centre shows that a pathway is kept 
 worn, and distinctly marked by the tread of foot-passengers. 
 Under all these circumstances, then, our readers need not 
 feel surprised that, owing at once to the impenetrable ob- 
 curity around them, and the noiseless nature of the an- 
 'tique and grass-covered pavement over which they went, 
 scarcely a distance of two hundred yards had been gained 
 when they found, to their dismay, that they had lost their 
 path, and were in one of the wild and heathy stretches of 
 unbounded moor by which they were surrounded. 
 
 " We have lost our way, Andy," observed his master. 
 " We've got off that damned old path ; what's to be done ? 
 where are you ?" 
 
 "I'm here, sir," replied his man ; " but as for what's to 
 be done, it would take Mave Mullen, that sees the fairies 
 and tells fortunes, to tell us that. For heaven's sake, stay 
 where you are, sir, till I get up to you, for if we part from 
 one another, we're both lost. Where are you, sir ?" 
 
 " Curse you, sirra," replied his master angrily, " is this 
 either a time or place to jest in ? A man that would make
 
 WILLY R LILLY. 21 
 
 a jest in such a situation as this would dance on his father's 
 tombstone." 
 
 11 By my soul, sir, and I'd give a five-pound note, if I 
 had it, that you and I were dancing ' Jig Polthogue ' on it 
 this minute. But, in the mane time, the devil a one o' me 
 sees the joke your honor speaks of." 
 
 " Why, then, do you ask me where I am, when you know 
 I'm astray, that we're both astray, you snivelling old whelp ? 
 By the great and good King William, I'll be lost, Andy !" 
 
 "Well, and even if you are, sir," replied Andy, who, 
 guided by his voice, had now approached and joined him ; 
 " even if you are, sir, I trust you'll bear it like a Christian 
 and a Trojan." 
 
 11 Get out, you old sniveller — what do you mean by a 
 Trojan ?" 
 
 " A Trojan, sir, I was tould, is a man that lives by sellin' 
 wild-fowl. They take an oath, sir, before they begin the 
 trade, never to die until they can't help it." 
 
 " You mean to say, or to hint at least, that in addition to 
 our other dangers we run the risk of coming in contact with 
 poachers ?" 
 
 " Well, then, sir, if I don't mistake they're out to-night. 
 However, don't let us alarm one another. God forbid that 
 I'd say a single word to frighten you ; qut still, you know 
 yourself that there's many a man not a hundred miles from 
 us that 'ud be glad to mistake you for a target, a mallard, 
 or any other wild-fowl of that description." 
 
 11 In the meantime we are both well armed," replied his 
 master ; " but what I fear most is the risk we run of falling 
 down precipices, or walking into lakes or quagmires. 
 What's to be done ? This fog is so cursedly cold that it has 
 chilled my very blood into ice." 
 
 " Our best plan, sir, is to dismount, and keep ourselves 
 warm by taking a pleasant stroll across the country. The 
 horses will take care of themselves. In the meantime keep 
 up your spirits — we'll both want something to console us ; 
 but this I can tell you, that devil a bit of tombstone ever 
 will go over either of us, barrin' the sky in heaven ; and for 
 our coffins, let us pray to the coffin-maker, bekaise, you 
 see, it's the tnaddhu ruah* (the foxes), and ravens, and 
 
 * Maddha rua/i, or red dog, the Irish name for the fox.
 
 2 2 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 other civilized animals that will coffin us both by instalments 
 in their hungry guts, until our bones will be beautiful to 
 look at — afther about six months' bleaching — and a sharp eye 
 'twould be that 'ud know the difference between masther 
 and man then, I think." 
 
 We omitted to say that a piercing and most severe hoar 
 frost had set in with the fog, and that Cummiskey's master 
 felt the immediate necessity of dismounting, and walking 
 about, in order to preserve some degree of animal heat in 
 his body. 
 
 " I cannot bear this, Andy," said he, " and these two 
 gallant animals will never recover it after the severe day's 
 hunting they've had. Poor Fiddler and Piper," he ex- 
 claimed, " this has proved a melancholy day to you both. 
 What is to be done, Andy ? I am scarcely able to stand, 
 and feel as if my strength had utterly left me." 
 
 "What, sir," replied his servant, who was certainly 
 deeply attached to his master, " is it so bad with you as all 
 that comes to ? Sure I only thought to amuse you, sir. 
 Come, take courage ; I'll whistle, and maybe somebody will 
 come to our relief." 
 
 He accordingly put his two fingers into his mouth, and 
 uttered a loud and piercing whistle, after which both stood 
 still for a time, but no reply was given. 
 
 " Stop, sir," proceeded Andrew ; " I'll give them an- 
 other touch that'll make them spake, if there's any one 
 near enough to hear us." 
 
 He once more repeated the whistle, but with two or 
 three peculiar shakes or variations, when almost instantly 
 one of a similar character was given in reply. 
 
 11 Thank God," he exclaimed, " be they friends or foes, 
 we have human creatures not far from us. Take courage, 
 sir. How do you feel ?" 
 
 " Frozen and chilled almost to death," replied his mas- 
 ter ; "I'll give fifty pounds to any man or party of men 
 that will conduct us safely home." 
 
 "I hope in the Almighty," said Andrew to himself in an 
 anxious and apprehensive tone of voice, " that it's not Par- 
 rah Rnah (Red Patrick), the red Rapparee, that's in it, and 
 I'm afeered it is, for I think I know his whistle. There's not 
 a man in the three baronies could give such a whistle as 
 that, barring himself. If it is, the masther' s a gone man,
 
 WILLY REILLY. 23 
 
 and I'll not be left behind to tell his story. God protect 
 us !" 
 
 "What are you saying, Andy?" asked his master. 
 " What were you muttering just now ?" 
 
 " Nothing, sir, nothing ; but there can be no harm, at all 
 events, to look to our pistols. If there should be danger, 
 let us sell our lives like men." 
 
 "And so we will, Andy. The country I know is in a 
 disturbed and lawless state, and ever since that unfortunate 
 affair of the priest, I know I am not popular with a great 
 many. I hope we won't come across his Rapparee nephew." 
 
 11 Whether we do or not, sir, let us look to our firearms. 
 Show me yours till I settle the powdher in them. Why, God 
 bless me, how you are tremblin'." 
 
 " It is not from fear, sir," replied the intrepid old man, 
 "but from cold. If any thing should happen me, Andy, let 
 my daughter know that my will is in the oaken cabinet ; that 
 is to say, the last I made. She is my heiress — but that she 
 is by the laws of the land. However, as I had disposed of 
 some personal property to other persons, which disposition 
 I have revoked in the will I speak of — my last, as I said — 
 I wish you to let her know where she may find it. Her 
 mother's jewels are also in the same place — but they, too, 
 are her's by right of law — her mother bequeathed them to 
 her." 
 
 " Ah ! sir, you are right to remember and think well of 
 that daughter. She has been a guardian angel to you these 
 five years. But why, sir, do you give me this message ? Do 
 you think I won't sell my life in defence of yours ? If you 
 do you're mistaken." 
 
 " I believe it, Andrew ; I believe it, Andy," said he 
 again, familiarizing the word ; " but if this red Rapparee 
 should murder me, I don't wish you to sacrifice your life on 
 my account. Make your escape if he should be the person 
 who is approaching us, and convey to my daughter the mes- 
 sage I have given you." 
 
 At this moment another whistle proceeded from a quarter 
 of the moor much nearer them, and Andy, having handed 
 back the pistols to his master, asked him should he re- 
 turn it. 
 
 " Certainly," replied the other, who during all this time
 
 24 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 was pacing to and fro, in order to keep himself from sink- 
 ing ; " certainly, let us see whether these persons are friends 
 or enemies." 
 
 His servant then replied to the whistle, and in a few min- 
 utes it was answered again, whilst at the same time a strong 
 but bitter wind arose which cleared away the mist, and 
 showed them with considerable distinctness the position 
 which they occupied. 
 
 Within about ten yards of them, to the left, the very di- 
 rection in which they had been proceeding, was a small deep 
 lake or tarn, utterly shoreless, and into which they unques- 
 tionably would have walked and perished, as neither of them 
 knew how to swim. The clearing away of the mist, and the 
 light of the stars (for the moon had not yet risen), enabled 
 the parties to see each other, and in a few minutes Andrew 
 cJid his master were joined by four men, the principal per- 
 son among them being the identical individual whom they 
 both had dreaded— the Red Kapparee. 
 
 " Master," said Cummiskey, in a whisper, on seeing 
 them approach, " we must fight for it, I'mafeered, but let us 
 not be rash ; there may be a friend or two among them, and 
 it is better to come off peaceably if we can." 
 
 " I agree with you," replied his master. " There is no 
 use in shedding unnecessary blood ; but, in any event, let 
 us not permit them to disarm us, should they insist on doing 
 so. They know I never go three yards from my hall-door 
 without arms, and it is not improbable they may make a 
 point of taking them from us. I, however, for one, will 
 not trust to their promises, for I know their treachery, as I 
 do their cowardice, when their numbers are but few, and an 
 armed opponent or two before them, determined to give 
 battle. Stand, therefore, by me, Andy, and, by King 
 William, should they have recourse to violence, we shall let 
 them see, and feel too, that we are not unprepared." 
 
 " I have but one life, sir," replied his faithful follower; 
 " it was spent — at least its best days were — in your service, 
 and sooner than any danger should come to you, it will be 
 lost in your defence. If it was only for the sake of her, 
 that is not here, the Coolccn Bawn, I would do it." 
 
 "Who goes there?" asked a deep and powerful voice 
 when the parties had come within about twenty yards of each 
 other.
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 25 
 
 11 By the powers !" exclaimed Andrew in a whisper, " it's 
 himself — the Red Rapparee !" 
 
 " We are friends," he replied, " and have lost our way." 
 
 The other party approached, and, on joining our travel- 
 lers, the Rapparee started, exclaiming, "What, noble 
 Squire, is it possible that this is you ? Hut ! it can't be — 
 let me look at you closer, till I make sure of you." 
 
 " Keep your distance, sir," replied the old man with 
 courage and dignity ; " keep your distance ; you see that I 
 and my servant are both well armed, and determined to de- 
 fend ourselves against violence." 
 
 An ominous and ferocious glance passed from the Rap- 
 paree to his comrades, who, however, said nothing, but 
 seemed to be resolved to guide themselves altogether by his 
 conduct. The Red Rapparee was a huge man of about 
 forty, and the epithet of " Red" had been given to him in 
 consequence of the color of his hair. In expression his 
 countenance was by no means unhandsome, being florid 
 and symmetrical, but hard, and with scarcely any trace of 
 feeling. His brows were far asunder, arguing ingenuity and 
 invention, but his eyes, which were small and treacherous, 
 glared — whenever he became excited — with the ferocity of 
 an enraged tiger. His shoulders were broad, his chest deep 
 and square, his arms long and powerful, but his lower limbs 
 were somewhat light in proportion to the great size of his 
 upper figure. This, however, is generally the case when a 
 man combines in his own person the united qualities of ac- 
 tivity and strength. Even at the period we are describing, 
 when this once celebrated character was forty years of age, 
 it was well known that in fleetness of foot there was no man 
 in the province able to compete with him. In athletic exer- 
 cises that required strength and skill he never had a rival, 
 but one — with whom the reader will soon be made acquaint- 
 ed. He was wrapped loosely in a gray frieze big-coat, or 
 cothamore, as it is called in Irish — wore a hat of two colors, 
 and so pliant in texture that he could at any time turn it 
 inside out. His coat was — as indeed were all his clothes — 
 made upon the same principle, so that when hard pressed 
 by the authorities he could in a minute or two transmute 
 himself into the appearance of a man very different from the 
 individual described to them. Indeed he was such a perfect 
 Proteus that no vigilance of the Executive was ever a match
 
 26 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 for his versatility of appearance, swiftness of foot, and cau- 
 tion. These frequent defeats of the authorities of that day 
 made him extremely popular with the people, who were al- 
 ways ready to afford him shelter and means of concealment, 
 in return for which he assisted them with food, money, and 
 the spoils of his predatory life. This, indeed, was the saga- 
 cious principle of the Irish Robbers and Rapparees from the 
 beginning — to rob from the rich and give to the poor being 
 their motto. 
 
 The persons who accompanied him on this occasion were 
 three of his his own gang, who usully constituted his body- 
 guard, and acted as videttes, either for his protection or for 
 the purpose of bringing him information of such travellers 
 as from their known wealth or external appearance might be 
 supposed worth attacking. They were well-made, active, 
 and athletic men, in whom it would not be easy to recognize 
 any particular character at variance with that of the peas- 
 antry around them. It is unnecessary to say that they were 
 all armed. Having satisfied himself as to the identity of 
 master and man, with a glance at his companions, the Rap- 
 paree said, 
 
 " What on earth brought you and Andy Cummiskey here, 
 noble squire ? Oh ! you lost your way, Andy says. Well 
 now," he proceeded, " you know I have been many a day 
 and night on the lookout for you ; aye, and could have put 
 daylight through you many and many a time ; and what do 
 you think prevented me ?" 
 
 " Fear of God, or of the gallows, I hope," replied the 
 intrepid old man. 
 
 "Well," returned the Rapparee, with a smile of scorn, 
 " I'm not a man — as I suppose you may know — that ever 
 feared either of them much — God forgive me for the one, I 
 don't ask his forgiveness for the other. No, Squire Folliard, 
 it was the goodness, the kindness, the generosity, and the 
 charity of the Cooleen Bawit^ your lovely daughter, that held 
 my hand. You persecuted my old uncle, the priest, and you 
 would a' hanged him too, for merely marryin' a Protestant 
 and a Catholic together. Well, sir, your fair daughter, and 
 her good mother — that's now in heaven, I hope — went up to 
 Dublin to the Lord Lieutenant, and before him the Coolee?i 
 Bawn went on her two knees and begged my uncle's life, 
 and got it ; for the Lord Lieutenant said that no one could
 
 WILLY REILLY. 27 
 
 deny her any thing. Now, sir, for her sake, go home in 
 peace. Boys, get their horses." 
 
 Andy Cummiskey would have looked upon all this as manly 
 and generous, but he could not help observing a particular 
 and rather sinister meaning in the look which the Rapparee 
 turned on his companions as he spoke. He had often heard, 
 too, of his treacherous disposition and his unrelenting cruelty 
 whenever he entertained a feeling of vengeance. In his 
 present position, however, all he could do was to stand on 
 his guard ; and with this impression strong upon him he re- 
 solved to put no confidence in the words of the Rapparee. 
 In a few minutes the horses were brought up, and Randy 
 (Randal) Ruah having wiped Mr. Folliard's saddle — for 
 such was his name — with the skirt of his cothamore, and re- 
 moved the hoar frost or rime which had gathered on it, he 
 brought the animal over to him, and said, with a kind of 
 rude courtesy, 
 
 " Come, sir, trust me ; I will help you to your sad- 
 dle." 
 
 " You have not the reputation of being trustworthy," re- 
 plied Mr. Folliard ; " keep back, sir, at your peril ; I will 
 not trust you. My own servant will assist me." 
 
 This seemed precisely the arrangement which the Rap- 
 paree and his men had contemplated. The squire, in 
 mounting, was obliged, as every man is, to use both his 
 hands, as was his servant also, while assisting him. They 
 consequently put up their pistols until they should get into 
 the saddles, and, almost in an instant, found themselves 
 disarmed, and prisoners in the hands of these lawless and 
 unscrupulous men. 
 
 " Now, Squire Folliard," exclaimed the Rapparee, " see 
 what it is not to trust an honest man ; had you done so, not 
 a hair of your head would be injured. As it is, I'll give 
 you five minutes to do three things ; remember my uncle, 
 the priest, that you transported." 
 
 11 Fie acted most illegally, sir," replied the old man in- 
 dignantly ; " and, in my opinion, I say that, in consequence 
 of his conduct, the country had a good riddance of him. I 
 only wish I could send you after him ; perhaps I shall do 
 so yet. I believe in Providence, sirra, and that God can 
 protect me from your violence even here." 
 
 " In the next place," proceeded the Rapparee, " think of
 
 28 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 your daughter, that you will never see again, either in this 
 world or the next." 
 
 " I know I am unworthy of having such an angel," re- 
 plied the old man, " but unless you were a cruel and a heart- 
 less ruffian, you would not at this moment mention her, or 
 bring the thoughts of her to my recollection." 
 
 " In the last place," continued the other, " if you have 
 any thing to say in the shape of a prayer, say it, for in five 
 minutes' time there will be a ballet through your heart, and 
 in five more you will be snug and warm at the bottom of 
 the loch there below — that's your doom." 
 
 "O'Donnel," said Andy, "think that there's a God 
 above you. Surely you wouldn't murdher this ould man 
 and make the sowl within your body redder — if the thing's 
 possible — than the head that's on the top of it, though in 
 throth I don't think it's by way of ornament it's there 
 either. Come, come, Randal, my man, this is all feasthalagJi 
 (nonsense). You omy want to frighten the gentleman. As 
 for your uncle, man alive, all I can say is that he was a 
 friend to your family, and to religion too, that sent him on 
 his travels." 
 
 " Take off your gallowses" (braces), said the Rapparee ; 
 11 take them off, a couple of you — for, by all the powers of 
 darkness, they'll both go to the bottom of the loch together, 
 back to back. Down you'll go, Andy." 
 
 " By my soul, then," replied the unflinching servant, " if 
 we go down you'll £-<? up; and we have those belongin' to us 
 that will see you kiss the hangman yet. Yerra, now, above 
 all words in the alphabet what could put a gallows into your 
 mouth ? Faith, Randal, it's about your neck it'll go, and 
 you'll put out your tongue at the daicent people that will 
 attend your own funeral yet — that is, if you don't let us off." 
 
 " Put them both to their knees," said the Rapparee in a 
 voice of thunder, " to their knees with them. I'll take the 
 masther, and, Kineely, do you take the man." 
 
 The companions of the Rapparee could not avoid laughing 
 at the comic courage displayed by Cummiskey, and were 
 about to intercede for him, when O'Donnel, which was his 
 name, stamped with fury on the ground and asked them if 
 they dared to disobey him. This sobered them at once, and 
 in less than a minute Mr. Folliard and Andy were placed 
 upon their knees, to await the terrific sentence which was
 
 WILLY RELLLY. 29 
 
 about to be executed on them, in that wild and lonely moor, 
 and under such appalling circumstances. When placed in 
 the desired posture, to ask that mercy from God which they 
 were not about to experience at the hands of man, Squire 
 Folliard spoke : 
 
 11 Red Rapparee," said he, " it is not that I am afraid of 
 death as such, but I feel that I am not prepared to die. 
 Suffer my servant and myself to go home without harm, 
 and I shall engage not only to get you a pardon from the 
 Government of the country, but I shall furnish you with 
 money either to take you to some useful calling, or to emi- 
 grate to some foreign country, where nobody will know of 
 your misdeeds, or the life you have led here." 
 
 "Randal, my man," added Andy, "listen to what the 
 gentleman says, and you may escape what you know yet. 
 As for my masther, Randal, let him pass, and take me in 
 his place. I may as well die now, maybe, as another time. 
 I was an honest, faithful servant, at all times. I have 
 neither chick nor child to cry for me. No wife, thank God, 
 to break my heart afther. My conscience is light and airy, 
 like a beggarman's blanket, as they say ; and, barrin' that I 
 once got drunk wid your uncle in Moll Flanagan's sheebeen 
 house, I don't know that I have much to trouble me. Spare 
 him, then, and take vie, if it must come to that. He has 
 the Cooleen Bawn to think for. Do you think of her, too ; 
 and remember that it was she who saved your uncle from the 
 gallows." 
 
 This unlucky allusion only deepened the vengeance of the 
 Red Rapparee, who looked to the priming of his gun, and 
 was in the act of preparing to perpetrate this most inhuman 
 and awful murder, when an interruption took place for 
 which neither party was prepared. 
 
 Now, it so happened that within about eight or ten yards 
 of where they stood there existed the walls and a portion of 
 the arched roof of one of those old ecclesiastical ruins, 
 which our antiquarians denominate Cyclopea?i, like Incus a 
 non lucc?ido, because scarcely a dozen men could kneel in 
 them. Over this sad ruin was what sportsmen term " a 
 pass" for duck and widgeon, and, aided by the shelter of 
 the building, any persons who stationed themselves there 
 could certainly commit great havoc among the wild-fowl in 
 question. The Red Rapparee then had his gun in his
 
 30 WILL Y REILL V. 
 
 hand, and was in the very act of adjusting it to his shoulder, 
 when a powerful young man sprung forward, and dashing it 
 aside, exclaimed : 
 
 11 What is this, Randal ? Is it a double murder you are 
 about to execute, you inhuman ruffian ?" 
 
 The Rapparee glared at him, but with a quailing and sub- 
 dued, yet sullen and vindictive, expression. 
 
 " Stand up, sir," proceeded this daring and animated 
 young man, addressing Mr. Folliard ; " and you, Cummis- 
 key, get to your legs. No person shall dare to injure either 
 of you while I am here. O'Donnel — stain and disgrace to 
 a noble name — begone, you and your ruffians. I know the 
 cause of your enmity against this gentleman ; and I tell you 
 now, that if you were as ready to sustain your religion as 
 you are to disgrace it by your conduct, you would not be- 
 come a curse to it and the country, nor give promise of feed- 
 ing a hungry gallows some day, as you and your accomplices 
 will do." 
 
 Whilst the young stranger addressed these miscreants with 
 such energy and determination, Mr. Folliard, who, as well 
 as his servant, had now got to his legs, asked the latter in a 
 whisper who he was. 
 
 " By all that's happy, sir," he replied, " it's himself, the 
 only man living that the Red Rapparee is afraid of ; it's 
 'Willy Reilly.' " 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE COOLEEN EAWX. 
 
 THE old man became very little wiser by the informa- 
 tion of his servant, and said in reply, ' ' I hope, Andy, 
 he's not a Papist ;" but checking the unworthy prejudice — 
 and in him such prejudices were singularly strong in words, 
 although often feeble in fact — he added, " it matters not — 
 we owe our lives to him — the deepest and most important 
 obligation that one man can owe to another. I am, how- 
 ever, scarcely able to stand ; I feel benumbed and ex- 
 hausted, and wish to get home as soon as possible."
 
 WILLY REILLY AND THE RAPPAREE.
 
 IV ILLY REILLY, 31 
 
 " Mr. Reilly, " said Andy, " this gentleman is very weak 
 and ill ; and as you have acted so much like a brave man 
 and a gentleman, maybe you'd have no objection to see us 
 safe home. ' ' 
 
 " It is my intention to do so," replied Reilly. " I could 
 not for a moment think of leaving either him or you to the 
 mercy of this treacherous man, who dishonors a noble name. 
 Randal," he proceeded, addressing the Rapparee, "mark 
 my words ! — if but a single hair of this gentleman's head, or 
 of any one belonging to him, is ever injured by you or your 
 gang, I swear that you and they will swing, each of you, 
 from as many gibbets, as soon as the course of the law can 
 reach you. You know me, sir, and my influence over those 
 who protect you. As for you, Fergus," he added, address- 
 ing one of the Rapparee' s followers, " you are, thank God ! 
 the only one of my blood who has ever disgraced it by 
 leading such a lawless and guilty life. Be advised by me — 
 leave that man of treachery, rapine, and murder — abandon 
 him and reform your life — and if you are disposed to become 
 a good and an industrious member of society, go to some 
 other country, where the disgrace you have incurrred in this 
 may not follow you. Be advised by me, and you shall not 
 want the means of emigrating. Now begone ; and think, 
 each of you, of what I have said." 
 
 The Rapparee glanced at the noble-looking young fellow 
 with the vindictive ferocity of an enraged bull, who feels a 
 disposition to injure you, but is restrained by terror ; or, 
 which is quite as appropriate, a cowardly but vindictive 
 mastiff, who eyes you askance, growls, shows his teeth, but 
 has not the courage to attack you. 
 
 " Do not look at me so, sir," said Reilly ; " you know I 
 fear you not." 
 
 M But in the meantime," replied the Rapparee, " what's 
 to prevent me from putting a bullet into you this moment, 
 if I wish to do it ?" 
 
 "There are ten thousand reasons against it," returned 
 Reilly. " If you did so, in less than twenty-four hours you 
 would find yourself in Sligo jail — or, to come nearer the 
 truth, in less than five minutes you would find yourself in 
 hell." 
 
 "Well, now, suppose I should make the trial," said the 
 Rapparee. " You don't know, Mr. Reilly, how you have
 
 32 WILLY A LILLY. 
 
 crossed me to-night. Suppose now I should try — and sup- 
 pose, too, that not one of you three should leave the spot 
 you stand on only as corpses — wouldn't I have the advan- 
 tage of you then ?" 
 
 Reilly turned towards the ruined chapel, and simply rais- 
 ing his right hand, about eight or ten persons made their 
 appearance ; but, restrained by a signal from him, they did 
 not advance. 
 
 11 That will do," said he. " Now, Randal, I hope you 
 understand your position. Do not provoke me again ; for 
 if you do I will surround you with toils from which you 
 could as soon change your fierce and brutal nature as 
 escape. Yes, and I will take you in the midst of your 
 ruffian guards, and in the deepest of your fastnesses, if ever 
 you provoke me as you have done on other occasions, or if 
 you ever injure this gentleman or any individual of his fam- 
 ily. Come, sir," he proceeded, addressing the old man, 
 " you are now mounted — my horse is in this old ruin — and 
 in a moment I shall be ready to accompany you." 
 
 Reilly and his companions joined our travellers, one of 
 the former having offered the old squire a large frieze great- 
 coat, which he gladly accepted, and having thus formed a 
 guard of safety for him and his faithful attendant, they 
 regained the old road we have described, and resumed their 
 journey. 
 
 When they had gone, the Rapparee and his companions 
 looked after them with blank faces for some minutes. 
 
 " Well," said their leader, " Reilly has knocked up our 
 game for this night. Only for him I'd have had a full and 
 sweet revenge. However, never mind : it'll go hard with 
 me, or I'll have it yet. In the mane time it won't be often 
 that such another opportunity will come in our way." 
 
 " Well, now that it is over, what was your intention, Ran- 
 dal ?" asked the person to whom Reilly had addressed him- 
 self. 
 
 " Why," replied the miscreant, " after the deed was 
 done, what was to prevent us from robbing the house to-night, 
 and taking away his daughter to the mountains. I have long 
 had my eye on her, I can tell you, and it'll cost me a fall, 
 or I'll have her yet." 
 
 "You had better," replied Fergus Reilly, for such was 
 his name, " neither make nor meddle with that family afther
 
 WILLY REILLY. $3 
 
 this night. If you do, that terrible relation of mine will 
 hang you like a dog.'' 
 
 11 How will he hang me like a dog ?" asked the Rapparee, 
 knitting his shaggy eyebrows, and turning upon him a fierce 
 and gloomy look. 
 
 11 Why, now, Randal, you know as well as I do," replied 
 the other, " that if he only raised his finger against you in 
 the country, the very people that harbor both you and us 
 would betray us, aye, seize us, and bind us hand and foot, 
 like common thieves, and give us over to the authorities. 
 But as for himself, I believe you have sense enough to let 
 him alone. When you took away Mary Traynor, and 
 nearly kilt her brother the young priest — you know they 
 were Reilly's tenants — I needn't tell you what happened : 
 in four hours' time he had the country up, followed you and 
 your party — I wasn't with you then, but you know it's truth 
 I'm spakin' — and when he had five to one against you, 
 didn't he make them stand aside until he and you should 
 decide it between you ? Aye, and you know lie could a' 
 brought home every man of you tied neck and heels, and 
 would, too, only that there was a large reward offered for 
 the takin' of you livin' or dead, and he scorned to have any 
 hand in it on that account." 
 
 " It was by a chance blow he hit me," said the Rap- 
 paree — " by a chance blow." 
 
 "By a couple dozen chance blows," replied the other ; 
 " you know he knocked you down as fast as ever you got 
 up — I lave it to the boys here that wor present." 
 
 "There's no use in denyin' it, Randal," they replied ; 
 " you hadn't a chance wid him." 
 
 " Well, at all events," observed the Rapparee, " if he did 
 beat me, he's the only man in the country able to do it ; 
 but it's not over, curse him — I'll have another trial with 
 him yet." 
 
 11 If you take my advice," replied Reilly, " you'll neither 
 make nor meddle with him. He's the head o' the Catholics 
 in this part of the country, and you know that ; aye, and 
 he's their friend, and uses the friendship that the Protes- 
 tants have towards him for their advantage, wherever he 
 can. The man that would injure W 7 illy Reilly is an enemy 
 to our religion, as well as to every thing that's good and 
 generous ; and mark me, Randal, if ever you cross him in
 
 34 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 what he warned ycu against this very night, I'll hang you 
 myself, if there wasn't another livin' man to do it, and to 
 the back o' that again I say you must shed no blood so long 
 as I'm with you." 
 
 11 That won't be long, then," replied the Rapparee, pull- 
 ing out a purse ; " there's twenty guineas for you, and go 
 about your business ; but take care, no treachery." 
 
 11 No," replied the other, I'll have none of your money ; 
 there's blood in it. God forgive me for ever joinin' you. 
 When I want money I can get it ; as for treachery, there's 
 none of it in my veins ; good-night, and remember my 
 words." 
 
 Having thus spoken, he took his way along the same road 
 by which the old squire and his party went. 
 
 " That fellow will betray us," said the Rapparee. 
 
 11 No," replied his companions firmly, " there never was 
 treachery in his part of the family ; he is not come from 
 any of the Queen s O'Reillys.* We wish you were as sure 
 of every man you have as you may be of him." 
 
 " Well, now," observed their leader, " a thought strikes 
 me ; this ould squire will be half dead all night. At any 
 rate he'll sleep like a top. Wouldn't it be a good opportu- 
 nity to attack the house — aise him of his money, for he's as 
 rich as a Jew — and take away the Coolce n Bawn ? We'll 
 call at Shane Bearna's f stables on our way and bring the 
 other boys along wid us. What do you say ?" 
 
 " Why, that you'll hang yourself, and every man of us." 
 
 * Catholic families who were faithful and loyal to Queen Elizabeth 
 during her wars in Ireland were stigmatized by the nickname of the 
 Queen's friends, to distinguish them from others of the same nam2 
 who had opposed her, on behalf of their religion, in the wars which 
 desolated Ireland during her reign ; a portion of the family of which 
 we write were on this account designated as the Queen's O'Reillys. 
 
 f Shane Bearna was a celebrated Rapparee, who, among his other 
 exploits, figured principally as a horse-stealer. He kept the stolen 
 animals concealed in remote mountain caves, where he trimmed and 
 dyed them in such a way as made it impossible to recognize them. 
 These caves are curiosities at the present day, and are now known as 
 Shane Bearna's Stables. He was a chief in the formidable gang of the 
 celebrated Redmond O'Hanlon. It is said of him that he was called 
 Bearna because he never had any teeth ; but tradition tells us that he 
 could, notwithstanding, bite a piece out of a thin plate of iron with as 
 much ease as if it were gingerbread.
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 35 
 
 " Nonsense, you cowardly dogs," replied their leader 
 indignantly ; " can't we lave the country ?' ' 
 
 " Well, if you're bent on it," replied his followers, " we 
 won't be your hindrance." 
 
 " We can break up, and be off to America," he added. 
 
 " But what will you do with the Coolecn Bawu, if you 
 take her ?" they asked. 
 
 " Why, lave her behind us, afther showin' the purty crea- 
 ture the inside of Shane Bearna's stables. She'll be able to 
 find her way back to her father's, never fear. Come, boys, 
 now or never. To say the truth, the sooner we get out of 
 the country, at all events, the better." 
 
 The Rapparee and his men had moved up to the door of 
 the old chapel already alluded to, whilst this conversation 
 went on ; and now that their dreadful project had been de- 
 termined on, they took a short cut across the moors, in 
 order to procure additional assistance for its accomplish- 
 ment. 
 
 No sooner had they gone, however, than an individual, 
 who had been concealed in the darkness within, came 
 stealthily to the door, and peeping cautiously out, at length 
 advanced a few steps and looked timidly about him. Per- 
 ceiving that the coast was clear, he placed himself under the 
 shadow of the old walls — for there was now sufficient light 
 to cast a shadow from any prominent object ; and from 
 thence having observed the direction which the Rapparee 
 and his men took, without any risk of being seen himself, he 
 appeared satisfied. The name of this individual — who, 
 although shrewd and cunning in many things, was neverthe- 
 less deficient in reason — or rather the name by which he 
 generally went, was Tom Steeple, a soubriquet given to him 
 on account of a predominant idea which characterized and 
 influenced his whole conversation. The great delight of 
 this poor creature was to be considered the tallest individual 
 in the kingdom, and indeed nothing could be more amusing 
 than to witness the manner in which he held up his head 
 while he walked, or sat, or stood. In fact his walk was a 
 complete strut, to which the pride, arising from the con- 
 sciousness of, or rather the belief in, his extraordinary 
 height gave an extremely ludicrous appearance. Poor Tom 
 was about five feet nine in height, but imagined himself to 
 be at least a foot higher. His whole family were certainly
 
 36 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 tall, and one of the greatest calamities of the poor fellow's 
 life was a bitter reflection that he himself was by several 
 inches the lowest of his race. This was the only exception 
 he made with respect to height, but so deeply did it affect 
 him that he could scarcely ever allude to it without shed- 
 ding tears. The life he led was similar in most respects to 
 that of his unhappy class. He wandered about through the 
 country, stopping now at one farmer's house, and now at 
 another's, where he always experienced a kind reception, 
 because he was not only amusing and inoffensive, but capa- 
 ble of making himself useful as a messenger and drudge. 
 He was never guilty of a dishonest act, nor ever known to 
 commit a breach of trust ; and as a quick messenger, his 
 extraordinary speed of foot rendered him unrivalled. His 
 great delight, however, was to attend sportsmen, to whom 
 he was invaluable as a guide and director. Such was his 
 wind and speed of foot that, aided by his knowledge of 
 what is termed the lie of the country, he was able to keep up 
 with any pack of hounds that ever went out. As a soho man 
 he was unrivalled. The form of every hare for miles about 
 was known to him, and if a fox or a covey of partridges 
 were to be found at all, he was your man. In wild-fowl 
 shooting he was infallible. No pass of duck, widgeon, 
 barnacle, or curlew, was unknown to him. In fact, his 
 principal delight was to attend the gentry of the country to 
 the field, either with harrier, foxhound, or setter. No 
 coursing match went right if Tom were not present ; and as 
 for night shooting, his eye and ear were such as, for accu- 
 racy of observation, few have ever witnessed. It is true he 
 could subsist a long time without food, but, like the re- 
 nowned Captain Dalgetty, w r hen an abundance of it hap- 
 pened to be placed before him, he displayed the most inde- 
 fensible ignorance as to all knowledge of the period when he 
 ought to stop, considering it his bounden duty on all occa- 
 sions to clear off whatever was set before him — a feat which 
 he always accomplished with the most signal success. 
 
 "Aha!" exclaimed Tom, " dat Red Rapparee is tall 
 man, but not tall as Tom ; him no steeple like Tom ; but 
 him rogue and murderer, an' Tom honest ; him won't carry 
 off Cooleen Bawn dough, nor rob her fader, ayder. Come, 
 Tom, Steeple Tom, out with your two legs, one afore toder, 
 and put Rapparee's nose out o' joint. Coolccn Bawn dat's
 
 WILLY REILLY. 37 
 
 good to everybody, Catlicks (Catholics) an' all, an' often 
 ordered Tom many a bully dinner. Hicko ! hicko ! be de 
 bones of Peter White — off I go !" 
 
 Tom, like many other individuals of his description, was 
 never able to get over the language of childhood — a charac- 
 teristic which is often appended to the want of reason, and 
 from which, we presume, the term " innocent" has been 
 applied in an especial manner to those who are remarkable 
 for the same defect. 
 
 Having uttered the words we have just recited, he started 
 off at a gait, peculiar to fools, which is known by the name 
 of " a sling trot," and after getting out upon the old road 
 he turned himself in the direction which Willy Reilly and 
 his party had taken, and there we beg to leave him for the 
 present. 
 
 The old squire felt his animal heat much revived by the 
 warmth of the frieze coat, and his spirits, now that the 
 dreadful scene into which he had been so unexpectedly cast 
 had passed away without danger, began to rise so exuber- 
 antly that his conversation became quite loquacious and 
 mirthful, if not actually, to a certain extent, incoherent. 
 
 " Sir," said he, "you must come home with me — con- 
 found me, but you must, and you needn't say nay, now, for 
 I shall neither take excuse nor apology. I am a hospitable 
 man, Mr. — what's this your name is ?" 
 
 " My name, sir," replied the other, " is Reilly — William 
 Reilly, or, as I am more generally called, Willy Reilly. The 
 name, sir, though an honorable one, is, in this instance, that 
 of an humble man, but one who, I trust, will never disgrace 
 it." 
 
 11 You must come home with me, Mr. Reilly. Not a 
 word now." 
 
 " Such is my intention, sir," replied Reilly. " I shall 
 not leave you until I see that all risk of danger is past — un- 
 til I place you safely under your own roof." 
 
 " Well, now, " continued the old squire, "I believe a 
 Papist can be a gentleman — a brave man — a man of honor, 
 Mr. Reilly." 
 
 "lam not aware that there is any thing in his religion to 
 make him either dishonorable or cowardly, sir," replied 
 Reilly with a smile. 
 
 " No matter," continued the other, who found a good
 
 $S WILLY I? LILLY. 
 
 deal of difficulty in restraining his prejudices on that point, 
 " no matter, sir, no matter, Mr.— a — a — oh, yes, Reilly, we 
 will have nothing to do with religion — away with it — con- 
 found religion, sir, if it prevents one man from being thank- 
 ful, and grateful too, to another, when that other has saved 
 his life. What's your state and condition in society, 
 Mr. — ? confound the scoundrel ! he'd have shot me. We 
 must hang that fellow — the Red Rapparee they call him — a 
 dreadful scourge to the country ; and, another thing, Mr. — 
 Mr. Mahon — you must come to my daughter's wedding. 
 Not a word now — by the great Boyne, you must. Have 
 you ever seen my daughter, sir ?" 
 
 " I have never had that pleasure," replied Reilly, " but I 
 have heard enough of her wonderful goodness and beauty." 
 
 " Well, sir, I tell you to your teeth that I deny your 
 words — you have stated a falsehood, sir — a lie, sir." 
 
 " What do you mean, sir ?" replied Reilly, somewhat in- 
 dignantly, "lam not in the habit of stating a falsehood, 
 nor of submitting tamely to such an imputation." 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha, I say it's a lie still, my friend. What did 
 you say ? Why, that you had heard enough of her goodness 
 and beauty. Now, sir, by the banks of the Boyne, I say 
 you didn't hear half enough of either one or t'other. Sir, you 
 should know her, for although you are a Papist you are a 
 brave man, and a gentleman. Still, sir, a Papist is not — 
 curse it, this isn't handsome of me, Willy. I beg your par- 
 don. Confound all religions if it goes to that. Still at the 
 same time I'm bound to say as a loyal man that Protestant- 
 ism is my forte, Mr. Reilly — there's where I'm strong, a 
 touch of Hercules about me there, Mr. Reilly — Willy, I 
 mean. Well, you are a thorough good fellow, Papist and 
 all, though you — ahem ! — never mind though, you shall see 
 my daughter, and you shall hear my daughter '; for, by the 
 great Boyne, she must salute the man that saved her father's 
 life, and prevent her from being an orphan. And yet see, 
 Willy, I love that girl to such a degree that if heaven was 
 open for me this moment, and that Saint Peter — hem ! — I 
 mean the Apostle Peter, said to me, ' Come, Folliard, walk 
 in, sir,' by the great Deliverer that saved us from Pope and 
 Popery, brass money, and — ahem ! I beg your pardon — 
 well, I say if he was to say so, I wouldn't leave her. 
 There's affection for you ; but she deserves it. No, if
 
 WILLY REILLY. 39 
 
 ever a girl was capable of keeping an old father from heaven 
 she is." 
 
 " I understand your meaning, sir," replied Reilly with a 
 smile, " and I believe she is loved by every one who has the 
 pleasure of knowing her — by rich and poor." 
 
 : ' Troth, Mr. Reilly," observed Andy, " it's a sin for rny 
 one to let their affections, even for one of their own childer, 
 go between them and heaven. As for the masther, he 
 makes a god of her. To be sure if ever there was an angel 
 in this world she is one. ' ' 
 
 11 Get out, you old whelp," exclaimed his master ; " what 
 do you know about it ? — you who never had wife or child ? 
 isn't she my only child ? — the apple of my eye ? the love of 
 my heart ?" 
 
 " If you loved her so well you wouldn't make her un- 
 happy then." 
 
 " What do you mean, you despicable old Papist ?" 
 
 11 I mean that you wouldn't marry her to a man she 
 doesn't like, as you're goin' to do. That's a bad way to 
 make her happy, at any rate." 
 
 " Overlook the word Papist, Mr. Reilly, that I applied to 
 that old idolater — the fellow worships images ; of course 
 you know, as a Papist, he does — ahem ! — but to show you 
 that I don't hate the Papist without exception, I beg to let 
 you know, sir, that I frequently have the Papist priest of 
 our parish to dine with me ; and if that isn't liberality the 
 devil's in it. Isn't, that true, you superstitious old Pada- 
 reen ? No, Mr. Reilly, Mr. Mahon — Willy, I mean — I'm a 
 liberal man, and I hope we'll be all saved yet, with the ex- 
 ception of the Pope — ahem ! yes, I hope we shall all be 
 saved." 
 
 " Throth, sir," said Andy, addressing himself to Reilly, 
 "he's a quare gentleman, this. lie's always abusing the 
 Papists, as he calls us, and yet for every Protestant servant 
 undher his roof he has three Papists, as he calls us. His 
 bark, sir, is worse than his bite, any day." 
 
 11 I believe it," replied Reilly in a low voice, " and it's a 
 pity that a good and benevolent man should suffer these 
 idle prejudices to sway him." 
 
 11 Divil a bit they sway him, sir," replied Andy ; " he'll 
 damn and abuse them and their religion, and yet he'll go 
 any length to serve one o' them, if they want a friend, and
 
 4-0 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 has a good character. But here, now we're at the gate of 
 the avenue, and you'll soon see the Cooleen Bawn." 
 
 " Hallo !" the squire shouted out, " what the devil ! are 
 you dead or asleep there ? Brady, you Papist scoundrel, 
 why not open the gate ?" 
 
 The porter's wife came out as he uttered the words, say- 
 ing, " I beg your honor's pardon. Ned is up at the Cas- 
 tle ;" and whilst speaking she opened the gate. 
 
 " Ha, Molly !" exclaimed her master in a tone of such 
 bland good nature as could not for a moment be mistaken ; 
 "well, Molly, how is little Mick? Is he better, poor fel- 
 low ?" 
 
 " He is, thank God, and your honor." 
 
 " Hallo, Molly," said the squire, laughing, " that's Popery 
 again. You are thanking God and me as if we were inti- 
 mate acquaintances. None of that foolish Popish nonsense. 
 When you thank Gcd, thank him ; and when you thank me, 
 why thank me ; but don't unite us, as you do him and 
 your Popish saints, for I tell you, Molly, I'm no saint ; God 
 forbid ! Tell the doctorman to pay him every attention, 
 and to send his bill to me when the child is properly recov- 
 ered ; mark that — properly recovered." 
 
 A noble avenue, that swept along with two or three mag- 
 nificent bends, brought them up to a fine old mansion of the 
 castellated style, where the squire and his two equestrian 
 attendants dismounted, and were ushered into the parlor, 
 which they found brilliantly lighted up with a number of 
 large wax tapers. The furniture of the room was exceed- 
 ingly rich, but somewhat curious and old-fashioned. It was 
 such, however, as to give ample proof of great wealth and 
 comfort, and, by the heat of a large peat fire which blazed in 
 the capacious hearth, it communicated that sense of warmth 
 which was in complete accordance with the general aspect of 
 the apartment. An old gray-haired butler, well- powdered, 
 together with two or three other servants in rich livery, now 
 entered, and the squire's first inquiry was after his daugh- 
 ter. 
 
 " John," said he to the butler, " how is your mistress ?" 
 but, without waiting for a reply, he added, " here are twen- 
 ty pounds, which you will hand to those fine fellows at the 
 hall-door." 
 
 " Pardon me, sir," replied Reilly, " those men are my
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 41 
 
 tenants, and the sons of my tenants : they have only per- 
 formed towards you a duty, which common humanity would 
 require at their hands towards the humblest person that 
 lives." 
 
 " They must accept it, Mr. Reilly — they must have it — 
 they are humble men — and as it is only the reward of a kind 
 office, I think it is justly due to them. Here, John, give 
 them the money." 
 
 It was in vain that Reilly interposed ; the old squire 
 would not listen to him. John was, accordingly, dis- 
 patched to the hall steps, but found that they had all gone. 
 
 At this moment our friend Tom Steeple met the butler, 
 whom he approached with a kind of wild and uncouth anx- 
 iety. 
 
 "Aha! Mista John," said he, "you tall man too, but 
 not tall as Tom Steeple — ha, ha — you good man too, Mista 
 John — give Tom bully dinners — Willy Reilly, Mista John, 
 want to see Willy Reilly." 
 
 " What do you want with him, Tom ? he's engaged with 
 the master." 
 
 " Must see him, Mista John ; stitch in time saves nine. 
 Hicko ! hicko ! God's sake, Mista John : God's sake ! 
 Up dere ;" and as he spoke he pointed towards the sky. 
 
 11 Well, but what is your business, then ? What have you 
 to say to him ? He's engaged, I tell you." 
 
 Tom, apprehensive that he might not get an opportunity 
 of communicating with Reilly, bolted in, and as the parlor 
 door stood open, he saw him standing near the large chiin- 
 ney-piece. 
 
 "Willy Reilly!" he exclaimed in a voice that trembled 
 with earnestness, " Willy Reilly, dere's news for you — for 
 de squire too — bad news — God's sake come wid Tom — you 
 tall too, Willy Reilly, but not tall as Tom is." 
 
 " What is the matter, Tom ?" asked Reilly ; " you look 
 alarmed." 
 
 " God's sake, here, Willy Reilly," replied the kind- 
 hearted fool, " come wid Tom. Bad news. " 
 
 "Hallo! exclaimed the squire, "what is the matter? 
 Is this Tom Steeple ? Go to the kitchen, Tom, and get one 
 of your ' bully dinners' — my poor fellow — off with you — and 
 a pot of beer, Tom." 
 
 An expression of distress, probably heightened by his
 
 42 WILLY RELLLY. 
 
 vague and unconscious sense of the squire's kindness, was 
 depicted strongly on his countenance, and ended in a burst 
 of tears. 
 
 "Ha!" exclaimed Reilly, " poor Tom, sir, was with us 
 to-night on our duck-shooting excursion, and, now that I 
 remember, remained behind us in the old ruin — and then he 
 is in tears. What can this mean ? I will go with you, Tom 
 — excuse me, sir, for a few minutes — there can be no harm 
 in hearing what he has to say." 
 
 He accompanied the fool, with whom he remained for 
 about six or eight minutes, after which he re-entered the 
 parlor with a face which strove in vain to maintain its pre- 
 vious expression of ease and serenity. 
 
 " Well, Willy?" said the squire — " you see, by the way, 
 I mike an old acquaintance of you — " 
 
 " You do me honor, sir," replied Reilly. 
 
 " Well, what was this mighty matter ? Not a fool's mes- 
 sage, I hope ? eh !" 
 
 11 No, sir," said the other, " but a matter of some impor- 
 tance." 
 
 11 John," asked his master, as the butler entered, " did 
 you give those worthy fellows the money ?" 
 
 " No, your honor," replied the other, " they were gone 
 before I went out." 
 
 ' ' Well, well, ' ' replied his master, ' ' it can't be helped. You 
 will excuse me, Mr. — a — a — yes — Mr. Reilly — Willy — Willy 
 — ay, that's it — you will excuse me, Willy, for not bringing 
 you to the drawing-room. The fact is, neither of us is in a 
 proper trim to go there — both travel-soiled, as they say — you 
 with duck-shooting and I with a long ride — besides, I am 
 quite too much fatigued to change my dress — John, some 
 Madeira. I'm better than I was — but still dreadfully ex- 
 hausted — and afterwards, John, tell your mistress that her 
 father wishes to see her here. First, the Madeira, though, 
 till I recruit myself a little. A glass or two will do neither 
 of us any harm, Willy, but a great deal of good. God bless 
 me ! what an escape I've had ! what a dreadful fate you 
 rescued me from, my young friend and preserver — for as 
 such I will ever look upon you." 
 
 " Sir," replied Reilly, " I will not deny that the appear- 
 ance of myself and my companions, in all probability, saved 
 your life."
 
 WILL Y REILL Y. 43 
 
 " There was no probability in it, Willy — none at all ; it 
 would have been a dead certainty in every sense. My God ! 
 Here, John — put it down here — fill for that gentleman and 
 me — thank you, John — Willy," he said as he took the glass 
 in his trembling hand — " Willy — John, withdraw and send 
 down my daughter — Willy" — the old man looked at him, 
 but was too full to utter a word. At this moment his 
 daughter entered the room, and her father, laying down the 
 glass, opened his arms, and said in a choking voice, 
 " Helen, my daughter — my child — come to me ;" and as 
 she threw herself into them he embraced her tenderly and 
 wept aloud. 
 
 " Dear papa !" she exclaimed, after the first burst of his 
 grief was over, "what has affected you so deeply? Why 
 are you so much agitated ?" 
 
 11 Look at that noble young man," he exclaimed, direct- 
 ing her attention to Reilly, who was still standing. " Look 
 at him, my life, and observe him well ; there he stands who 
 has this night saved your loving father from the deadly aim 
 of an assassin — from being murdered by O'Donnel, the Red 
 Rapparee, in the lonely moors." 
 
 Reilly, from the moment the far-famed Cooleen Bawn en- 
 tered the room, heard not a syllable the old man had said. 
 He was absorbed, entranced, struck with a sensation of 
 wonder, surprise, agitation, joy, and confusion, all nearly at 
 the same moment. Such a blaze of beauty, such elegance 
 of person, such tenderness and feeling as chastened the radi- 
 ance of her countenance into something that might be 
 termed absolutely divine ; such symmetry of form ; such 
 harmony of motion ; such a seraphic being in the shape of 
 woman, he had, in fact, never seen or dreamt of. She 
 seemed as if surrounded by an atmosphere of light, of dig- 
 nity, of goodness, of grace ; but that which, above all, 
 smote his heart on the moment was the spirit of tenderness 
 and profound sensibility which seemed to predominate in 
 her whole being. Why did his manly and intrepid heart 
 palpitate ? Why did such a strange confusion seize upon 
 him ? Why did the few words whicti she uttered in her 
 father's arms fill his ears with a melody that charmed him 
 out of his strength ? Alas ! is it necessary to ask ? To 
 those who do not understand this mystery, no explanation
 
 44 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 could be of any avail ; and to those who do, none is neces- 
 sary. 
 
 After her father had spoken, she raised herself from his 
 arms, and assuming her full height — and she was tall — 
 looked for a moment with her dark, deep, and terrible eyes 
 upon Reilly, who in the meantime felt rapt, spell-bound, 
 and stood, whilst his looks were riveted upon these irresist- 
 ible orbs, as if he had been attracted by the influence of 
 some delightful but supernatural power, under which he felt 
 himself helpless. 
 
 That mutual gaze and that delightful moment ! alas ! 
 how many hours of misery — of sorrow — of suffering — and of 
 madness did they not occasion ! 
 
 " Papa has imposed a task upon me, sir," she said, ad- 
 vancing gracefully towards him, her complexion now palej 
 and again overspread with deep blushes. " What do I say? 
 A task — a task ! to thank the preserver of my father's life — 
 I know not what I say : help me, sir, to papa — I am weak — 
 I am — " Reilly flew to her, and caught her in his arms just 
 in time to prevent her from falling. 
 
 " My God !" exclaimed her father, getting to his feet, 
 " what is the matter ? I was wrong to mention the circum- 
 stance so abruptly ; I ought to have prepared her for it. 
 You are strong, Reilly, you are strong, and I am too feeble 
 — carry her to the settee. There, God bless you ! — God 
 bless you ! — she will soon recover. Helen ! my child ! my 
 life ! What, Helen ! Come, dearest love, be a woman. I 
 am safe, as you may see, dearest. I tell you I sustained no 
 injury in life — not a hair of my head Was hurt ; thanks to 
 Mr. Reilly for it — thanks to this gentleman. Oh ! that's 
 right, bravo, Helen — bravo, my girl ! See that, Reilly, 
 isn't she a glorious creature ? She recovers now, to set her 
 old loving father's heart at ease." 
 
 The weakness, for it did not amount altogether to insensi- 
 bility, was only of brief duration. 
 
 " Dear papa," said she, raising herself, and withdrawing 
 gently and modestly from Reilly 's support, " I was unpre- 
 pared for the account of this dreadful affair. Excuse me, 
 sir ; surely you will admit that a murderous attack on 
 dear papa's life could not be listened to by his only child 
 with indifference. But do let me know how it happened, 
 papa."
 
 WILL Y RE ILL V. 45 
 
 11 You are not yet equal to it, darling ; you are too much 
 agitated." 
 
 "lam equal to it now, papa ! Pray, let me hear it, and 
 how this gentleman — who will be kind enough to imagine 
 my thanks, for, indeed, no language could express them — 
 and how this gentleman was the means of saving you." 
 
 " Perhaps, Miss Folliard," said E.eilly, " it would be bet- 
 ter to defer the explanation until you shall have gained more 
 strength." 
 
 11 Oh, no, sir," she replied ; " my anxiety to hear it will 
 occasion me greater suffering, I am sure, than the knowl- 
 edge of it, especially now that papa is safe." 
 
 Reilly bowed in. acquiescence, but not in consequence of 
 her words ; a glance as quick as the lightning, but full of 
 entreaty and gratitude, and something like joy — for who 
 does not know the many languages which the single glance of 
 a lovely woman can speak ? — such a glance, we say, accom- 
 panied her words, and at once won him to assent. 
 
 11 Miss Folliard may be right, sir," he observed, " and as 
 the shock has passed, perhaps to make her briefly acquaint- 
 ed with the circumstances will rather relieve her. ' ' 
 
 11 Right," said her father, "so it will, Willy, so it will, 
 especially, thank God, as there has been no harm done. 
 Look at this now ! Get away, you saucy baggage ! Your 
 poor loving father has only just escaped being shot, and 
 now he runs the risk of being strangled." 
 
 11 Dear, dear papa," she said, " who could have thought 
 of injuring you — you with your angry tongue, but your gen- 
 erous and charitable and noble heart?" and again she 
 wound her exquisite and lovely arms about his neck and 
 kissed him, whilst a fresh gush of tears came to her eyes. 
 
 " Come, Helen — come, love, be quiet now, or I shall not 
 tell you any thing more about my rescue by that gallant 
 young fellow standing before you." 
 
 This was followed, on her part, by another glance at 
 Reilly, and the glance was as speedily followed by a blush, 
 and again a host of tumultuous emotions crowded around 
 his heart. 
 
 The old man, placing her head upon his bosom, kissed 
 and patted her, after which he related briefly, and in such 
 a way as not, if possible, to excite her afresh, the circum- 
 stances with which the reader is already acquainted. At
 
 4 6 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 the close, however, when he came to the part which Reilly 
 had borne in the matter, and dwelt at more length on his 
 intrepidity and spirit, and the energy of character and cour- 
 age with which he quelled the terrible Rapparee, he was 
 obliged to stop for a moment, and say, 
 
 11 Why, Helen, whit is the matter, my darling ? Are you 
 getting ill again ? Your little heart is going at a gallop- 
 bless me, how it pit-a-pats. There, now, you've heard it all 
 — here I am, safe — and there stands the gentleman to 
 whom, under God, we are both indebted for it. And now 
 let us have dinner, darling, for we have not dined." 
 
 Apologies on the part of Reilly, who really had dined, 
 were flung to the winds by the old squire. 
 
 1 ' What matter, Willy ? what matter, man ? — sit at the 
 table, pick something — curse it, we won't eat you. Your 
 dress ? never mind your dress. I am sure Helen here will 
 not find fault with it. Come, Helen, use your influence, 
 love. And you, sir, Willy Reilly, give her your arm." 
 This he added in consequence of dinner having been an- 
 nounced while he spoke ; and so they passed into the din- 
 ing-room. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 DARING ATTEMPT OF THE RED RAPPAREE — MYSTERIOUS 
 DISAPPEARANCE OF HIS GANG — THE AVOWAL. 
 
 WE must go back a little. When Helen sank under the 
 dreadful intelligence of the attempt made to assassinate 
 her father, we stated at the time that she was not absolutely 
 insensible ; and this was the fact. Reilly, already enraptured 
 by such wonderful grace and beauty as the highest flight of 
 his imagination could never have conceived, when called 
 upon by her father to carry her to the sofa, could scarcely 
 credit his senses that such a lovely and precious burden 
 should ever be entrusted to him, much less borne in his 
 very arms. In order to prevent her from falling, he was 
 literally obliged to throw them around her', and, to a certain 
 extent, to press her — for the purpose of supporting her —
 
 WILLY REILLY. 47 
 
 against his heart, the pulsations of which were going at a 
 tremendous speed. There was, in fact, something so soft, 
 so pitiable, so beautiful, and at the same time so exquisitely 
 pure and fragrant, in this lovely creature, as her head lay 
 drooping on his shoulder, her pale cheek literally lying 
 against his, that it is not at all to be wondered at that the 
 beatings of his heart were accelerated to an unusual degree. 
 Now she, from her position upon his bosom, necessarily felt 
 this rapid action of its tenant ; when, therefore, her father, 
 after her recovery, on reciting for her the fearful events of 
 the evening, and dwelling upon Reilly's determination and 
 courage, expressed alarm at the palpitations of her heart, a 
 glance passed between them which each, once and forever, 
 understood. She had felt the agitation of /lis, who had 
 risked his life in defence of her father, for in this shape the 
 old man had truly put it ; and now she knew from her 
 father's observations, as his arm lay upon her own, that the 
 interest which his account of Reilly's chivalrous conduct 
 throughout the whole affair had excited in it were discovered. 
 In this case heart spoke to heart, and by the time they sat 
 down to dinner, each felt conscious that their passion, brief 
 as was the period of their acquaintance, had become, whether 
 for good or evil, the uncontrollable destiny of their lives. 
 
 William Reilly was the descendant of an old and noble 
 Irish family. His ancestors had gone through all the vicis- 
 situdes and trials, and been engaged in most of the civil 
 broils and wars, which, in Ireland, had characterized the 
 reign of Elizabeth. As we are not disposed to enter into a 
 disquisition upon the history of that stormy period, unless 
 to say that we believe in our souls both parties were equally 
 savage and inhuman, and that there was not, literally, a toss 
 up between them, we have only to add that Reilly's family, 
 at least that branch of it to which he belonged, had been 
 reduced by the ruin that resulted from the civil wars, and 
 the confiscations peculiar to the times. His father had 
 made a good deal of money abroad in business, but feeling 
 that melancholy longing for his native soil, for the dark 
 mountains and the green fields of his beloved country, he 
 returned to it, and having taken a large farm of about a 
 thousand acres, under a peculiar tenure, which we shall 
 mention ere we close, he devoted himself to pasturage and 
 agriculture. Old Reilly had been for some years dead, and
 
 48 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 his eldest son, William, was now not only the head of his 
 immediate family, but of that great branch of it to which 
 he belonged, although he neither claimed nor exercised the 
 honor. In Reilly, many of those irreconcilable points of 
 character, which scarcely ever meet in the disposition of any 
 but an Irishman, were united. He was at once mild and 
 impetuous ; under peculiar circumstances, humble and un- 
 assuming, but in others, proud almost to a fault ; a bitter 
 foe to oppression in every sense, and to bigotry in every 
 creed. He was highly educated, and as perfect a master of 
 French, Spanish, and German, as he was of either English 
 or Irish, both of which he spoke with equal fluency and 
 purity. To his personal courage we need not make any 
 further allusion. On many occasions it had been well tested 
 on the Continent. He was an expert and unrivalled swords- 
 man, and a first-rate shot, whether with the pistol or fowl- 
 ing-piece. At every athletic exercise he was matchless ; 
 and one great cause of his extraordinary popularity among 
 the peasantry was the pleasure he took in promoting the 
 exercise of such manly sports among them. In his person 
 he combined great strength with remarkable grace and ease. 
 The wonderful symmetry of his form took away apparently 
 from his size ; but on looking at and examining him closely, 
 you felt surprised at the astonishing fulness of his propor- 
 tions and the prodigious muscular power which lay under 
 such deceptive elegance. As for his features, they were re- 
 plete with that manly expression which changes with, and 
 becomes a candid exponent of, every feeling that influences 
 the heart. His mouth was fine, and his full red lips exqui- 
 sitely chiselled ; his chin was full of firmness ; and his large 
 dark eyes, though soft, mellow, and insinuating, had yet a 
 sparkle in them that gave evidence of a fiery spirit when 
 provoked, as well as of a high sense of self-respect and 
 honor. His complexion was slightly bronzed by residence 
 in continental climates, a circumstance that gave a warmth 
 and mellowness to his features, which, when taken into con- 
 sideration with his black, clustering locks, and the snowy 
 whiteness of his forehead, placed him in the very highest 
 order of handsome men. 
 
 Such was our hero, the fame of whose personal beauty, as 
 well as that of the ever-memorable Coolecn Bawn, is yet a 
 tradition in the country.
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 49 
 
 On this occasion the dinner-party consisted only of the 
 squire, his daughter, and Reilly. The old man, on reflect- 
 ing that he was now safe, felt his spirits revive apace. His 
 habits of life were jolly and convivial, but not actually in- 
 temperate, although it must be admitted that on some occa- 
 sions he got into the debatable ground. To those who did 
 not know him, and who were acquainted through common 
 report only with his unmitigated abuse of Popery, he was 
 looked upon as an oppressive and overbearing tyrant, who 
 would enforce, to the furthest possible stretch of severity, the 
 penal enactments then in existence against Roman Catholics. 
 And this, indeed, was true, so far as any one was concerned 
 from whom he imagined himself to have received an injury ; 
 against such he was a vindictive tyrant, and a most impla- 
 cable persecutor. By many, on the other hand, he was con- 
 sidered as an eccentric man, with a weak head, but a heart 
 that often set all his anti-Catholic prejudices at complete 
 defiance. 
 
 At dinner the squire had most of the conversation to 
 himself, his loquacity and good-humor having been very 
 much improved by a few glasses of his rich old Madeira. 
 His daughter, on the other hand, seemed frequently in a 
 state of abstraction, and, on more than one occasion, found 
 herself incapable of answering several questions which he put 
 to her. Ever and anon the timid, blushing glance was direct- 
 ed at Reilly, by whom it was returned with a significance that 
 went directly to her heart. Both, in fact, appeared to be 
 influenced by some secret train of thought that seemed quite 
 at variance with the old gentleman's garrulity. 
 
 11 Well," said he, " here we are, thank God, all safe ; and 
 it is to you, Willy, we owe it. Come, man, take off your 
 wine. Isn't he a fine young fellow, Helen ?" 
 
 Helen's heart, at the moment, had followed her eyes, and 
 she did not hear him. 
 
 11 Hallo ! what the deuce ! By the banks of the Boyne, T 
 believe the girl has lost her hearing. I say, Helen, isn't 
 Willy Reilly here, that prevented you from being an orphan, 
 a fine young fellow ?" 
 
 A sudden rosy blush suffused her whole neck and face on 
 hearing this blunt and inconsiderate question. 
 
 11 What, darling, have you not heard me ?" 
 
 " If Mr. Reilly were not present, papa, I might give an
 
 5° WILLY REILLY. 
 
 opinion on that subject ; but I trust you will excuse me 
 now." 
 
 " Well, I suppose so ; there's no getting women to speak 
 to the point. At all events, I would give more than I'll 
 mention that Sir Robert Whitecraft was as good-looking a 
 specimen of a man ; I'll engage, if he was, you would have 
 no objection to say jr^, my girl." 
 
 " I look to the disposition, papa, to the moral feelings 
 and principles, more than to the person." 
 
 " Well, Helen, that's right too — all right, darling, and on 
 that account Sir Robert must and ought to be a favorite. 
 He is not yet forty, and for this he is himself my authority, 
 and forty is the prime of life ; yet, with an immense fortune 
 and strong temptations, he has never launched out into a 
 single act of imprudence or folly. No, Helen, he never 
 sowed a peck of wild oats in his life. He is, on the con- 
 trary, sober, grave, silent — a little too much so, by the way 
 — cautious, prudent, and saving No man knows the value 
 of money better, nor can contrive to make it go further. 
 Then, as for managing a bargain — upon my soul, I don't think 
 he treated me well, though, in the swop of ' Hop-and-go-con- 
 stant ' against my precious bit of blood, ' Pat the Spanker.' 
 He made me pay him twenty-five pounds boot for an old — 
 But you shall see him, Reilly, you shall see him, Willy, and 
 if ever there was a greater take in — you needn't smile, 
 Helen, nor look at Willy. By the good King William that 
 saved us from Pope, and — ahem — I beg pardon, Willy, but, 
 upon my soul, he took me completely in. I say, I shall 
 show you Hop-and-go-constant, and when you see him you'll 
 admit the ' Hop,' but the devil a bit -you will find of the 
 1 Go-constant.' " 
 
 "I suppose the gentleman's personal appearance, sir," 
 observed Reilly, glancing at Miss Folliard, " is equal to his 
 other qualities." 
 
 "Why — a — ye — s. He's tall and thin and serious, with 
 something about him, say, of a philosopher. Isn't that 
 true. Helen ?" 
 
 11 Perfectly, papa," she replied, with a smile of arch 
 humor, which, to Reilly, placed her character in a new light. 
 
 " Perfectly true, papa, so far as you have gone ; but I 
 trust you will finish the portrait for Mr. Reilly." 
 
 " Well, then, I will. Where was I ? Oh, yes—tall, thin,
 
 WILLY REILLY. 51 
 
 and serious ; like a philosopher. I'll go next to the shoul- 
 ders, because Helen seems to like them — they are a little 
 round or so. I, myself, wish to goodness they were some- 
 what straighter, but Helen says the curve is delightful, being 
 what painters and glaziers call the line of beauty." 
 
 A sweet light laugh, that rang with the melody of a musi- 
 cal bell, broke from Helen at this part of the description, in 
 which, to tell the truth, she was joined by Reilly. The old 
 man himself, from sheer happiness and good-humor, joined 
 them both, though utterly ignorant of the cause of their 
 mirth. 
 
 "Aye, aye," he exclaimed, "you may laugh — by the 
 great Boyne, I knew I would make you laugh. Well, I'll 
 go on ; his complexion is of a — a — no matter — of a good 
 standing color, at all events ; his nose, I grant you, is as 
 thin, and much of the same color, as pasteboard, but as a 
 set-off to that it's a thorough Williamite. Isn't that true, 
 Helen?" 
 
 11 Yes, papa ; but I think King William's nose was the 
 worst feature in his face, although that certainly cannot be 
 said of Sir Robert." 
 
 " Do you hear that, Reilly ? I wish Sir Robert heard it, 
 but I'll tell him — there's a compliment, Helen — you're a 
 good girl — thank you, Helen." 
 
 Helen's face was now radiant with mirthful enjoyment, 
 whilst at the same time Reilly could perceive that from time 
 to time a deep unconscious sigh would escape from her, 
 such a sigh as induced him to infer that some hidden care 
 was at work with her heart. This he at once imputed to her 
 father's determination to force her into a marriage with the 
 worthy baronet, whom in his simplicity he was so ludic- 
 rously describing. 
 
 11 Proceed, papa, and finish as you have begun it." 
 
 11 I will, to oblige and gratify you, Helen. He is a little 
 close about the knees, Mr. Reilly — a little close about the 
 knees, Willy." 
 
 11 And about the heart, papa," added his daughter, who, 
 for the life of her, could not restrain the observation. 
 
 " It's no fault to know the value of money, my dear 
 child. However, let me go on — close about the knees, but 
 that's a proof of strength, because they support one an- 
 other : every one knows that."
 
 52 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 11 But his arms, papa ?" 
 
 11 You see, Reilly, you see, Willy," said the squire, nod- 
 ding in the direction of his daughter, " not a bad sign that, 
 and yet she pretends not to care about him. She is grati- 
 fied, evidently. Ah, Helen, Helen ! it's hard to know 
 women. ' ' 
 
 11 But his arms, papa ?" 
 
 11 Well, then, I wish to goodness you would allow me to 
 skip that part of the subject — they are an awful length, 
 Willy, I grant. I allow the fact, it cannot be denied, they 
 are of an awful length." 
 
 " It will give him the greater advantage in over-reaching, 
 papa." 
 
 1 ' Well, as to his arms, upon my soul, Willy, I know no 
 more what to do with them — " 
 
 '* Than he does himself, papa." 
 
 11 Just so, Helen ; they hang about him like those of a 
 skeleton on wires ; but, on the other hand, he has a neck 
 that always betokens true blood, long and thin like that of 
 a racer. Altogether he's a devilish interesting man, steady, 
 prudent, and sober. I never saw him drink a third glass 
 of— " 
 
 11 In the meantime, papa," observed Helen, " in the en- 
 thusiasm of your description you are neglecting Mr. Reilly." 
 
 Ah, love, love ! in how many minute points can you make 
 yourself understood ! 
 
 11 By the great William, and so I am. Come, Willy, help 
 yourself" — and he pushed the bottle towards him as he 
 spoke. 
 
 And why, gentle reader, did Reilly fill his glass on that 
 particular occasion until it became literally a brimmer ? We 
 know — but if you are ignorant of it we simply beg you to 
 remain so ; and why, on putting the glass to his lips, did 
 his large dark eyes rest upon her with that deep and melting 
 glance ? Why, too, was that glance returned with the quick- 
 ness of thought before her lids dropped, and the conscious 
 blush suffused her face ? The solution of this we must also 
 leave to your own ingenuity. 
 
 "Well," proceeded the squire, "steady, prudent, sober 
 — of a fine old family, and with an estate of twelve thousand 
 a year — what do you think of that, Willy ? Isn't she a 
 fortunate girl ?"
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 53 
 
 " Taking his virtues and very agreeable person into con- 
 sideration, sir, I think so," replied Reilly in atone of slight 
 sarcasm, which was only calculated to reach one of his au- 
 dience. 
 
 " You hear that, Helen — you hear what Mr. Reilly — what 
 Willy — says. The fact is, I'll call you nothing but Willy in 
 future, Willy — you hear what he says, darling ?" 
 
 " Indeed I do, papa — and understand it perfectly." 
 
 11 That's my girl. Twelve thousand a year — and has 
 money lent out at every rate of interest from six per cent 
 
 u p-" 
 
 11 And yet I cannot consider him as interesting on that 
 account, papa." 
 
 " You do, Helen — nonsense, my love — you do, I tell you 
 — it's all make-believe when you speak to the contrary — 
 don't you call the curve on his shoulders the line of beauty ? 
 Come — come — you know I only want to make you happy. ' ' 
 
 "It is time, papa, that I should withdraw," she replied, 
 rising. 
 
 Reilly rose to open the door. 
 
 " Good-night, papa — dear, dear papa," she added, put- 
 ting her snowy arms about his neck and kissing him tenderly. 
 " 1 know," she added, " that the great object of your life 
 is to make your Coolecn Bawn happy — and in doing so, dear 
 papa — there now is another kiss for you — a little bribe, papa 
 — in doing so, consult her heart as well as your own. Good- 
 night." 
 
 " Good-night, my treasure." 
 
 During this little scene of affectionate tenderness Reilly 
 stood holding the door open, and as she was going out, as if 
 recollecting herself, she turned to him and said, " Pardon 
 me, Mr. Reilly, I fear you must think me ungrateful ; I 
 have not yet thanked you for the service — a service indeed 
 so important that no language could find expression for it 
 — which you have rendered to dear papa, and to me. But, 
 Mr. Reilly, I pray you do not think me ungrateful, or 
 insensible, for, indeed, I am neither. Suffer me to feel 
 what I owe you, and do not blame me if I cannot express 
 it." 
 
 11 If it were not for the value of the life which it is prob- 
 able I have saved, and if it w r ere not that your happiness 
 was so deeply involved in it," replied Reilly, " I would say
 
 54 WILLY XL ILLY. 
 
 that you overrate what I have done this evening. But I 
 confess I am myself now forced to see the value of my 
 services, and I thank heaven for having made me the hum- 
 ble instrument of saving your father's life, not only for his 
 own sake, Miss Folliard, but for yours. I now feel a double 
 debt of gratitude to heaven for it." 
 
 The Coolecn Bawn did not speak, but the tears ran down 
 her cheeks. "Good-night, sir," she said. "I am utterly 
 incapable of thanking you as you deserve, and as I ought to 
 thank you. Good-night!" 
 
 She extended her small snowy hand to him as she spoke. 
 Reilly took it in his, and by some involuntary impulse he 
 could not avoid giving it a certain degree of pressure. The 
 fact is, it was such a hand — so white — so small — so soft — so 
 warm — so provocative of a squeeze — that he felt his own 
 pressing it, he knew not how nor wherefore, at least he 
 thought so at the time ; that is to say, if we were capable of 
 thinking distinctly of any thing. But heaven and earth ! 
 Was it true ? No delusion ? No dream ? The pressure re- 
 turned ! the slightest, the most gentle, the most delicate 
 pressure — the barely perceptible pressure ! Yes ! it was 
 beyond all doubt ; for although the act itself was light as 
 delicacy and modesty could make it, yet the spirit — the 
 lightening spirit — which it shot into his bounding and enrap- 
 tured heart could not be for a moment mistaken. 
 
 As she was running up the stairs she returned, however, 
 and again approaching her father, said — whilst Reilly could 
 observe that her cheek was flushed with a feeling that seemed 
 to resemble ecstacy — " Papa," said she, " what a stupid girl 
 I am ! I scarcely know what I am saying or doing." 
 
 " By the great Boyne, " replied her father, " I'll describe 
 him to you every night in the week. I knew the curve — the 
 line of beauty — would get into your head ; but what is it, 
 darling ?" 
 
 " Will you and Mr. Reilly have tea in the drawing-room, 
 or shall I send it down to you ?" 
 
 "I am too comfortable in my easy chair, dear Helen : 
 no, send it down." 
 
 " After the shock you have received, papa, perhaps you 
 might wish to have it from the hand of your own Coolcen 
 Bawn?" 
 
 As the old man turned his eyes upon her they literally
 
 WILLY REILLY, 55 
 
 danced with delight. " Ah, Vv T illy !" said he, " is it any won- 
 der 1 should love her ?" 
 
 " I have often heard," replied Reilly, " that it is impossi- 
 ble to know her, and not to love her. I now believe it." 
 
 "Thank you, Reilly; thank you, Willy; shake hands. 
 Come, Helen, shake hands with him. That's a compliment. 
 Shake hands with him, darling. There, now, that's all 
 right. Yes, my love, by all means, come down and give us 
 tea here." 
 
 Innocent old man — the die is now irrevocably cast ! That 
 mutual pressure, and that mutual glance. Alas ! alas ! how 
 strange and incomprehensible is human destiny ! 
 
 After she had gone upstairs the old man said, "You 
 see, Willy, how my heart and soul are in that angelic crea- 
 ture. The great object, the great delight of her life, is to 
 anticipate all my wants, to study whatever is agreeable to 
 me — in fact, to make me happy. And she succeeds. 
 Every thing she does pleases me. By the grave of Schom- 
 berg, she's beyond all price. It is true we never had a 
 baronet in the family, and it would gratify me to hear 
 her called Lady Whitecraft ; still, I say, I don't care for 
 rank or ambition ; nor would I sacrifice my child's happiness 
 to either. And, between you and me, if she declines to 
 have him, she shan't have him, that's all that's to be said 
 about it. He's quite round in the shoulders ; and yet so 
 inconsistent are women that she calls a protuberance that 
 resembles the letter C the line of beauty. Then again he 
 bit me in ' Hop-and-go-constant ; ' and you know yourself, 
 Willy, that no person likes to be bit, especially by the man 
 he intends for his son-in-law. If he gives me the bite before 
 marriage, what would he not do after it ?' ' 
 
 " This, sir, is a subject," replied Reilly, " on which I 
 must decline to give an opinion ; but I think that no father 
 should sacrifice the happiness of his daughter to his own 
 inclinations. However, setting this matter aside, I have 
 something of deep importance to mention to you." 
 
 " To me ! Good heavens ! What is it ?" 
 
 11 The Red Rapparee, sir, has formed a plan to rob, pos- 
 sibly to murder, you, and what is worse — " 
 
 " Worse ! Why, what the deuce — worse ! Why, what 
 could be worse ?' ' 
 
 11 The dishonor of your daughter. It is his intention to
 
 56 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 carry her off to the mountains ; but pardon me, I cannot 
 bear to dwell upon the diabolical project." 
 
 The old man fell back, pale, and almost insensible, in his 
 chair. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed, sir," proceeded Reilly, " he will be 
 disappointed. I have taken care of that." 
 
 11 But, Mr. Reilly, what — how — for heaven's sake tell me 
 what you know about it. Are you sure of this ? How did 
 you come to hear of it ? Tell me — tell me every thing 
 about it ! We must prepare to receive the villains — we 
 must instantly get assistance. My child — my life — my 
 Helen, to fall into the hands of this monster !" 
 
 "Hear me, sir," said Reilly, "hear me, and you will 
 perceive that I have taken measures to frustrate all his de- 
 signs, and to have him a prisoner before to-morrow's sun 
 arises." 
 
 He then related to him the plan laid by the Red Rap- 
 paree, as overheard by Tom Steeple, and as it was commu- 
 nicated to himself by the same individual subsequently, 
 after which he proceeded : 
 
 " The fact is, sir, I have sent the poor fool, who is both 
 faithful and trustworthy, to summon here forty or fifty of 
 my laborers and tenants. They must be placed in the out- 
 houses, and whatever arms and ammunition you can spare, 
 in addition to the weapons which they shall bring along 
 with them, must be made available. I sent orders that they 
 should be here about nine o'clock. I, myself, will remain in 
 this house, and you may rest assured that your life, your 
 property, and your child shall be all safe. I know the 
 strength of the ruffian's band ; it only consists of about 
 twelve men, or rather twelve devils, but he and they will 
 find themselves mistaken." 
 
 Before Miss Folliard came down to make tea, Reilly had 
 summoned the servants, and given them instructions as to 
 their conduct during the expected attack. Having arranged 
 this, he went to the yard, and found a large body of his ten- 
 ants armed with such rude weapons as they could procure ; 
 for, at this period, it was a felony for a Roman Catholic to 
 have or carry arms at all. The old squire, however, was 
 well provided in that respect, and, accordingly, such as 
 could be spared from the house were distributed among 
 them. Mr. Folliard himself felt his spirit animated by a
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 57 
 
 sense of the danger, and bustled about with uncommon 
 energy and activity, considering what he had suffered in the 
 course of the evening. At all events, they both resolved to 
 conceal the matter from Helen till the last moment, in order 
 to spare her the terror and alarm which she must necessa/ily 
 feel on hearing of the contemplated violence. At tea, how- 
 ever, she could not avoid observing that something had dis- 
 turbed her father, who, from his naturally impetuous char- 
 acter, ejaculated, from time to time, " The bloodthirsty 
 scoundrel ! — murdering ruffian ! We shall hang him, 
 though ; we can hang him for the conspiracy. Would the 
 fool's, Tom Steeples', evidence be taken, do you think ?" 
 
 11 I fear not, sir," replied Reilly. " In the meantime, 
 don't think of it, don't further distress yourself about it." 
 
 11 To think of attacking my house, though ; and if it were 
 only I myself that — however, we are prepared, that's one com- 
 fort ; we are prepared, and let them — hem ! — Helen, my dar- 
 ling, now that we've had our tea, will you retire to your own 
 room. I wish to talk to Mr. Reilly here, on a particular 
 and important subject, in which you yourself are deeply 
 concerned. Withdraw, my love, but don't go to bed until 
 I see you again." 
 
 Helen went upstairs with a light foot and a bounding 
 heart. A certain hope, like a dream of far-off and unex- 
 pected happiness, rushed into and filled her bosom with a 
 crowd of sensations so delicious that, on reaching her own 
 room, she felt completely overpowered by them, and was 
 only relieved by a burst of tears. There was now but one 
 image before her imagination, but one image impressed 
 upon her pure and fervent heart ; that image was the first 
 that love had ever stamped there, and the last that suffering, 
 sorrow, madness, and death were ever able to tear from it. 
 
 When the night had advanced to the usual hour for retir- 
 ing to rest, it was deemed necessary to make Helen ac- 
 quainted with the meditated outrage, in order to prevent the 
 consequences of a nocturnal alarm for which she might be 
 altogether unprepared. This was accordingly done, and 
 her natural terrors were soothed and combated by Reilly 
 and her father, who succeeded in reviving her courage, and 
 in enabling her to contemplate what was to happen with tol- 
 erable composure. 
 
 Until about the hour of two o'clock every thing remained
 
 5$ WILLY RELLLY. 
 
 silent. Nobody went to bed — the male servants were all 
 prepared — the females, some in tears, and others sustaining 
 and comforting those who were more feeble-hearted. Miss 
 Folliard was in her own room, dressed. At about half past 
 two she heard a stealthy foot, and having extinguished the 
 light in her apartment, with great presence of mind she 
 rang the bell, whilst at the same moment her door was bro- 
 ken in, and a man, as she knew by his step, entered. In 
 the meantime the house was alarmed ; the man having 
 hastily projected his arms about in several directions, as if 
 searching for her, instantly retreated, a scuffle was heard 
 outside on the lobby, and when lights and assistance ap- 
 peared, there were found eight or ten men variously armed, 
 all of whom proved to be a portion of the guard selected by 
 Reilly to protect the house and family. These men main- 
 tained that they had seen the Red Rapparee on the roof of 
 the house, through which he had descended, and that hav- 
 ing procured a ladder from the farmyard, they entered a 
 back window, at a distance of about forty feet from the 
 ground, in the hope of securing his person — that they came 
 in contact with some powerful man in the dark, who dis- 
 appeared from among them — but by what means he had 
 contrived to escape they could not guess. This was the 
 substance of all they knew or understood upon the subject. 
 
 The whole house was immediately and thoroughly 
 searched, and no trace of him cou'd be found until they 
 came to the skylight, which was discovered to be opened — 
 wrenched off the hinges — and lying on the roof at a distance 
 of two cr three yards from its place. 
 
 It soon became evident that the Rapparee and his party 
 had taken the alarm. In an instant those who were outside 
 awaiting to pounce upon them in the moment of attack got 
 orders to scour the neighborhood, and if possible to secure 
 the Rapparee at every risk ; and as an inducement the 
 squire himself offered to pay the sum of five hundred 
 pounds to any one who should bring him to Corbo Castle,* 
 which was the name of his residence. This was accordingly 
 attempted, the country far and wide was searched, pursuit 
 given in every direction, but all to no purpose. Not only 
 was the failure complete, but, what was still more unac- 
 
 * This name is fictitious.
 
 WILLY REILLY. 59 
 
 countable and mysterious, no single mark or trace of them 
 could be found. This escape, however, did not much sur- 
 prise the inhabitants of the country at large, as it was only 
 in keeping with many of a far more difficult character which 
 the Rapparee had often effected. The only cause to which 
 it could be ascribed was the supposed fact of his having 
 taken such admirable precautions against surprise as enabled 
 his gang to disappear upon a preconcerted plan the moment 
 the friendly guards were discovered, whilst he himself dar- 
 ingly attempted to secure the squire's cash and his daugh- 
 ter. 
 
 Whether the supposition was right or wrong will appear 
 subsequently ; but, in the meantime, we may add here, that 
 the event in question, and the disappearance of the burglars, 
 was fatal to the happiness of our lovers, for such they were 
 in the tenderest and most devoted sense of that strange and 
 ungovernable passion. 
 
 Early the next morning the squire was so completely ex- 
 hausted by the consequences of watching, anxiety, and want 
 of rest, that he felt himself overcome by sleep, and was 
 obliged to go to bed. Before he went, however, he made 
 Reilly promise that he would not go until he had break- 
 fasted, then shook him cordially by the hand, thanked him 
 again and again for the deep and important obligations he 
 had imposed upon him and his child, and concluded by giv- 
 ing him a general invitation to his house, the doors of 
 which, he said, as well as the heart of its owner, should be 
 ever ready to receive him. 
 
 11 As for Helen, here," said he, "I leave her to thank you 
 herself, which I am sure she will do in a manner becoming 
 the services you have rendered her, before you go." She 
 then kissed him tenderly, and he retired to rest. 
 
 At breakfast, Reilly and Miss Folliard were, of course, 
 alone, if we may say so. Want of rest and apprehension 
 had given a cast of paleness to her features that, so far from 
 diminishing, only added a new and tender character to her 
 beauty. Reilly observed the exquisite loveliness of her 
 hand as she poured out the tea ; and when he remembered 
 the gentle but significant pressure which it had given to his, 
 more than once or twice, on the preceding night, he felt as 
 if he experienced a personal interest in her fate — as if their 
 destinies were to be united — as if his growing spirit could
 
 Go WILL Y REILL Y. 
 
 enfold hers, and mingle with it forever. The love he felt 
 for her pervaded and softened his whole being with such a 
 feeling of tenderness, timidity, and ecstasy, that his voice, 
 always manly and firm, now became tremulous in its tones ; 
 such, in truth, as is always occasioned by a full and over- 
 flowing heart when it trembles at the very opportunity of 
 pouring forth the first avowal of its affection. 
 
 " Miss Folliard," said he, after a pause, and with some 
 confusion, " do you believe in Fate ?" 
 
 The question appeared to take her somewhat by surprise, 
 if one could judge by the look she bestowed upon him with 
 her dark, flashing eyes. 
 
 " In Fate, Mr. Reilly ? that is a subject, I fear, too deep 
 for a girl like me. I believe in Providence." 
 
 11 All this morning I have been thinking of the subject. 
 Should it be Fate that brought me to the rescue of your 
 father last night, I cannot buffed glad of it ; but though it 
 be a Fate that has preserved him — and I thank Almighty 
 God for it — yet it is one that I fear has destroyed my happi- 
 ness." 
 
 " Destroyed your happiness, Mr. Reilly ! why, how could 
 the service you rendered papa last night have such an 
 effect?" 
 
 11 I will be candid, and tell you, Miss Folliard. I know 
 that what I am about to say will offend you — it was by mak- 
 ing me acquainted with his daughter, and by bringing me 
 under the influence of beauty which has unmanned — dis- 
 tracted me — beauty which I could not resist — which has 
 overcome me — subdued me — and which, because it is be- 
 yond my reach and my deserts, will occasion me an un- 
 happy life — how long soever that life may last." 
 
 " Mr. Reilly," exclaimed the Cooleen Bawn, " this — this 
 — is — I am quite unprepared for — I mean — to hear that 
 such noble and generous conduct to my father should end in 
 this. But it cannot be. Nay, I will not pretend to misun- 
 derstand you. After the service you have rendered to him 
 and to myself, it would be uncandid in me and unworthy of 
 you to conceal the distress which your words have caused 
 me." 
 
 "lam scarcely in a condition to speak reasonably and 
 calmly," replied Reilly, " but I cannot regret that I have 
 unconsciously sacrificed my happiness, when that sacrifice
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 61 
 
 has saved you from distress and grief and sorrow. Now 
 that T. know you, I would offer — lay down — my life, if the 
 sacrifice could save yours from one moment's care. I have 
 often heard of what love — love in its highest and noblest 
 sense — is able to do and to suffer for the good and happi- 
 ness of its object, but now I know it." 
 
 She spoke not, or rather she was unable to speak ; but as 
 she pulled out her snow-white handkerchief, Reilly could 
 observe the extraordinary tremor of her hands ; the face, 
 too, was deadly pale. 
 
 "lam not making love to you, Miss Folliard," he add- 
 ed. " No, my religion, my position in life, a sense of my 
 own unworthiness, would prevent that ; but I could not rest 
 unless you knew that there is one heart which, in the midst 
 of unhappiness and despair, can understand, appreciate, 
 and love you. I urge no claim. I am without hope." 
 
 The fair girl (Cooleen Bawti) could not restrain her tears ; 
 but wept — yes, she wept. " I was not prepared for this," 
 she replied. " I did not think that so short an acquaint- 
 ance could have — Oh, I know not what to say — nor how to 
 act. My father's prejudices. You are a Catholic." 
 
 " And will die one, Miss Folliard." 
 
 " But why should you be unhappy ? You do not deserve 
 to be so." 
 
 11 That is precisely what made me ask you just now if you 
 believed in fate." 
 
 " Oh, I know not. I cannot answer such a question ; 
 but why should you be unhappy, with your brave, generous, 
 and noble heart ? Surely, surely, you do not deserve it." 
 
 " I said before that I have no hope, Miss Folliard. I 
 shall carry with me my love of you through life ; it is my 
 first, and I feel it will be my last— it will be the melancholy 
 light that will burn in the sepulchre of my heart to show 
 your image there. And now, Miss Folliard, I will bid you 
 farewell. Your father has proffered me hospitality, but I 
 have not strength nor resolution to accept it. You now 
 know my secret — a hopeless passion." 
 
 " Reilly," she replied, weeping bitterly, " our acquaint- 
 ance has been short — we have not seen much of each other, 
 yet I will not deny that I believe you to be all that any 
 female heart could — pardon me, I am without experience — I 
 know not much of the world. You have travelled, papa
 
 62 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 told me last night ; I do not wish that you should be un- 
 happy, and, least of all, that I, who owe you so much, 
 should be the occasion of it. No, you talk of a hopeless 
 passion. I know not what I ought to say — but to the pre- 
 server of my father's life, and, probably my own honor, I 
 will say, be not — but why should love be separated from 
 truth ?" she said — " No, Reilly, be not hopeless." 
 
 " Oh," replied Reilly, who had gone over near her, " but 
 my soul will not be satisfied without a stronger affirmation. 
 This moment is the great crisis of my life and happiness. I 
 love you beyond all the power of language or expression. 
 You tremble, dear Miss Folliard, and you weep ; let me 
 wipe those precious tears away. Oh, would to God that 
 you loved me !" 
 
 He caught her hand — it was not withdrawn — he pressed it 
 as he had done the evening before. The pressure was re- 
 turned — his voice melted into tenderness that was conta- 
 gious and irresistible : " Say, dearest Helen, star of my life 
 and of my fate, oh, only say that I am not indifferent to 
 you." 
 
 They were both standing near the chimney-piece as he 
 spoke — " only say," he repeated, " that I am not indiffer- 
 ent to you." 
 
 "Well, then," she replied, "you are not indifferent to 
 me. ' ' 
 
 11 One admission more, my dearest life, and I am happy 
 forever. You love me ? say it, dearest, say it — or, stay, 
 whisper it, whisper it — you love me!" 
 
 " I do," she whispered in a burst of tears. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A SAPIENT PROJECT FOR OUR HERO'S CONVERSION — HIS 
 RIVAL MAKES HIS APPEARANCE, AND ITS CONSE- 
 QUENCES. 
 
 WE will not attempt to describe the tumult of delight 
 which agitated Reilly's heart on his way home, 
 after this tender interview with the most celebrated Irish
 
 WILLY REILLY. 63 
 
 beauty of that period. The term Coolccn Baiun, in native 
 Irish, has two meanings, both of which were justly applied 
 to her, and met in her person. It signifies fair locks, or, as 
 it may be pronounced fair girl ; and in either sense is 
 peculiarly applicable to a blonde beauty, which she was. 
 The name of Coolccn Baivn was applied to her by the popu- 
 lace, whose talent for finding out and bestowing epithets in- 
 dicative either of personal beauty or deformity, or of the 
 qualities of the mind or character, be they good or evil, is, 
 in Ireland, singularly felicitous. In the higher ranks, 
 however, she was known as " The Lily of the Plains of 
 Boyne, " and as such she was toasted by all parties, not 
 only in her own native county, but throughout Ireland, and at 
 the viceregal entertainments in the Castle of Dublin. At 
 the time of which we write, the penal laws were in operation 
 against the Roman Catholic population of the country, and 
 her father, a good-hearted man by nature, was wordy and 
 violent by prejudice, and yet secretly kind and friendly to 
 many of that unhappy creed, though by no means to all. It 
 was well known, however, that in every thing that was gen- 
 erous and good in his character, or in the discharge of his 
 public duties as a magistrate, he was chiefly influenced by 
 the benevolent and liberal principles of his daughter, who 
 was a general advocate for the oppressed, and to whom, 
 moreover, he could deny nothing. This accounted for her 
 popularity, as it does for the extraordinary veneration and 
 affection with which her name and misfortunes are men- 
 tioned down to the present day. The worst point in her 
 father's character was that he never could be prevailed 
 on to forgive an injury, or, at least, any act that he con- 
 ceived to be such, a weakness or a vice which was the 
 means of all his angelic and lovely daughter's calamities. 
 
 Reilly, though full of fervor and enthusiasm, was yet by 
 no means deficient in strong sense. On his way home he 
 began to ask himself in what this overwhelming passion for 
 Coolccn Bawn must end. His religion, he was well aware, 
 placed an impassable gulf between them. Was it then gen- 
 erous or honorable in him to abuse the confidence and hos- 
 pitality of her father, by engaging the affections of a daugh- 
 ter, on whose welfare his whole happiness was placed, and 
 to whom, moreover, he could not without committing an 
 act of apostasy that he abhorred, ever be united as a hus-
 
 64 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 band ? Reason and prudence, moreover, suggested to him 
 the danger of his position, as well as the ungenerous nature 
 of his conduct to the grateful and trusting father. But, 
 away with reason and prudence — away with everything but 
 love. The rapture of his heart triumphed over every argu- 
 ment ; and, come weal or woe, he resolved to win the far- 
 famed " Star of Connaught," another epithet which she de- 
 rived from her Wcnierful and extraordinary beauty. 
 
 On approaching his own house he met a woman named 
 Mary Mahon, whose character of a fortune-teller was extra- 
 ordinary in the country, and whose predictions, come from 
 what source they might, had gained her a reputation which 
 filled the common mind with awe and fear. 
 
 "Well, Mary," said he, "what news from futurity? 
 And, by the way, where is futurity ? Because if you don't 
 know," he proceeded, laughing, " I think I could tell 
 you." 
 
 11 Well," replied Mary, " let me hear it. Where is it, Mr. 
 Reilly?" 
 
 11 Why," he replied, " just at the point of your own nose, 
 Mary, and you must admit it is not a very long one ; pure 
 Milesian, Mary ; a good deal of the saddle in its shape." 
 
 The woman stood and looked at him for a few moments. 
 
 " My nose may be short," she replied, " but shorter will 
 be the course of your happiness." 
 
 11 Well, Mary," he said, " I think as regards my happi- 
 ness that you know as little of it as I do myself. If you 
 tell me any thing that has passed, I may give you some 
 credit for the future, but not otherwise." 
 
 "Do you wish to have your fortune tould, then," she 
 asked, " upon them terms ?" 
 
 " Come, then, I don't care if I do. What has happened 
 me, for instance, within the last forty-eight hours ?" 
 
 " That has happened you within the last forty-eight 
 hours that will make her you love the pity of the world be- 
 fore her time. I see how it will happen, for the complaint 
 I speak of is in the family. A living death she will have, 
 and you yourself during the same time will have little less." 
 
 " But what has happened me, Mary? " 
 
 " I needn't tell you — you know it. A proud heart, and a 
 joyful heart, and a lovin' heart, you carry now, but it will 
 be a broken heart before long."
 
 WILLY REILLY. 65 
 
 11 Why, Mary, this is an evil prophecy ; have you nothing 
 good to foretell ?' ' 
 
 " If it's a satisfaction to you to know, I will tell you : her 
 love for you is as strong, and stronger, than death itself ; 
 and it is the suffering of what is worse than death, Willy 
 Reilly, that will unite you both at last. ' ' 
 
 Reilly started, and after a pause, in which he took it for 
 granted that Mary spoke merely from one of those shrewd 
 conjectures which practised impostors are so frequently in 
 the habit of hazarding, replied, " That won't do, Mary ; 
 you have told me nothing yet that has happened within the 
 last forty-eight hours. I deny the truth of what you say." 
 
 " I won't be long so, then, Mr. Reilly ; you saved the life 
 of the old half-mad squire of Corbo. Yes, you saved his 
 life, and you have taken his daughter's ! for indeed it would 
 be better for her to die at wanst than to suffer what will 
 happen to you and her. ' ' 
 
 " Why, what is to happen ?" 
 
 " You'll know it too soon," she replied, " and there's no 
 use in making you unhappy. Good-by, Mr. Reilly ; if 
 you take a friend's advice you'll give her up ; think no 
 more of her. It may cost you an aching heart to do so, 
 but by doin' it you may save her from a great deal of sor- 
 row, and both of you from a long and heavy term of suffer- 
 ing." 
 
 Reilly, though a young man of strong reason in the ordi- 
 nary affairs of life, and of a highly cultivated intellect be- 
 sides, yet felt himself influenced by the gloomy forebodings 
 of this notorious woman. It is true he saw, by the force of 
 his own sagacity, that she had uttered nothing which any 
 person acquainted with the relative position of himself and 
 Cooleen Bawn, and the political circumstances of the coun- 
 try, might not have inferred as a natural and probable con- 
 sequence. In fact he had, on his way home, arrived at 
 nearly the same conclusion. Marriage, as the laws of the 
 country then stood, was out of the question, and could not 
 be legitimately effected. What, then, must the consequence 
 of this irresistible but ill-fated passion be ? An elopement 
 to the Continent would not only be difficult but dangerous, 
 if not altogether impossible. It was obviously evident that 
 Mary Mahon had drawn her predictions from the same cir- 
 cumstances which led himself to similar conclusions ; yet,
 
 66 WILLY KELLLY. 
 
 notwithstanding all this, he felt that her words had thrown a 
 foreshadowing of calamity and sorrow over his spirit, and he 
 passed up to his own house in deep gloom and heaviness of 
 heart. It is true he remembered that this same Mary 
 Mahon belonged to a family that had been inimical to his 
 house. She was a woman who had, in her early life, been 
 degraded by crime, the remembrance of which had been by 
 no means forgotten. She was, besides, a paramour to the 
 Red Rapparee, and he attributed much of her dark and ill- 
 boding prophecy to a hostile and malignant spirit. 
 
 On the evening of the same day, probably about the same 
 hour, the old squire having recruited himself by sleep, and 
 felt refreshed and invigorated, sent for his daughter to sit 
 with him as was her wont ; for indeed, as the reader may now 
 fully understand, his happiness altogether depended upon 
 her society, and those tender attentions to him which con- 
 stituted the chief solace of his life. 
 
 " Well, my girl," said he, when she entered the dining- 
 room, for he seldom left it unless when they had company, 
 " Well, darling, what do you think of this Mr. Mahon — 
 pooh ! — no — oh, Reilly — he who saved my life, and, proba- 
 bly, was the means of rescuing you from worse than death. 
 Isn't he a fine — a noble young fellow ?" 
 
 11 Indeed, I think so, papa ; he appears to be a perfect 
 gentleman." 
 
 11 Hang perfect gentlemen, Helen ! they are, some of 
 them, the most contemptible whelps upon earth. Hang 
 me, but any fellow with a long-bodied coat, tight-kneed 
 breeches, or stockings and pantaloons, with a watch in 
 each fob, and a frizzled wig, is considered a perfect gentle- 
 man — a perfect puppy, Helen, an accomplished trifle. 
 Reilly, however, is none of these, for he is not only a per- 
 fect gentleman, but a brave man, who would not hesitate to 
 risk his life in order to save that of a fellow-creature, even 
 although he is a Papist, and that fellow-creature a Protest- 
 ant." 
 
 " Well, then, papa, I grant you," she replied with a 
 smile, which our readers will understand, " I grant you that 
 he is a — ahem ! — all you say. ' ' 
 
 " What a pity, Helen, that he is a Papist." 
 
 11 Why so, papa ?" 
 
 11 Because, if he was a staunch Protestant, by the great
 
 WILLY REILLY. 67 
 
 Deliverer that saved us from brass money, wooden shoes, 
 and so forth, I'd marry you and him together. I'll tell you 
 what, Helen, by the memory of Schomberg, I have a project, 
 and it is you that must work it out." 
 
 "Well, papa," asked his daughter, putting the question 
 with a smile and a blush, " pray what is this specula- 
 tion ?" 
 
 " Why, the fact is, I'll put him into your hands to con- 
 vert him — make him a staunch Protestant, and take him for 
 your pains. Accomplish this, and let long-legged, knock- 
 kneed Whitecraft, and his twelve thousand a year, go and 
 bite some other fool as he bit me in ' Hop-and-go-con- 
 stant.' " 
 
 " What are twelve thousand a year, papa, when you know 
 that they could not secure me happiness with such a wretch ? 
 Such a union, sir, could not be — cannot be — must not be, 
 and I will add, whilst I am in the possession of will and 
 reason, shall not be." 
 
 " Well, Helen," said her father, " if you are obstinate, so 
 am I ; but I trust we shall never have to fight for it. We 
 must have Reilly here, and you must endeavor to convert 
 him from Popery. If you succeed, I'll give long-shanks 
 his nunc di?nittis, and send him home on a trot." 
 
 "Papa," she replied, "this will be useless — it will be 
 ruin — I know Reilly." 
 
 " The devil you do ! "When, may I ask, did you become 
 acquainted ?" 
 
 11 I mean," she replied, blushing, " that I have seen 
 enough of him during his short stay here to feel satisfied 
 that no earthly persuasion, no argument, could induce him, 
 at this moment especially, to change his religion. And, 
 sir, I will add myself — yes, I will say for myself, dear papa, 
 and for Reilly too, that if from any unbecoming motive — if 
 for the sake of love itself, I felt satisfied that he could give 
 up and abandon his religion, I would despise him. I 
 should feel at once that his heart was hollow, and that he 
 was unworthy either of my love or my respect." 
 
 11 Well, by the great Boyne, Helen, you have knocked my 
 intellects up. I hope in God you have no Papist predilec- 
 tions, girl. However, it's only fair to give Reilly a trial ; 
 long-legs is to dine with us the day after to-morrow — now, I 
 will ask Reilly to meet him here — perhaps, if I get an oppor-
 
 63 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 tunity, I will sound him on the point myself — or, perhaps, 
 you will. Will you promise to make the attempt ? I'll take 
 care that you and he shall have an opportunity." 
 
 " Indeed, papa, I shall certainly mention the subject to 
 him." 
 
 11 By the soul of Schomberg, Helen, if you do you'll con- 
 vert him." 
 
 Helen was about to make some good-natured reply, when 
 the noise of carriage wheels was heard at the hall-door, and 
 her father, going to the window, asked, " What noise is 
 that ? A carriage ! — who can it be ? Whitecraft, by the 
 Boyne ! Well, it can't be helped." 
 
 " I will leave you, papa," she said ; " I do not wish to 
 see this unfeeling and repulsive man, unless when it is un- 
 avoidable, and in your presence. 
 
 She then withdrew. 
 
 Before we introduce Sir Robert Whitecraft, we must beg 
 our readers to accompany us to the residence of that worthy 
 gentleman, which was not more than three miles from that 
 of Reilly. Sir Robert had large estates and a sumptuous 
 residence in Ireland, as well as in England, and had made 
 the former principally his place of abode since he became 
 enamored of the celebrated Cooleeji Bawn. On the occasion 
 in question he was walking about through his grounds when a 
 female approached him, whom we beg the reader to recog- 
 nize as Mary Mahon. This mischievous woman, implacable 
 and without principle, had, with the utmost secrecy, served 
 Sir Robert, and many others, in a capacity discreditable 
 alike to virtue and her sex, by luring the weak or the inno- 
 cent within their foils. 
 
 1 ' Well, Mary, ' ' said he, ' ' what news in the country ? 
 You, who are always on the move, should know." 
 
 " No very good news for you, Sir Robert," she replied. 
 
 " How is that, Mary ?" 
 
 " Why, sir, Willy Reilly — the famous Willy Reilly — has got 
 a footing in the house of old Squire Folliard." 
 
 " And how can that be bad news to me, Mary ?" 
 
 "Well, I don't know," said she, with a cunning leer; 
 " but this I know, that they had a love scene together this 
 very morning, and that he kissed her very sweetly near the 
 chimney-piece. ' ' 
 
 Sir Robert Whitecraft did not get into a rage ; he neither
 
 WILLY REILLY. 69 
 
 cursed nor swore, nor even looked angrily, but he gave a 
 peculiar smile, which should be seen in order to be under- 
 stood. " Where is your — ahem — your friend now ?" he 
 asked ; and as he did so he began to whistle. 
 
 " Have you another job for him?" she inquired, in her 
 turn, with a peculiar meaning. " Whenever I fail by fair 
 play, he tries it by foul." 
 
 " Well, and have not I often saved his neck, as well by 
 my influence as by allowing him to take shelter under my 
 roof whenever he was hard pressed ?" 
 
 11 I know that, your honor ; and hasn't he and I often 
 sarved you, on the other hand ?" 
 
 " I grant it, Molly ; but that is a matter known only to 
 ourselves. You know I have the reputation of being very 
 correct and virtuous." 
 
 " I know you have," said Molly, " with most people, but 
 not with all." 
 
 " Well, Molly, you know, as far as we are concerned, one 
 good turn deserves another. Where is your friend now, I 
 ask again ?" 
 
 11 Why, then, to tell you the truth, it's more than I know 
 at the present speaking." 
 
 " Follow me, then," replied the wily baronet ; "I w r ish 
 you to see him ; he is now concealed in my house ; but first, 
 mark me, I don't believe a word of what you have just re- 
 peated." 
 
 " It's as true as Gospel for all that," she replied ; " and 
 if you wish to hear how I found it out I'll tell you." 
 
 " Well," said the baronet calmly, " let us hear it." 
 
 " You must know," she proceeded, " that I have a cous- 
 in, one Betty Beatty, who is a housemaid in the squire's. 
 Now, this same Betty Beatty was in the front parlor — for 
 the squire always dines in the back — and, from a kind of 
 natural curiosity she's afflicted with, she puts her ear to the 
 keyhole, and afterwards her eye. I happened to be at the 
 squire's at the time, and, as blood is thicker than wather, 
 and as she knew I was a friend of yours, she tould me what 
 she had both heard and seen, what they said, and how he 
 kissed her." 
 
 Sir Robert seemed very calm, and merely said, " Follow 
 me into the house," which she accordingly did, and re- 
 mained in consultation with him and the Red Rapparee for
 
 70 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 nearly an hour, after which Sir Robert ordered his carriage, 
 and .went to pay a visit, as we have seen, at Coibo Castle. 
 
 Sir Robert Whitecraft, on entering the parlor, shook hands 
 as a matter of course with the squire. At this particular crisis 
 the vehement but whimsical old man, whose mind was now 
 full of another project with reference to his daughter, ex- 
 perienced no great gratification from this visit, and, as 
 the baronet shook hands with him, he exclaimed somewhat 
 testily, 
 
 11 Hang it, Sir Robert, why don't you shake hands like a 
 man ? You put that long yellow paw of yours, all skin and 
 bones, into a man's hand, and there you let it lie. But, no 
 matter, every one to his nature. Be seated, and tell me 
 what news. Are the Papists quiet ?" 
 
 1 ' There is little news stirring, sir ; at least if there be, it does 
 not come my way, with the exception of this report about 
 yourself, which I hope is not true ; that there was an attempt 
 made on your life yesterday evening ?" Whilst Sir Robert 
 spoke he approached a looking-glass, before which he pre- 
 sented himself, and commenced adjusting his dress, espe- 
 cially his wig, a piece of vanity which nettled the quick and 
 irritable feelings of the squire exceedingly. The inference 
 he drew was, that this wealthy suitor of his daughter felt 
 more about his own personal appearance before her than 
 about the dreadful fate which he himself had so narrowly 
 escaped. 
 
 " What signifies that, my dear fellow, when your wig is 
 out of balance ? it's a little to the one side, like the ear of 
 an empty jug, as they say. 
 
 " Why, sir," replied the baronet, " the fact is, that I felt 
 — hum ! — hum — so much — so much — a — anxiety — hum ! — 
 to see you and — a — a — to know all about it — that — a — I 
 didn't take time to — a — look to my dress. And besides, as 
 I — hum ! — expect to have — a — the pleasure of an interview 
 with Miss Folliard — a — hum ! — now that I'm here — I feel 
 anxious to appear to the best advantage — a — hum !" 
 
 While speaking he proceeded with the readjustment of 
 his toilet at the large mirror, an operation which appeared 
 to constitute the great object on which his mind was engaged, 
 the affair of the squire's life or death coming in only paren- 
 thetically, or as a consideration of minor importance. 
 
 In height Sir Robert Whitecraft was fully six feet two ; but
 
 WILLY REILLY. *Jl 
 
 being extremely thin and lank, and to all appearance utterly 
 devoid of substance, and of every thing like proportion, he 
 appeared much taller than even nature had made him. His 
 forehead was low, and his whole character felonious ; his 
 eyes were small, deep set, and cunning ; his nose was 
 hooked, his mouth was wide, but his lips thin to a miracle, 
 and such as always are to be found under the nose of a 
 miser ; as for a chin, we could not conscientiously allow 
 him any ; his under-lip sloped off until it met the throat with 
 a curve not larger than that of an oyster-shell, which when 
 open to the tide, his mouth very much resembled. As for 
 his neck, it was so long that no portion of dress at that 
 time discovered was capable of covering more than one 
 third of it ; to that there were always two parts out of three 
 left stark naked, and helplessly exposed to the elements. 
 Whenever he smiled he looked as if he was about to weep. 
 As the squire said, he was dreadfully round-shouldered — 
 had dangling arms, that kept flapping about him as if they 
 were moved by some machinery that had gone out of order 
 — was close-kneed — had the true telescopic leg — and feet 
 that brought a very large portion of him into the closest 
 possible contact with the earth. 
 
 "Are you succeeding, Sir Robert?" inquired the old 
 man sarcastically, "because, if you are, I swear you're 
 achieving wonders, considering the slight materials you have 
 to work upon." 
 
 " Ah ! sir," replied the baronet, " I perceive you are in 
 one of your biting humors to-day." 
 
 "Biting!" exclaimed the other. "Egad, it's very well 
 for most of your sporting acquaintances that you're free 
 from hydrophobia ; if you were not, I'd have died pleasantly 
 between two feather beds, leaving my child an orphan long 
 before this. Egad, you bit me to some purpose." 
 
 " Oh, ay, you allude to the affair of ' Hop-and-go-con- 
 stant ' and ' Pat the Spanker ; ' but you know, my dear sir, 
 I gave you heavy boot ;" and as he spoke, he pulled up the 
 lapels of his coat, and glanced complacently at the profile 
 of his face and person in the glass. 
 
 " Pray, is Miss Folliard at home, sir ?" 
 
 " Again I'm forgotten," thought the squire. " Ah, what 
 an affectionate son-in-law he'd make ! What a tender hus- 
 band for Helen ! Why, hang the fellow, he has a heart
 
 72 WILL V KEILL Y. 
 
 for nobody but himself. She is at home, Sir Robert, but 
 the truth is, I don't think it would become me, as a father 
 anxious for the happiness of his child, and that child an 
 only one, to sacrifice her happiness — the happiness of her 
 whole life — to wealth or ambition. You know she herself 
 entertains a strong prejudice — no, that's not the word — " 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir ; that is the word ; her distaste 
 to me is a prejudice, and nothing else." 
 
 " No, Sir Robert ; it is not the word. Antipathy is the 
 word. Now I tell you, once for all, that I will not force my 
 child." 
 
 " This change, Mr. Folliard," observed the baronet, " is 
 somewhat of the suddenest. Has any thing occurred on my 
 part to occasion it ?" 
 
 " Perhaps I may have other views for her, Sir Robert." 
 
 " That may be ; but is such conduct either fair or honor- 
 able towards me, Mr. Folliard ? Have I got a rival, and if 
 so, who is he ?" 
 
 11 Oh, I wouldn't tell you that for the world." 
 
 " And why not, pray ?" 
 
 " Because," replied the squire, " if you found out who 
 he was, you'd be hanged for cannibalism." 
 
 " I really don't understand you, Mr. Folliard. Excuse 
 me, but it would seem to me that something has put you 
 into no very agreeable humor to-day." 
 
 " You don't understand me ! Why, Sir Robert," replied 
 the other, " I know you so well that if you heard the name 
 of your rival you would first kill him, then powder him, 
 and, lastly, eat him. You are such a terrible fellow that 
 you care about no man's life, not even about mine." 
 
 Now it was to this very point that the calculating baronet 
 wished to bring him. The old man, he knew, was whim- 
 sical, capricious, and in the habit of taking all his strongest 
 and most enduring resolutions from sudden contrasts pro- 
 duced by some mistake of his own, or from some discovery 
 made to him on the part of others. 
 
 "As to your life, Mr. Folliard, let me assure you," re- 
 plied Sir Robert, " that there is no man living prizes it, 
 and, let me add, your character too, more highly than I do ; 
 but, my dear sir, your life was never in danger." 
 
 " Never in danger ! what do you mean, Sir Robert ? I 
 tell you, sir, that the murdering miscreant, the Red Rap-
 
 WILLY REILLY. 73 
 
 paree, had a loaded gun levelled at me last evening, after 
 dark." 
 
 " I know it," replied the other ; "I am well aware of it, 
 and you were rescued just in the nick of time." 
 
 "True enough," said the squire, "just in the nick of 
 time ; by that glorious young fellow — a — a — yes — Reilly — 
 Willy Reilly." 
 
 11 This Willy Reilly, sir, is a very accomplished person, I 
 think." 
 
 11 A gentleman, Sir Robert, every inch of him, and as 
 handsome and fine-looking a young fellow as ever I laid my 
 eyes upon." 
 
 " He was educated on the Continent by the Jesuits." 
 
 11 No !" replied the squire, dreadfully alarmed at this 
 piece of information, " he was not ; by the great Boyne, he 
 wasn't." 
 
 This mighty asservation, however, was exceedingly feeble 
 in moral strength and energy, for, in point of fact, it came 
 out of the squire's lips more in the shape of a question than 
 an oath. 
 
 " It is unquestionably true, sir," said the baronet ; " ask 
 himself, and he will admit it." 
 
 11 Well, and granting that he was," replied the squire, 
 " what else could he do, when the laws would not permit of 
 his being educated here ? I speak not against the laws, God 
 forbid, but of his individual case." 
 
 " We are travelling from the point, sir," returned the 
 baronet. "I was observing that Reilly is an accomplished 
 person, as indeed every Jesuit it. Be that as it may, I 
 again beg to assure you that your life stood in no risk." 
 
 " I don't understand you, Sir Robert. You're a perfect 
 oracle ; by the great Deliverer from Pope and Popery, wooden 
 shoes, and so forth, only that Reilly made his appearance at 
 that moment I was a dead man." 
 
 " Not the slightest danger, Mr. Folliard. I am aware of 
 that, and of the whole Jesuitical plot from the beginning, 
 base, ingenious, but diabolical as it was." 
 
 The squire rose up and looked at him for a minute, with- 
 out speaking, then sat down again, and, a second time, was 
 partially up, but resumed his seat. 
 
 " A plot !" he exclaimed ; " a plot, Sir Robert ! What 
 plot?"
 
 74 WILLY A LILLY. 
 
 " A plot, Mr. Folliard, for the purpose of creating an op- 
 portunity to make your acquaintance, and of ingratiating 
 himself into the good graces and affections of your lovely 
 daughter ; a plot for the purpose of marrying her." 
 
 The squire seemed for a moment thunderstruck, but in 
 a little time he recovered. " Marrying her !" he exclaimed ; 
 " that, you know, could not de done, unless he turned Pro- 
 testant." 
 
 It was now time for the baronet to feel thunderstricken. 
 
 "He turn Protestant ! I don't understand you, Mr. Fol- 
 liard. Could any change on Reilly's part involve such a 
 probability as a marriage between him and your daughter ?" 
 
 " I can't believe it was a plot, Sir Robert," said the 
 squire, shifting the question, " nor I won't believe it. There 
 was too much truth and sincerity in his conduct. And, 
 what is more, my house would have been attacked last 
 night ; I myself robbed and murdered, and my daughter 
 — my child, carried off, only for him. Nay, indeed, it was 
 partially attacked, but when the villains found us prepared 
 they decamped ; but, as for marriage, he could not marry 
 my daughter, I say again, so long as he remains a Papist." 
 
 11 Unless he might prevail on her to turn Papist." 
 
 " By the life of my body, Sir Robert, I won't stand this. 
 Did you come here, sir, to insult me and to drive me 
 into madness ? "What devil could have put it into your 
 head that my daughter, sir, or anyone with a drop of my 
 blood in their veins, to the tenth generation, could ever, 
 for a single moment, think of turning Papist ? Sir, I 
 hoped that you would have respected the name both of my 
 daughter and myself, and have foreborne to add this double 
 insult both to her and me. The insolence even to dream of 
 imputing such an act to her I cannot overlook. You your- 
 self, if you could gain a point or feather your nest by it, are 
 a thousand times much more likely to turn Papist than either 
 of us. Apologize instantly, sir, or leave my house." 
 
 " I can certainly apologize, Mr. Folliard," replied the 
 baronet, " and with a good conscience, inasmuch as I had not 
 the most remote intention of offending you, much less Miss 
 Folliard — I accordingly do so promptly and at once ; but as 
 for my allegations against Reilly, I am in a position to es- 
 tablish their truth in the clearest manner, and to prove to 
 you that there wasn't a single robber, nor Rapparee either,
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 75 
 
 at or about your house last night, with the exception of 
 Reilly and his gang. If there were, why were they neither 
 heard nor seen ?" 
 
 " One of them was — the Red Rapparee himself." 
 
 11 Do not be deceived, Mr. Folliard ; did you yourself, or 
 any of your family or household, see him ?" 
 
 11 Why, no, certainly, we did not ; I admit that." 
 
 11 V^es, and you will admit more soon. I shall prove the 
 whole conspiracy." 
 
 11 Well, why don't you then ?" 
 
 " Simply because the matter must be brought about with 
 great caution. You must allow me a few days, say three or 
 four, and the proofs shall be given." 
 
 11 Very well, Sir Robert, but in the meantime I shall not 
 throw Reilly overboard." 
 
 " Could I not be permitted to pay my respects to Miss 
 Folliard before I go, sir ?" asked Sir Robert. 
 
 11 Don't insist upon it," replied her father ; " you know 
 perfectly well that she — that you are no favorite with her." 
 
 " Nothing on earth, sir, grieves me so much," said the 
 baronet, affecting a melancholy expression of countenance, 
 which was ludicrous to look at. 
 
 11 Well, well," said the old man, " as you can't see her 
 now, come and meet Reilly here at dinner the day after to- 
 morrow, and you shall have that pleasure." 
 
 11 It will be with pain, sir, that I shall force myself into 
 that person's society ; however, to oblige you, I shall do it." 
 
 11 Consider, pray consider, Sir Robert," replied the old 
 squire, all his pride of family glowing strong within him, 
 " just consider that my table, sir, and my countenance, sir, 
 and my sense of gratitude, sir, are a sufficient guarantee to 
 the worth and respectability of any one whom I may ask to 
 my house. And, Sir Robert, in addition to that, just reflect 
 that I ask him to meet my daughter, and, if I don't mistake, 
 I think I love, honor, and respect her nearly as much as I 
 do you. Will you come then, or will you not ?" 
 
 11 Unquestionably, sir, I shall do myself the honor." 
 
 " Very well," replied the old squire, clearing up at once 
 — undergoing, in fact, one of those rapid and unaccountable 
 changes which constituted so prominent a portion of his 
 character. " Very well, Bobby ; good-by, my boy ; I am 
 not angry with you ; shake hands, and curse Popery."
 
 76 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 Until the morning of the day on which the two rivals were 
 to meet, Miss Folliard began to entertain a dreadful appre- 
 hension that the fright into which the Red Rapparee had 
 thrown her father was likely to terminate, ere long, in in- 
 sanity. The man at best was eccentric, and full of the most 
 unaccountable changes of temper and purpose, hot, pas- 
 sionate, vindictive, generous, implacable, and benevolent. 
 What he had seldom been accustomed to do, he commenced 
 soliloquizing aloud, and talking to himself in such broken 
 hints and dark mysterious allusions, drawing from unknown 
 premises such odd and ludicrous inferences ; at one time 
 brushing himself up in Scripture ; at another moment ques- 
 tioning his daughter about her opinion on Popery — some- 
 times dealing about political and religious allusions with 
 great sarcasm, in which he was a master when he wished, 
 and sometimes with considerable humor of illustration, so 
 far, at least, as he could be understood. 
 
 11 Confound these Jesuits," said he ; "I wish they were 
 scourged out of Europe. Every man of them is sure to put 
 his finger in the pie and then into his mouth to taste what 
 it's like ; not so the parsons — Hallo ! where am I ? Take 
 care, old Folliard ; take care, you old dog ; what have you 
 to say in favor of these same parsons — lazy, negligent fel- 
 lows, who snore and slumber, feed well, clothe well, and 
 think first of number one ? Egad, I'm in a mess between 
 them. One makes a slave of you, and the other allows you 
 to play the tyrant. A plague, as I heard a fellow say in a 
 play once, a plague o' both your houses : if you paid more 
 attention to your duties, and scrambled less for wealth and 
 power, and this world's honors, you would not turn it up- 
 side down as you do. Helen!" 
 
 "Well, papa." 
 
 " I have doubts whether I shall allow you to sound Reilly 
 on Popery." 
 
 " I would rather decline it, sir." 
 
 11 I'll tell you what ; I'll see Andy Cummiskey — Andy's 
 opinion is good on any thing." And accordingly he pro- 
 ceeded to see his confidential old servant. With this pur- 
 pose, and in his own original manner, he went about con- 
 sulting every servant under his roof upon their respective 
 notions of Popery, as he called it, and striving to allure 
 them, at one time by kindness, and at another by threat-
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 77 
 
 ening them, into an avowal of its idolatrous tendency. 
 Those to whom he spoke, however, knew very little about 
 it, and, like those of all creeds in a similar predicament, he 
 found that, in proportion to their ignorance of its doctrines, 
 arose the vehemence and sincerity of their defence of it. 
 This, however, is human nature, and we do not see how 
 the learned can condemn it. Upon the day appointed for 
 dinner only four sat down to it — that is to say, the squire, 
 his daughter, Sir Robert Whitecraft, and Reilly. They 
 had met in the drawing-room some time before its announce- 
 ment, and as the old man introduced the two latter, Reilly's 
 bow was courteous and gentlemanl)', whilst that of the 
 baronet, who not only detested Reilly with the hatred of a 
 demon, but resolved to make him feel the superiority of 
 rank and wealth, was frigid, supercilious, and offensive. 
 Reilly at once saw this, and, as he knew not that the baronet 
 was in possession of his secret, he felt his ill-bred insolence 
 the more deeply. He was too much of a gentleman, how- 
 ever, and too well acquainted with the principles and forms 
 of good breeding, to seem to notice it in the slightest degree. 
 The old squire at this time had not at all given Reilly up, 
 but still his confidence in him was considerably shaken. He 
 saw, moreover, that, notwithstanding what had occurred at 
 their last interview, the baronet had forgotten the respect 
 due both to himself and his daughter ; and, as he had, 
 amidst all his eccentricities, many strong touches of the old 
 Irish gentleman about him, he resolved to punish him for 
 his ungentlemanly deportment. Accordingly, when dinner 
 was announced, he said : 
 
 " Mr. Reilly, you will give Miss Folliard your arm." 
 
 We do not say that the worthy baronet squinted, but there 
 was a bad vindictive look in his small, cunning eyes, which, 
 as they turned upon Reilly, was ten times more repulsive 
 than the worst squint that ever disfigured a human counte- 
 nance. To add to his chagrin, too, the squire came out 
 with a bit of his usual sarcasm. 
 
 " Come, baronet," said he, " here's my arm. I am the 
 old man, and you are the old lady ; and now for dinner." 
 
 In the meantime Reilly and the Coolcen Bawn had gone 
 far enough in advance to be in a condition to speak without 
 being heard. 
 
 " That," said she, " is the husband my father intends for
 
 78 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 me, or, rather, did intend ; for, do yon know, that you 
 have found such favor in his sight that — that — " she hesi- 
 tated, and Reilly, looking into her face, saw that she blushed 
 deeply, and he felt by her arm that her whole frame trembled 
 with emotion. 
 
 11 Proceed, dearest love," said he ; " what is it ?" 
 
 11 I have not time to tell you now," she replied, " but he 
 mentioned a project to me which, if it could be accom- 
 plished, would seal both your happiness and mine forever. 
 Your religion is the only obstacle." 
 
 11 And that, my love'" he replied, " is an insurmountable 
 one." 
 
 " Alas ! I feared as much," she replied, sighing bitterly 
 as she spoke. 
 
 The old squire took the head of the table, and requested 
 Sir Robert to take the foot ; his daughter was at his right 
 hand, and Reilly opposite her, by which means, although 
 denied any confidential use of the tongue, their eyes enjoyed 
 very gratifying advantages, and there passed between them 
 occasionally some of those rapid glances which, especially 
 when lovers are under surveillance, concentrate in their 
 lightning flash more significance, more hope, more joy, and 
 more love, than ever was conveyed by the longest and ten- 
 derest gaze of affection under other circumstances. 
 
 " Mr. Reilly," said the squire, " I'm told that you are a 
 very well educated man ; indeed, the thing is evident. 
 What, let me ask, is your opinion of education in general ?" 
 
 11 Why, sir," replied Reilly, " I think there can be but 
 one opinion about it. Without education a people can never 
 be moral, prosperous, or happy. Without it, how are they 
 to learn the duties of this life, or those still more important 
 ones that prepare them for a better ?" 
 
 11 You would entrust the conduct and control of it, I pre- 
 sume, sir, to the clergy ?" asked Sir Robert insidiously. 
 
 11 I would give the priest such control in education as be- 
 comes his position, which is not only to educate the youth, 
 but to instruct the man, in all the duties enjoined by re- 
 ligion." 
 
 The squire now gave a triumphant look at the baronet, and 
 a very kind and gracious one at Reilly. 
 
 " Pray, sir," continued the baronet, in his cold, supercil- 
 ious manner, " from the peculiarity of your views, I feel
 
 WILLY £ LILLY. 79 
 
 anxious, if you will pardon me, to ask where you yourself 
 have received your very accomplished education ?" 
 
 " Whether my education, sir, has been an accomplished 
 one or otherwise," replied Reilly, " is a point, I apprehend, 
 beyond the reach of any opportunity you ever had to know. 
 I received my education, sir, such as it is, and if it be not 
 better the fault is my own, in a Jesuit seminary on the 
 Continent." 
 
 It was now the baronet's time to triumph ; and indeed 
 the bitter glancing look he gave at the squire, although it 
 was intended for Reilly, resembled that which one of the 
 more cunning and ferocious beasts of prey makes previous 
 to its death-spring upon its victim. The old man's counte- 
 nance instantly fell. He looked with surprise, not unmingled 
 with sorrow and distrust, at .Reilly, a circumstance which 
 did not escape his daughter, who could not, for the life of 
 her, avoid fixing her eyes, lovelier even in the disdain they 
 expressed, with an indignant look at the baronet. 
 
 The latter, however, felt resolved to bring his rival still 
 further within the toils he was preparing for him, an object 
 which Reilly's candor very much facilitated. 
 
 " Mr. Reilly," said the squire, " I was not prepared to 
 hear — a — a — hem ! — God bless me, it is very odd, very de- 
 plorable, very much to be regretted indeed !" 
 
 " What is, sir ?" asked Reilly. 
 
 "Why, that you should be a Jesuit. I must confess I 
 was not — ahem ! — God bless me. I can't doubt your own 
 word, certainly." 
 
 11 Not on this subject," observed the baronet coolly. 
 
 " On no subject, sir," replied Reilly, looking him 
 sternly, and with an indignation that was kept within bounds 
 only by his respect for the other parties, and the roof that 
 covered him ; "on no subject, Sir Robert Whitecraft, is 
 my word to be doubted." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir," replied the other, " I did not 
 say so." 
 
 11 I will neither have it said, sir, nor insinuated," rejoined 
 Reilly. " I received my education on the Continent be- 
 cause the laws of this country prevented me from receiving 
 it here. I was placed in a Jesuit seminary, not by my own 
 choice, but by that of my father, to whom I owed obedi- 
 ence. Your oppressive laws, sir, first keep us ignorant,
 
 So WILLY REILLY. 
 
 and then punish us for the crimes which that ignorance pro- 
 duces." 
 
 11 Do you call the laws of the country oppressive ?" asked 
 the baronet, with as much of a sneer as cowardice would 
 permit him to indulge in. 
 
 " I do, sir, and ever will consider them so, at least so 
 long as they deprive myself and my Catholic fellow-country- 
 men of their civil and religious rights." 
 
 " That is strong language, though," observed the other, 
 " at this time of day." 
 
 11 Mr. Reilly," said the squire, " you seem to be very 
 much attached to your religion." 
 
 11 Just as much as I am to my life, sir, and would as soon 
 give up the one as the other." 
 
 The squire's countenance literally became pale, his last 
 hope was gone, and so great was his agitation that, in bring- 
 ing a glass of wine to his lips, his hand trembled to such a 
 degree that he spilled a part of it. This, however, was not 
 all. A settled gloom — a morose, dissatisfied expression — 
 soon overshadowed his features, from which disappeared all 
 trace of that benignant, open, and friendly hospitality to- 
 wards Reilly that had hitherto beamed from them. He 
 and the baronet exchanged glances of whose import, if 
 Reilly was ignorant, not so his beloved Coolee?i Bawn. For 
 the remainder of the evening the squire treated Reilly with 
 great coolness, always addressing him as Mister, and evi- 
 dently contemplating him in a spirit which partook of the 
 feeling that animated Sir Robert Whitecraft. 
 
 Helen rose to withdraw, and contrived, by a sudden glance 
 at the door, and another as quick in the direction of the 
 drawing-room, to let her lover know that she wished him to 
 follow her soon. The hint was not lost, for in less than 
 half an hour Reilly, who was of very temperate habits, 
 joined her as she had hinted. 
 
 " Reilly," said she, as she ran to him, " dearest Reilly ! 
 there is little time to be lost. I perceive that a secret un- 
 derstanding respecting you exists between papa and that de- 
 testable baronet. Be on your guard, especially against the 
 latter, who has evidently, ever since we sat down to dinner, 
 contrived to bring papa round to his own way of thinking, 
 as he will ultimately, perhaps, to worse designs and darker 
 purposes. Above all things, speak nothing that can be con-
 
 WILLY REILLY. Si 
 
 strued against the existing laws. I find that danger, if not 
 positive injury, awaits you. I shall, at any risk, give you 
 warning." 
 
 " At no risk, beloved !" 
 
 " At every risk — at all risks, dearest Reilly ! Nay, more 
 — whatever danger may encompass you shall be shared by 
 me, even at the risk of my life, or I shall extricate you out 
 of it. But perhaps you will not be faithful to me. If so, 
 I shudder to think what might happen." 
 
 " Listen," said Reilly, taking her by the hand, " In the 
 presence of heaven^ I am yours, and yours only, until death /" 
 
 She repeated his words, after which they had scarcely 
 taken their seats when the squire and Sir Robert entered 
 the drawing-room. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE PLOT AND THE VICTIMS. 
 
 SIR ROBERT, on entering the room along with the 
 squire, found the Cooleen Bawn at the spinnet. Tak- 
 ing his place at the end of it, so as that he could gain a full 
 view of her countenance, he thought he could observe her 
 complexion considerably heightened in color, and from her 
 his glance was directed to Reilly. The squire, on the other 
 hand, sat dull, silent, and unsociable, unless when address- 
 ing himself to the baronet, and immediately his genial man- 
 ner returned to him. 
 
 With his usual impetuosity, however, when laboring under 
 what he supposed to be a sense of injury, he soon brought 
 matters to a crisis. 
 
 " Sir Robert," said he, " are the Papists quiet now ?" 
 11 They are quiet, sir," replied the other, " because they 
 dare not be otherwise." 
 
 11 By the great Deliverer, that saved us from Pope and 
 Popery, brass money and wooden shoes, I think the country 
 will never be quiet till they are banished out of it." 
 " Indeed, Mr. Folliard, I agree with you." 
 " And so do I, Sir Robert," said Reilly. " I wish from
 
 82 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 my soul there was not a Papist, as you call them, in this 
 unfortunate country ! In any other country beyond the 
 bounds of the British dominions they could enjoy freedom. 
 But I wish it for another reason, gentlemen ; if they were 
 gone, you would then be taught to your cost the value of 
 your estates and the source of your incomes. And now, 
 Mr. Folliard, I am not conscious of having given you any 
 earthly offence, but I cannot possibly pretend to misunder- 
 stand the object of your altered conduct and language. I 
 am your guest, at your own express invitation. You know 
 I am a Roman Catholic — Papist, if you will — yet, with the 
 knowledge of this, you have not only insulted me personally, 
 but also in the creed to which I belong. As for that gen- 
 tleman, I can only say that this roof and the presence of those 
 who are under it constitute his protection. But I envy not the 
 man who could avail himself of such a position, for the pur- 
 pose of insinuating an insult which he dare not offer under 
 other circumstances. I will not apologize for taking my de- 
 parture, for I feel that I have been too long here." 
 
 Cooleen Bawn arose in deep agitation. " Dear papa, what 
 is this?" she exclaimed. " What can be the cause of it? 
 "Why forget the laws of hospitality ? Why, above all things, 
 deliberately insult the man to whom you and I both owe so 
 much ? Oh, I cannot understand it. Some demon, equally 
 cowardly and malignant, must have poisoned your own 
 naturally generous mind. Some villain, equally profligate 
 and hypocritical, has, for some dark purpose, given this 
 unworthy bias to your mind." 
 
 11 You know nothing of it, Helen. You're altogether in 
 the dark, girl ; but in a day or two it will all be made clear 
 to you." 
 
 " Do not be discomposed, my dear Miss Folliard," said 
 Sir Robert, striding over to her. " Allow me to prevail 
 upon you to suspend your judgment for a little, and to re- 
 turn to the beautiful air you were enchanting us with." 
 
 As he spoke he attempted to take her hand. Reilly, in 
 the meantime, was waiting for an opportunity to bid his 
 love good-night. 
 
 11 Touch me not, sir," she replied, her glorious eyes flash- 
 ing with indignation. " I charge you as the base cause of 
 drawing down the disgrace of shame, the sin of ingratitude, 
 on my father's head. But here that father stands, and there
 
 WILLY REILLY. 83 
 
 you, sir, stand ; and sooner than become the wife of Sir 
 Robert Whitecraft I would dash myself from the battlements 
 of this castle. William Reilly, brave and generous young 
 man, good-night ! It matters not who may forget the debt 
 of gratitude which this family owe you — / will not. No 
 cowardly slanderer shall instil his poisonous calumnies 
 against you into my ear. My opinion of you is unchanged 
 and unchangeable. Farewell ! William Reilly!" 
 
 We shall not attempt to describe the commotions of love, 
 of happiness, of rapture, which filled Reilly 's bosom as he 
 took his departure. As for Cooleen Bazu?i she had now 
 passed the Rubicon, and there remained nothing for her but 
 constancy to the truth of her affection, be the result what it 
 might. She had, indeed, much of the vehemence of her 
 father's character in her ; much of his unchangeable purpose, 
 when she felt or thought she was right ; but not one of his 
 unfounded whims or prejudices ; for she was too noble- 
 minded and sensible to be influenced by unbecoming or in- 
 adequate motives. With an indignant but beautiful scorn, 
 that gave grace to resentment, she bowed to the baronet, 
 then kissed her father affectionately and retired. 
 
 The old man, after she had gone, sat for a considerable 
 time silent. In fact, the superior force of his daughter's 
 character had not only surprised, but overpowed him for the 
 moment. The baronet attempted to resume the conversa- 
 tion, but he found not his intended father-in-law in the 
 mood for it. The light of truth, as it flashed from the 
 spirit of his daughter, seemed to dispel the darkness of his 
 recent suspicions ; he dwelt upon the possibility of ingrati- 
 tude with a temporary remorse. 
 
 " I cannot speak to you, Sir Robert," he said; "I am 
 confused, disturbed, distressed. If I have treated that 
 young man ungratefully, God may forgive me, but I will 
 never forgive myself." 
 
 " Take care, sir," said the baronet, " that you are not 
 under the spell of the Jesuit and your daughter too. Per- 
 haps you will find, when it is too late, that she is the more 
 spellbound of the two. If I don't mistake, the spell begins 
 to work already. In the meantime, as Miss Folliard will 
 have it, I withdraw all claims upon her hand and affec- 
 tions. Good-night, sir;" and as he spoke he took his de- 
 parture.
 
 S4 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 For a long time the old man sat looking into the fire, 
 where he began gradually to picture to himself strange 
 forms and objects in the glowing embers, one of whom he 
 thought resembled the Red Rapparee about to shoot him ; 
 another, Willy Reilly making love to his daughter ; and be- 
 hind all, a high gallows, of which he beheld the said Willy 
 hanging for his crime. 
 
 In about an hour afterwards Miss Folliard returned to the 
 drawing-room, where she found her father asleep in his arm- 
 chair. Having awakened him gently from what appeared a 
 disturbed dream, he looked about him, and, forgetting for 
 a moment all that had happened, inquired in his usual eager 
 manner where Reilly and Whitecraft were, and if they had 
 gone. In a few moments, however, he recollected the circum- 
 stances that had taken place, and after heaving a deep sigh, 
 he opened his arms for his daughter, and as he embraced 
 her burst into tears. 
 
 " Helen," said he, "I am unhappy ; I am distressed ; I 
 know not what to do ! — may God forgive me if I have treated 
 this young man with ingratitude. But, at all events, a few 
 days will clear it all up." 
 
 His daughter was melted by the depth of his sorrow, and 
 the more so as it was seldom she had seen him shed tears 
 before. 
 
 " I would do every thing — any thing to make you happy, 
 my dear treasure," said he, " if I only knew how." 
 
 " Dear papa," she replied, " of that I am conscious ; 
 and as a proof that the heart of your daughter is incapable 
 of veiling a single thought that passes in it from a parent 
 who loves her so well, I will place its most cherished secret 
 in your own keeping. I shall not be outdone even by you, 
 dear papa, in generosity, in confidence, in affection. Papa," 
 she added, placing her head upon his bosom, whilst the 
 tears flowed fast down her cheeks, "papa, I love William 
 Reilly — love him with a pure and disinterested passion !— 
 with a passion which I feel constitutes my destiny in this 
 life — either for happiness or misery. That passion is irre- 
 vocable. It is useless to ask me to control or suppress it, for 
 I feel that the task is beyond my power. My love, how- 
 ever, is not base nor selfish, papa, but founded on virtue 
 and honor. It may seem strange that I should make such 
 a confession to you, for I know it is unusual in young persons
 
 WILLY REILLY. 85 
 
 like me to do so ; but remember, dear papa, that except 
 yourself I have no friend. If I had a mother, or a sister, 
 or a cousin of my own sex, to whom I might confide and 
 unburden my feelings, then indeed it is not probable I 
 Avould make to you the confession which I have made ; but 
 we are alone, and you are the only being left me on whom 
 can rest my sorrow — for indeed my heart is full of sor- 
 row." 
 
 "Well, well, I know not what to say. You are a true 
 girl, Helen, and the very error, if it be one, is diminished 
 by the magnanimity and truth which prompted you to dis- 
 close it to me. I will go to bed, dearest, and sleep if I 
 can. I trust in God there is no calamity about to over- 
 shadow our house or destroy our happiness." 
 
 He then sought his own chamber ; and Cooleen Bawn, 
 after attending him thither, left him to the care of his at- 
 tendant and retired herself to her apartment. 
 
 On reaching home Reilly found Fergus, one of his own 
 relatives, as we have said, the same who, warned by his re- 
 monstrances, had abandoned the gang of the Red Rapparee, 
 waiting to see him. 
 
 " Well, Fergus," said he, " I am glad that you have fol- 
 lowed my advice. You have left the lawless employment 
 of that blood-stained man ?" 
 
 " I have," replied the other, " and I'm here to tell you 
 that you can now secure him if you like. I don't look 
 upon savin' this as treachery to him, nor would I mention 
 it only that Paudeen, the smith, who shoes and doctors his 
 horses, tould me something that you ought to know." 
 " Well, Fergus, what is it ?" 
 
 " There's a plot laid, sir, to send you out o' the country, 
 and the Red Rapparee has a hand in it. He is promised a 
 pardon from government, and some kind of a place as 
 thief-taker, if he'll engage in it against you. Now, you 
 know, there's a price upon his head, and, if you like, you 
 can have it, and get an enemy put out of your way at the 
 same time." 
 
 " No, Fergus," replied Reilly ; " in a moment of indig- 
 nation I threatened him in order to save the life of a fellow- 
 creature. But let the laws deal with him. As for me, you 
 know what he deserves at my hands, but I shall never be- 
 come the hound of a government which oppresses me un-
 
 86 WILLY KELLLY. 
 
 justly. No, no, it is precisely because a price is laid upon 
 the unfortunate miscreant's head that / would not betray 
 him." 
 
 " He will betray you, then." 
 
 11 And let him. I have never violated any law, and even 
 though he should betray me, Fergus, he cannot make me 
 guilty. To the laws, to God, and his own conscience, I 
 leave him. No, Fergus, all sympathy between me and the 
 laws that oppress us is gone. Let them vindicate themselves 
 against thieves and robbers and murderers, with as much 
 vigilance and energy as they do against the harmless forms 
 of religion and the rights of conscience, and the country 
 will soon be free from such licentious pests as the Red Rap- 
 paree and his gang." 
 
 " You speak warmly, Mr. Reilly. " 
 
 "Yes," replied Reilly, " I am warm, I am indignant at 
 my degradation. Fergus, Fergus, I never felt that degra- 
 dation and its consequences so deeply as I do this unhappy 
 night." 
 
 " Well, will you listen to me ?" 
 
 " I will strive to do so ; but you know not the — you know 
 not — alas ! I have no language to express what I feel. Pro- 
 ceed, however," he added, attempting to calm the tumult 
 that agitated his heart ; " what about this plot or plan for 
 putting me out of the country ?" 
 
 " Well, sir, it's determined on to send you, by the means 
 of the same laws you speak of, out of the country. The red 
 villain is to come in with a charge against you and surrender 
 himself to government as a penitent man, and the person 
 who is to protect him is Sir E.obert YVhitecraft." 
 
 11 It's all true, Fergus," said Reilly ; "I see it at a 
 glance, and understand it a great deal better than you do. 
 They may, however, be disappointed. Fergus, I have a 
 friend — a friend — oh, such a friend ! and it will go hard 
 with that friend, or I shall hear of their proceedings. In 
 the meantime, what do you intend to do ?" 
 
 "I scarcely know," replied the other. "I must lie 
 quiet for a while, at any rate." 
 
 " Do so," said Reilly ; " and listen, Fergus. See Pau- 
 deen, the smith, from time to time, and get whatever he 
 knows out of him. His father was a tenant of ours, and he 
 ought to remember our kindness to him and his."
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 87 
 
 " Ay," said Fergus, " and he does too." 
 
 " Well, it is clear he does. Get from him all the infor- 
 mation you can, and let me hear it. I would give you 
 shelter in my house, but that now would be dangerous both 
 to you and me. Do you want money to support you ?" 
 
 "Well, indeed, Mr. Reilly, I do and I do not. I 
 can — " 
 
 "That's enough," said Reilly; "you want it. Here, 
 take this. I would recommend you, as I did before, to 
 leave this unhappy country ; but as circumstances have 
 turned out, you may for some time yet be useful to me. 
 Good-night, then, Fergus. Serve me in this matter as far 
 as you can, for I stand in need of it." 
 
 As nothing like an organized police existed in Ireland at 
 the period of which we speak, an outlaw or Rapparee might 
 have a price laid upon his head for months — nay, for years — 
 and yet continue his outrages and defy the executive. Some- 
 times it happened that the authorities, feeling the weakness 
 of their resources and the inadequacy of their power, did 
 not hesitate to propose terms to the leaders of these ban- 
 ditti, and, by affording them personal protection, succeeded 
 in inducing them to betray their former associates. Now 
 Reilly was well aware of this, and our readers need not be 
 surprised that the communication made to him by his kins- 
 man filled him not only with anxiety but alarm. A very 
 slight charge indeed brought forward by a man of rank 
 and property — such a charge, for instance, as the possession 
 of firearms — was quite sufficient to get a Roman Catholic 
 banished the country. 
 
 On the third evening after this our friend Tom Steeple 
 was met by its proprietor in the avenue leading to Corbo 
 Castle. 
 
 " Well, Tom," said the squire, " are you for the Big 
 House?" for such is the general term applied to all the 
 ancestral mansions of the country. 
 
 Tom stopped and looked at him — for we need scarcely 
 observe here that with poor Tom there was no respect of 
 persons ; he then shook his head, and replied, " Me don't 
 know whether you tall or not. Tom tall — will Tom go to 
 Big House — get bully dinner — and Tom sleep under the 
 stairs — eh ? Say ay, an' you be tall too." 
 
 11 To be sure, Tom ; go into the house, and your cousin
 
 8S WILLY REILLY. 
 
 Larry Lanigan, the cook, will give you a bully dinner ; and 
 sleep where you like." 
 
 The squire walked up and down the avenue in a thought- 
 ful mood for some moments until another of our characters 
 met him on his way towards the entrance gate. This person 
 was no other than Molly Marion. 
 
 " Ha !" said he, " here is another of them — well, poor 
 devils, they must live. This, though, is the great fortune- 
 teller. I will try her." 
 
 " God save your honor," said Molly, as she approached 
 him and dropped a courtesy. 
 
 "Ah, Molly," said he, "you can see into the future, 
 they say. Well, come now, tell me my fortune ; but they 
 say one must cross your palm with silver before you can 
 manage the fates ; here's a shilling for you, and let us hear 
 what you have to say. 
 
 11 No, sir," replied Molly, putting back his hand, " im- 
 posthors may do that, because they secure themselves first 
 and tell you nothing worth knowin' afterwards. I take no 
 money till I first tell the fortune." 
 
 11 Well, Molly, that's honest at all events ; let me hear 
 what you have to tell me." 
 
 " Show me your hand, sir," said she, and taking it, she 
 looked into it with a solemn aspect. " There, sir," she 
 said, " that will do. I am sorry I met you this evening." 
 
 "Why so, Molly?" 
 
 " Because I read in you hand a great deal of sorrow." 
 
 " Pooh, you foolish woman — nonsense !" 
 
 " There's a misfortune likely to happen to one of your 
 family ; but I think it may be prevented." 
 
 " How will it be prevented ?" 
 
 " By a gentleman that has a title and great wealth, and 
 that loves the member of your family that the misfortune is 
 likely to happen to." 
 
 The squire paused and looked at the woman, who seemed 
 to speak seriously, and even with pain. 
 
 " I don't believe a word of it, Molly ; but granting that 
 it be true, how do you know it ?" 
 
 " That's more than I can tell myself, sir," she replied. 
 11 A feelin' comes over me, and I can't help speakin' the 
 words as they rise to my lips." 
 
 " Well, Molly, here's a shilling for you now ; but I want
 
 WILLY REILLY. bg 
 
 you to see my daughter's hand till I hear what you have to 
 say for her. Are you a Papist, Molly ?" 
 
 11 No, your honor, I was one wanst ; but the moment we 
 take to this way of life we mustn't belong to any religion, 
 otherwise we couldn't tell the future." 
 
 " Sell yourself to the devil, eh ?" 
 
 11 Oh, no, sir ; but — " 
 ' "But what? Out with it." 
 
 " I can't, sir ; if I did, I never could tell a fortune 
 agin." 
 
 11 Well — well ; come up ; I have taken a fancy that you 
 shall tell my daughter's for all that." 
 
 11 Surely there can be nothing but happiness before her, 
 sir ; she that is so good to the poor and distressed ; she that 
 has all the world admirin' her wonderful beauty. Sure, they 
 say, her health was drunk in the Lord Lieutenant's house in 
 the great Castle of Dublin, as the Lily of the Plains of Boyle 
 and the Star of Ireland." 
 
 " And so it was, Molly, and so it was ; there's another 
 shilling for you. Come now, come up to the house, and 
 tell her fortune ; and mark me, Molly, no flattery now — 
 nothing but the truth, if you know it." 
 
 11 Did I flatter you, sir ?" 
 
 " Upon my honor, any thing but that, Molly ; and all I 
 ask is that you won't flatter her. Speak the truth, as I said 
 before, if you know it." 
 
 Miss Folliard, on being called down by her father to have 
 her fortune told, on seeing Molly, drew back and said, 
 
 " Do not ask me to come in direct contact with this wom- 
 an, papa. How can yon, for one moment, imagine that a 
 person of her life and habits could be gifted with that which 
 has never yet been communicated to mortal (the holy proph- 
 ets excepted) — a knowledge of futurity ?" 
 
 " No matter, my darling, no matter ; give her your hand ; 
 you will oblige and gratify me." 
 
 " Here, then, dear papa, to please you — certainly." 
 
 Molly took her lovely hand, and having looked into it, said, 
 turning to the squire, " It's very odd, sir, but here's nearly 
 the same thing that I tould to you awhile ago." 
 
 " Well, Molly," said he, " let us hear it." 
 
 Miss Folliard stood with her snowy hand in that of the 
 fortune-teller, perfectly indifferent to her art, but not with-
 
 9° WILLY REILLY. 
 
 out strong feelings of disgust at the ordeal to which she 
 submitted. 
 
 41 Now, Molly," said the squire, " what have you to say ?" 
 
 14 Here's love," she replied, " love in the wrong direction 
 — a false step is made that will end in misery — and — and — 
 and—" 
 
 " And what, woman?" asked Miss Folliard, with an in- 
 dignant glance at the fortune-teller. " What have you to 
 add." 
 
 11 No !" said she, " I needn't speak it, for it won't come 
 to pass. I see a man of wealth and title who will just 
 come in in time to save you from shame and destruction, and 
 with him you will be happy." 
 
 " I could prove to you," replied the Cooleen Bawn y her 
 face mantling with blushes of indignation, " that I am a 
 better prophetess than you are. Ask her, papa, where she 
 last came from?" 
 
 11 Where did you come from last, Molly ?" he asked. 
 
 " Why, then," she replied, " from Jemmy Hamilton's at 
 the foot of Cullamore." 
 
 "False prophetess," replied the Cooleen Bawn, "you 
 have told an untruth. I know where you came from last." 
 
 "Then where did I come from, Miss Folliard?" said 
 the woman, with unexpected effrontery. 
 
 " From Sir Robert Whitecraft," replied Miss Folliard, 
 " and the wages of your dishonesty and his corruption are 
 the sources of your inspiration. Take the woman away, 
 papa." 
 
 "That will do, Molly — that will do," exclaimed the 
 squire, " there is something additional for you. What you 
 have told us is very odd — very odd, indeed. Go and get 
 your dinner in the kitchen." 
 
 Miss Folliard then withdrew to her own room. 
 
 Between eleven and twelve o'clock that night a carriage 
 drew up at the grand entrance of Corbo Castle, out of which 
 stepped Sir Robert Whitecraft and no less a personage than 
 the Red Rapparee. They approached the hall door, and 
 after giving a single knock, it was opened to them by the 
 squire himself, who it would seem had been waiting to re- 
 ceive them privately. They followed him in silence to his 
 study. 
 
 Mr. Folliard, though a healthy-looking man, was, in point
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 91 
 
 of fact, by no means so. Of a nervous and plethoric habit, 
 though brave, and even intrepid, yet he was easily affected 
 by any thing or any person that was disagreeable to him. 
 On seeing the man whose hand had been raised against his 
 life, and what was still more atrocious, whose criminal de- 
 signs upon the honor of his daughter had been proved by 
 his violent irruption into her chamber, he felt a suffocating 
 sensation of rage and horror that nearly overcame him. 
 
 "Sir Robert," he said, "excuse me; the sight of this 
 man has sickened me. I got your note, and in your society 
 and at your request I have suffered him to come here ; under 
 your protection, too. May God forgive me for it ! The 
 room is too close — I feel unwell — pray open the door." 
 
 11 Will there be no risk, sir, in leaving the door open ?" 
 Said the baronet. 
 
 " None in the world ! I have sent the servants all to bed 
 nearly an hour ago. Indeed, the fact is, they are seldom 
 up so late, unless when I have company." 
 
 Sir Robert then opened the door — that is to say, he left it 
 a little more than ajar, and returning again took his seat. 
 
 11 Don't let the sight of me frighten you, sir," said the 
 Rapparee. " I never was your enemy nor intended you 
 harm. 
 
 " Frighten me /" replied the courageous old squire ; " no, 
 sir, I am not a man very easily frightened ; but I will con- 
 fess that the sight of you has sickened me and filled me 
 with horror." 
 
 "Well, now, Mr. Folliard," said the baronet, "let this 
 matter, this misunderstanding, this mistake, or rather this 
 deep and diabolical plot on the part of the Jesuit, Reilly, be 
 at once cleared up. We wish, that is to say I wish, to pre- 
 vent your good nature from being played upon by a design- 
 ing villain. Now, O'Donnel, relate, or rather disclose, 
 candidly and truly all, that took place with respect to this 
 damnable plot between you and Reilly." 
 
 " Why, the thing, sir," said the Rapparee, addressing 
 himself to the squire, "is very plain and simple; but, Sir 
 Robert, it was not a plot between me and Reilly — the plot 
 was his own. It appears that he saw your daughter and 
 fell desperately in love with her, and knowin' your strong 
 feeling against Catholics, he gave up all hopes of being 
 made acquainted with Miss Folliard, or of getting into her
 
 92 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 company. Well, sir, aware that you were often in the habit 
 of goin' to the town of Boyle, he comes to me and says in 
 the early part of the day, ' Randal, I will give you fifty 
 goolden guineas if you help me in a plan I have in my 
 head.' Now, fifty goolden guineas isn't easily earned ; so 
 I, not knowing what the plan was at the time, tould him 1 
 could say nothing till I heard it. He then tould me that he 
 was over head and ears in love with your daughter, and that 
 have her he should if it cost him his life. ' Well, ' says I, 
 ' and how can I help you ? ' ' Why,' said he, ' I'll show you 
 that : her ould persecuting scoundrel of a father ' — excuse 
 me, sir — I'm givin' his own words — " 
 
 11 I believe it, Mr. Folliard," said the baronet, " for these 
 are the identical terms in which he told me the story be- 
 fore ; proceed, O'Donnell." 
 
 "'The ould scoundrel of a father,' says he, 'on his 
 return from Boyle, generally comes by the ould road, be- 
 cause it is the shortest cut. Do you and your men lie in 
 wait in the ruins of the ould chapel, near Loch na Gar ran ' 
 — is is called so, sir, because they say there's a wild horse in 
 it that comes out of moonlight nights to feed on the patches 
 of green that are here and there among the moors — ' near 
 Loch na Garran, ' says he ; ' and when he gets that far turn 
 out upon him, charge him with transportin' your uncle, and 
 when you are levellin' your gun at him, I will come, by the 
 way, and save him. You and I must speak angry to one 
 another, you know ; then, of course, I must see him home, 
 and he can't do less than ask me to dine with him. At all 
 events, thinkin' that I saved his life, we will become ac- 
 quainted.' " 
 
 The squire paused and mused for some time, and then 
 asked, " Was there no more than this between you and 
 him ?" 
 
 11 Nothing more, sir." 
 
 " And tell me, did he pay you the money ?" 
 
 " Here it is," replied the Rapparee, pulling out a rag in 
 which were the precise number of guineas mentioned. 
 
 " But," said the squire, " we lost our way in the fog." 
 
 " Yes, sir," said the Rapparee. " Everything turned out 
 in his favor. That made very little difference. You would 
 have been attacked in or about that place, whether or not." 
 
 11 Yes, but did you not attack my house that night ? Did
 
 WILLY REILLY. 93 
 
 not you yourself come down by the skylight, and enter, by 
 violence, into my daughter's apartment ?" 
 
 " Well, when I heard of that, sir, I said, ' I give Reilly 
 up for ingenuity.' No, sir, that was his own trick ; but 
 afther all it was a bad one, and tells aginst itself. Why, 
 sir, neither I nor any of my men have the power of makin' 
 ourselves invisible. Do you think, sir — I put it to your 
 own common-sense — that if we had been there no one would 
 have seen us ? Wasn't the whole country for miles round 
 searched and scoured, and I ask you, sir, was there hilt or 
 hair of me or any one of my men seen or even heard of ? 
 Sir Robert, I must be going now," he added. " I hope 
 Squire Folliard understands what kind of a man Reilly is. 
 As for myself, I have nothing more to say." 
 
 " Don't go yet, O'Donnell," said Whitecraft ; "let us de- 
 termine what is to be done with him. You see clearly it is 
 necessary, Mr. Folliard, that this deep-designing Jesuit 
 should be sent out of the country." 
 
 " I would give half my estate he was fairly out of it," 
 said the squire. " He has brought calamity and misery into 
 my family. Created world ! how I and mine have been de- 
 ceived and imposed upon ! Away with him — a thousand 
 leagues away with him ! And that quickly too ! Oh, the 
 plausible, deceitful villain ! My child ! my child !" and 
 here the old man burst into tears of the bitterest indigna- 
 tion. " Sir Robert, that cursed villain was born, I fear, to 
 be the shame and destruction of my house and name." 
 
 11 Don't dream of such a thing," said the baronet. " On 
 the day he dined here — and you cannot forget my strong 
 disinclination to meet him — but even on that day you will 
 recollect the treasonable language he used against the laws 
 of the realm. After my return home I took a note of them, 
 and I trust that you, sir, will corroborate, with respect to 
 this fact, the testimony which it is my purpose to give 
 against him. I say this the rather, Mr. Folliard, because it 
 might seriously compromise your own character with the 
 Government, and as a magistrate, too, to hear treasonable 
 and seditious language at your own table, from a Papist 
 Jesuit, and yet decline to report it to the authorities." 
 
 "The laws, the authorities, and you be hanged, sir!" 
 replied the squire ; " my table is, and has been, and ever 
 shall be, the altar of confidence to my guests ; I shall never
 
 94 IV ILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 violate the laws of hospitality. Treat the man fairly, I say, 
 concoct no plot against him, bribe no false witnesses, and if 
 he is justly amenable to the law I will spend ten thousand 
 pounds to have him sent anywhere out of the country." 
 
 "He keeps arms," observed Sir Robert, "contrary to 
 the penal enactments." 
 
 " I think not," said the squire ; "he told me he was on 
 a duck-shooting expedition that night, and when I asked 
 him where he got his arms, he said that his neighbor, Bob 
 Gosford, always lent him his gun whenever he felt disposed 
 to shoot, and, to my own knowledge, so did many other 
 Protestant magistrates in the neighborhood, for this wily 
 Jesuit is a favorite with most of them." 
 
 " But I know where he has arms concealed," said the 
 Rapparee, looking significantly at the baronet, " and I will 
 be able to find them, too, when the proper time comes." 
 
 " Ha ! indeed, O'Donnell," said Sir Robert, with well- 
 feigned surprise ; " then there will be no lack of proof 
 against him, you may rest assured, Mr. Folliard ; I charge 
 myself with the management of the whole affair. I trust, 
 sir, you will leave it to me, and I have only one favor to 
 ask, and that is the hand of your fair daughter when he is 
 disposed of." 
 
 " She shall be yours, Sir Robert, the moment that this 
 treacherous villain can be removed by the fair operation of 
 the laws ; but I will never sanction any dishonorable treat- 
 ment towards him. By the laws of the land let him stand 
 or fall." 
 
 At this moment a sneeze of tremendous strength and 
 loudness was heard immediately outside the door ; a sneeze 
 which made the hair of the baronet almost stand on end. 
 
 " What the devil is that?" asked the squire. " By the 
 great Boyne, I fear some one has been listening after all." 
 
 The Rapparee, always apprehensive of the " authorities," 
 started behind a screen, and the baronet, although uncon- 
 scious of any cause for terror, stood rather undecided. 
 The sneeze, however, was repeated, and this time it was a 
 double one. 
 
 " Curse it, Sir Robert," said the squire, " have you not 
 the use of your legs ? Go and see whether there has been 
 an eavesdropper." 
 
 11 Yes, Mr. Folliard," replied the doughty baronet, " but
 
 WILLY REILLY. 95 
 
 your house has the character of being haunted ; and I have 
 a terror of ghosts." 
 
 The squire himself got up, and, seizing a candle, went 
 outside the door, but nothing in human shape was visible. 
 
 11 Come here, Sir Robert," said he, " that sneeze came 
 from no ghost, I'll swear. Who ever heard of a ghost sneez- 
 ing ? Never mind, though ; for the curiosity of the thing I 
 will examine for myself, and return to you in a few min- 
 utes." 
 
 He accordingly left them, and in a short time came back, 
 assuring them that every one in the house was in a state of 
 the most profound repose, and that it was his opinion it 
 must have been a cat. 
 
 11 I might think so myself," observed the baronet, " were 
 it not for the double sneeze. I am afraid, Mr. Folliard, 
 that the report is too true — and that the house is haunted. 
 O'Donnell, you must come home with me to-night." 
 
 O'Donnell, who entertained no apprehension of ghosts, 
 finding that the " authorities" were not in question, agreed 
 to go with him, although he had a small matter on hand 
 which required his presence in another part of the country. 
 
 The baronet, however, had gained his point. The heart 
 of the hasty and unreflecting squire had been poisoned, and 
 not one shadow of doubt remained on his mind of Reilly's 
 treachery. And that which convinced him beyond all argu- 
 ments or assertions was the fact that on the night of the 
 premeditated attack on his house not one of the Red Rap- 
 paree's gang was seen, or any trace of them discovered. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE WARNING — AN ESCAPE. 
 
 REILLY, in the meantime, was not insensible to his 
 danger. About eleven o'clock the next day, as he 
 was walking in his garden, Tom Steeple made his appear- 
 ance, and approached him with a look of caution and sig- 
 nificance. 
 
 11 Well, Tom," said he, " what's the news ?"
 
 96 WILL Y REILL Y. 
 
 Tom made no reply, but catching him gently by the sleeve 
 of his coat, said, " Come wid Tom ; Tom has news for 
 you. Here it is, in de paper ;" and as he spoke, he hand- 
 ed him a letter, the contents of which we give : 
 
 "Dearest Reilly : The dreadful discovery I have 
 made, the danger and treachery and vengeance by which 
 you are surrounded, but, above all, my inexpressible love 
 for you, will surely justify me in not losing a moment to 
 write to you ; and I select this poor creature as my messen- 
 ger because he is least likely to be suspected. It is through 
 him that the discovery of the accursed plot against you has 
 been made. It appears that he slept in the castle last 
 night, as he often does, and having observed Sir Thomas 
 Whitecraft and that terrible man, the Red Rapparee, com- 
 ing into the house, and going along with papa into his 
 study, evidently upon some private business, he resolved to 
 listen. He did so, and overheard the Rapparee stating to 
 papa that every thing which took place on the evening you 
 saved his life and frustrated his other designs upon the castle, 
 was a plan preconceited by you for the purpose of making 
 papa's acquaintance and getting introduced to the family in 
 order to gain my affections. Alas ! if you have resorted to 
 such a plan, you have but too well succeeded. Do not, 
 however, for one moment imagine that I yield any credit to 
 this atrocious falsehood. It has been concocted by your 
 base and unmanly rival, Whitecraft, by whom all the pro- 
 ceedings against you are to be conducted. Some violation 
 of the penal laws, in connection with carrying or keeping 
 arms, is to be brought against you, and unless you are on 
 your guard you will be arrested and thrown into prison, 
 and if not convicted of a capital offence and executed like a 
 felon, you will at least be sent forever out of the country. 
 What is to be done ? If you have arms in or about your 
 house let them be forthwith removed to some place of con- 
 cealment. The Rapparee is to get a pardon from govern- 
 ment, at least he is promised it by Sir Robert, if he turns 
 against you. In one word, dearest Reilly, you cannot, with 
 safety to your life, remain in this country. You must fly 
 from it, and immediately too. I wish to see you. Come 
 this night, at half-past ten, to the back gate of our garden, 
 which you will find shut, but unlocked. Something — is it
 
 WILLY REILLY. 97 
 
 my heart ? — tells me that our fates are henceforth insepara- 
 ble, whether for joy or sorrow. 1 ought to tell you that I 
 confessed my affection for you to papa on the evening you 
 dined here, and he was not angry ; but this morning he in- 
 sisted that I should never think of you more, nor mention 
 your name ; and he says that if the laws can do it he will 
 lose ten thousand pounds or he will have you sent out of the 
 country. Lanigan, our cook, from what motive I know 
 not, mentioned to me the substance of what I have now 
 written. He is, it seems, a cousin to the bearer of this, and 
 got the information from him after having had much diffi- 
 culty, he says, in putting it together. I know not how it is, 
 but I can assure you that every servant in the castle seems 
 to know that I am attached to you. 
 
 11 Ever, my dearest Reilly, yours, and yours only, until 
 death, Helen Folliard." 
 
 We need not attempt to describe the sensations of love 
 and indignation produced by this letter. But we shall state 
 the facts. 
 
 " Here, Tom," said Reilly, ** is the reward for your fidel- 
 ity," as he handed him some silver ; " and mark me, Tom, 
 don't breathe to a human being that you have brought me a 
 letter from the Cooleen Bawn. Go into the house and get 
 something to eat ; there now — go and get one of your bully 
 dinners." 
 
 " It is true," said he, " too true I am doomed — devoted. 
 If I remain in this country I am lost. Yes, my life, my 
 love, my more than life— I feel as you do, that our fates, 
 whether for good or evil, are inseparable. Yes, I shall see 
 you this night if I have life." 
 
 He had scarcely concluded this soliloquy when his name- 
 sake, Fergus Reilly, disguised in such a way as prevented 
 him from being recognized, approached him, in the lowly 
 garb of a baccah or mendicant. 
 
 11 Well, my good fellow," said he, " what do you want ? 
 Go up to the house and you will get food." 
 
 " Keep quiet," replied the uther, disclosing himself, 
 " keep quiet ; get all your money into one purse, settle your 
 affairs as quickly as you can, and fly the country this night, 
 or otherwise sit down and make your will and your peace 
 with God Almighty, for if you are found here by to-morrow
 
 9 3 WILLY R LILLY. 
 
 night you sleep in Sligo jail. Throw me a few halfpence, 
 making as it were charity. Whitecraft has spies among 
 your own laborers, and you know the danger I run in 
 comin' to you by daylight. Indeed, I could not do it with- 
 out this disguise. To-morrow night you are to be taken 
 upon a warrant from Sir Robert Whitecraft ; but never 
 mind ; as to Whitecraft, leave him to me — I have a crow to 
 pluck with him." 
 
 " How is that, Fergus ?" 
 
 " My sister, man ; did you not hear of it ?" 
 
 " No, Fergus, nor I don't wish to hear of it, for your 
 sake ; spare your feelings, my poor fellow ; I know per- 
 fectly well what a hypocritical scoundrel he is." 
 
 " Well," replied Fergus, " it was only yesterday I heard 
 of it myself ; and are we to bear this ? — we that have hands 
 and eyes and limbs and hearts and courage to stand nobly 
 upon the gallows-tree for striking down the villain who does 
 whatever he likes, and then threatens us with the laws of the 
 land if we murmur ? Do you think this is to be borne ?" 
 
 " Take not vengeance into your own hand, Fergus," 
 replied Reilly, " for that is contrary to the laws of God and 
 man. As for me, I agree with you that I cannot remain in 
 this country. I know the vast influence which Whitecraft 
 possesses with the government. Against such a man I 
 have no chance ; this, taken in connection with my education 
 abroad, is quite sufficient to make me a marked and sus- 
 pected man. I will therefore leave the country, and ere to- 
 morrow night, I trust, I shall be beyond his reach. But, 
 Fergus, listen : leave Whitecraft to God ; do not stain your 
 soul with human blood ; keep a pure heart, and whatever 
 may happen be able to look up to the Almighty with a 
 clear conscience." 
 
 Fergus then left him, but with a resolution, nevertheless, 
 to have vengeance upon the baronet very unequivocally ex- 
 pressed on his countenance. 
 
 Having seriously considered his position and all the cir- 
 cumstances of danger connected with it, Reilly resolved that 
 his interview that night with his beloved Cooleen Bawn 
 should be his last. Fie accordingly communicated his ap- 
 prehensions to an aged uncle of his who resided with him, 
 and entrusted the management of his property to him until 
 some change for the better might take place. Having heard
 
 WILLY REILLY. 99 
 
 from Fergus Reilly that there were spies among his own 
 laborers, he kept moving about and making such observa- 
 tions as he could for the remainder of the day. When the 
 night came he prepared himself for his appointment, and 
 at, or rather before, the hour of half-past ten, he had 
 reached the back gate, or rather door of the garden at- 
 tached to Corbo Castle. Having ascertained that it was 
 unlocked, he entered with no difficulty, and traversed the 
 garden without being able to perceive her whose love was 
 now, it might be said, all that life had left him. After hav- 
 ing satisfied himself that she was not in the garden, he with- 
 drew to an arbor or summer-house of evergreens, where he 
 resolved to await until she should come. He did not wait 
 long. The latch of the entrance gate from the front made a 
 noise ; ah, how his heart beat ! what a commotion agitated 
 his whole frame ! In a few moments she was with him. 
 
 11 Reilly," said Cooleen Baum, " I have dreadful news to 
 communicate. ' ' 
 
 " I know all," said he ; "I am to be arrested to-morrow 
 night." 
 
 " To-night, dearest Reilly, to-night. Papa told me this 
 evening, in one of his moods of anger, that before to-mor- 
 row morning you would be in Sligo jail." 
 
 "Well, dearest Helen," he replied, "that is certainly 
 making quick work of it. But, even so, I am prepared this 
 moment to escape. I have settled my affairs, left the man- 
 agement of them to my uncle, and this interview with you, 
 my beloved girl, must be our last." 
 
 As he uttered these melancholy words the tears came to 
 his eyes. 
 
 " The last !" she exclaimed. " Oh, no ; it must not be 
 the last. You shall not go alone, dearest William. My 
 mind is made up. Be it for life or for death, I shall accom- 
 pany you." 
 
 11 Dearest life," he replied, " think of the consequences." 
 
 " I think of nothing," said Cooleen Bawn y " but my love 
 for you. If you were not surrounded by danger as you are, 
 if the whoop of vengeance were not on your trail, if death 
 and a gibbet were not in the background, I could part with 
 you ; but now that danger, vengeance, and death, are hover- 
 ing about you, I shall and must partake of them with you. 
 And listen, Reilly ; after all it is the best plan. Papa, if I
 
 ioo WILLY REILLY. 
 
 accompany you — supposing that we are taken — will relent for 
 my sake. I know his love for me. His affection for me 
 will overcome all his prejudices against you. Then let us 
 fly. To-night you will be taken. Your rival will triumph 
 over both of us ; and I — I, oh ! I shall not survive it. 
 Save me, then, Reilly, and let me fly with you." 
 
 11 God knows," replied Reilly, with deep emotion, " if I 
 suffered myself to be guided by the impulse of my heart, I 
 would yield to wishes at once so noble and disinterested. I 
 cannot, however, suffer my affection, absorbing and inex- 
 pressible as it is, to precipitate your ruin. I speak not of 
 myself, nor of what I may suffer. When we reflect, how- 
 ever, my beloved girl, upon the state of the country, and of 
 the law, as it operates against the liberty and property of 
 Catholics, we must both admit the present impossibility of 
 an elopement without involving you in disgrace. You 
 know that until some relaxation of the laws affecting mar- 
 riage between Catholics and Protestants takes place, an 
 union between us is impossible ; and this fact it is which 
 would attach disgrace to you, and a want of honor, prin- 
 ciple, and gratitude to me. We should necessarily lead 
 the lives of the guilty, and seek the wildest fastnesses of the 
 mountain solitudes and the oozy caverns of the bleak and 
 solitary hills." 
 
 11 But I care not. 1 am willing to endure it all for your 
 sake." 
 
 11 What ! — the shame, the misinterpretation, the imputed 
 guilt ?' ' 
 
 " Neither care I for shame or imputed guilt, so long as I 
 am innocent, and you safe." 
 
 11 Concealment, my dearest girl, would be impossible. 
 Such a hue and cry would be raised after us as would ren- 
 der nothing short of positive invisibility capable of protect- 
 ing us from our enemies. Then your father ! — such a step 
 might possibly break his heart ; a calamity which would fill 
 your mind with remorse to the last day of your life !" 
 
 She burst again into tears, and replied, " But as for you, 
 what can be done to save you from the toils of your un- 
 scrupulous and powerful enemies ?" 
 
 11 To that, my beloved Helen, I must forthwith look. In 
 the meantime, let me gather patience and await some more 
 favorable relaxation in the penal code. At present, the step
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. ioi 
 
 you propose would be utter destruction to us both, and an 
 irretrievable stain upon our reputation. You will return to 
 your father's house, and I shall seek some secure place of 
 concealment until I can safely reach the continent, from 
 whence I shall contrive to let you hear from me, and in due 
 time may possibly be able to propose some mode of meeting 
 in a country where the oppressive laws that separate us here 
 shall not stand in the way of our happiness. In the mean- 
 time, let our hearts be guided by hope and constancy." 
 After a mournful and tender embrace they separated. 
 
 It would be impossible to describe the agony of the lovers 
 after a separation which might probably be their last. Our 
 readers, however, may very well conceive it, and it is not 
 our intention to describe it here. At this stage of our story, 
 Reilly, who was, as we have said, in consequence of his gen- 
 tlemanly manners and liberal principles, a favorite with all 
 classes and all parties, and entertained no apprehensions 
 from the dominant party, took his way homewards deeply 
 impressed with the generous affections which his Coolecn 
 Bawn had expressed for him. He consequently looked 
 upon himself as perfectly safe in his own house. The state 
 of society in Ireland, however, was at that melancholy 
 period so uncertain that no Roman Catholic, however pop- 
 ular, or however innocent, could for one week calculate 
 upon safety either to his property or person, if he happened 
 to have an enemy who possessed any influence in the oppos- 
 ing Church. Religion thus was made the stalking-horse, 
 not only of power, but of persecution, rapacity, and selfish- 
 ness, and the unfortunate Roman Catholic who considered 
 himself safe to-day might find himself ruined to-morrow, 
 owing to the cupidity of some man who turned a lustful eye 
 upon his property, or who may have entertained a feeling of 
 personal ill-will against him. Be this as it may, Reilly wended 
 his melancholy way homewards, and had got within less 
 than a quarter of a mile of his own house when he was met 
 by Fergus in his mendicant habit, who startled him by the 
 information he disclosed. 
 
 " Where are you bound for, Mr. Reilly ?" said the latter. 
 
 11 For home," replied Reilly, " in order to secure my 
 money and the papers connected with the family property." 
 
 11 Well, then," said the other, " if you go home now you 
 are a lost man."
 
 102 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 " How is that ?" asked Reilly. 
 
 " Your house at this moment is filled with sogers, and 
 surrounded by them too. Yoa know that no human being 
 could make me out in this disguise ; I had heard that they 
 were on their way to your place, and afeered that they 
 might catch you at home, I was goin' to let you know, in 
 ordher that you might escape them, but I was too late ; the 
 villains were there before me. I took heart o' grace, how- 
 ever, and went up to beg a little charity for the love and 
 honor of God. Seem' the kind of creature I was, they took 
 no notice of me ; for to tell you the truth they were too 
 much bent on searchin' for, and nndin' you. God protect 
 us from such men, Mr. Reilly," and the name he uttered in 
 a low and cautious voice ; " but at all events this is no 
 country for you to live in now. But who do you think was 
 the busiest and the bittherest man among them ?" 
 
 " Why Whitecraft, I suppose." 
 
 " No ; he wasn't there himself — no ; but that double dis- 
 tilled traitor and villain, the Red Rapparee, and bad luck to 
 him. You see, then, that if you attempt to go near your 
 own house you're a lost man, as I said." 
 
 " I feel the truth of what you say," replied Reilly, " but 
 are you aware that they committed any acts of violence ? 
 Are you aware that they disturbed my property or ran- 
 sacked my house ?" 
 
 " Well, that's more than I can say," replied Fergus, " for 
 to tell you the truth, I was afraid to trust myself inside, in 
 regard of that scoundrel the Rapparee, who, bein* himself 
 accustomed to all sorts of disguises, I dreaded might find 
 me out." 
 
 " Well, at all events," said Reilly, " with respect to that 
 I disregard them. The family papers and other available 
 property are too well secreted for them to secure them. 
 On discovering Whitecraft's jealousy, and knowing, as I did 
 before, his vindictive spirit and power in the country, I lost 
 no time in putting them in a safe place. Unless they burn 
 the house they could never come at them. But as this fact 
 is not at all an improbable one — so long as Whitecraft is my 
 unscrupulous and relentless enemy — I shall seize upon the 
 first opportunity of placing them elsewhere." 
 
 "You ought to do so," said Fergus, "for it is not 
 merely Whitecraft you have to deal wid, but ould Folliard
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 103 
 
 himself, who now swears that if he should lose half his for- 
 tune he will either hang or transport you." 
 
 " Ah ! Fergus," replied the other, " there is an essential 
 difference between the characters of these two men. The 
 father of Coolcen Bawn is, when he thinks himself injured, 
 impetuous and unsparing in his resentment ; but then he is 
 an open foe, and the man whom he looks upon as his enemy 
 always knows what he has to expect from him. Not so the 
 other ; he is secret, cautious, cowardly, and consequently 
 doubly vindictive. He is a combination of the fox and the 
 tiger, with all the treacherous cunning of the one, and the 
 indomitable ferocity of the other, when he finds that he can 
 make his spring with safety." 
 
 This conversation took place as Reilly and his companion 
 bent their steps towards one of those antiquated and obso- 
 lete roads which we have described in the opening portion 
 of this narrative. 
 
 11 But now," asked Fergus, " where do you intend to go, 
 or what do you intend to do with yourself ?" 
 
 "I scarcely know," replied Reilly, "but on one thing 
 my mind is determined — that I will not leave this country 
 until I know the ultimate fate of the Cooleen Bawn. Rather 
 than see her become the wife of that diabolical scoundrel, 
 whom she detests as she does hell, I would lose my life. 
 Let the consequences then be what they may, I will not for 
 the present leave Ireland. This resolution I have come to 
 since I saw her to-night. I am her only friend, and, so help 
 me God, I shall not suffer her to be sacrificed — murdered. 
 In the course of the night we shall return to my house and 
 look about us. If the coast be clear I will secure my cash 
 and papers as I said. It is possible that a few stragglers 
 may lurk behind, under the expectation of securing me while 
 making a stolen visit. However, we shall try. We are un- 
 der the scourge of irresponsible power, Fergus ; and if 
 Whitecraft should burn my house to-night or to-morrow, 
 who is to bring him to an account for it ? or if they should, 
 who is to convict him ?" 
 
 The night had now become very dark, but they knew the 
 country well, and soon found themselves upon the old road 
 they were seeking. 
 
 " I will go up," said Reilly, " to the cabin of poor widow 
 Buckley, where we will stop until we think those blood-
 
 104 IV ILLY RELLLY. 
 
 hounds have gone home. She has a free cottage and gar- 
 den from me, and has besides been a pensioner of mine 
 for some time back, and I know I can depend upon her 
 discretion and fidelity. Her little place is remote and 
 solitary, and not more than three quarters of a mile from 
 us." 
 
 They accordingly kept the old road for some time, until 
 they reached a point of it where there was an abrupt angle, 
 when, to their utter alarm and consternation, they found 
 themselves within about twenty or thirty yards of a military 
 party. 
 
 " Fly," whispered Fergus, " and leave me to deal with 
 them — if you don't it's all up with you. They won't know 
 me from Adam, but they'll know you at a glance." 
 
 11 I cannot leave you in danger," said Reilly. 
 
 11 You're mad," replied the other. " It is an ould beggar 
 man they'd meddle with. Off with you, unelss you wish to 
 sleep in Sligo jail before mornin'." 
 
 Reilly, who felt too deeply the truth of what he said, 
 bounded across the bank which enclosed the road on the 
 right-hand side, and which, by the way, was a tolerably high 
 one, but fortunately without bushes. In the meantime a 
 voice cried out, " Who goes there ? Stand at your peril, or 
 you will have a dozen bullets in your carcass." 
 
 Fergus advanced towards them, whilst they themselves 
 approached him at a rapid pace, until they met. In a mo- 
 ment they were all about him. 
 
 " Come, my customer," said their leader, " who and what 
 are you ? Quick — give an account of yourself." 
 
 " A poor creature that's lookin' for my bit, sir, God help 
 me." 
 
 11 What's your name ?" 
 
 " One Paddy Brennan, sir, please your honor." 
 
 " Ay — one Paddy Brennan (hiccough), and — and — one 
 Paddy Brennan, where do you go of a Sunday ?" 
 
 11 I don't go out at all, sir, of a Sunda'; whenever I stop 
 of a Saturday night I always stop until Monday mornin'." 
 
 " I mean, are you a Papish ?" 
 
 " Troth, I oughtn't to say I am, your honor — or at least 
 a very bad one." 
 
 11 But you are a Papish." 
 
 " A kind of one, sir."
 
 WILLY REILLY. 105 
 
 " Curse me, the fellow's humbuggin' you, sergeant," said 
 one of the men ; " to be sure he's a Papish." 
 
 " To be sure," replied several of the others — " doesn't he 
 admit he's a Papish ?" 
 
 "Blow me, if — if — I'll bear this," replied the sergeant. 
 11 I'm a senior off — off — officer conductin' the examination, 
 and I'll suffer no — no — man to intherfare. I must have 
 subor — or — ordination, or I'll know what for. Leave him 
 to me, then, and I'll work him up, never fear. George John- 
 ston isn't the blessed babe to be imposed upon — that's what 
 1 say. Come, my good fellow, mark — mark me now. If 
 you let but a quarter of — of — an inch of a lie out of your 
 lips, you're a dead man. Are you all charged, gentlemen ?" 
 
 11 All charged, sergeant, with loyalty and poteen at any 
 rate ; hang the Pope." 
 
 11 Shoulder arms — well done. Present arms. "Where is 
 — is — this rascal ? Oh, yes, here he is. Well, you are there 
 — are you ?" 
 
 11 I'm here, captain." 
 
 " Well, blow me, that's not — not — bad, my good fellow ; 
 if I'm not a captain, worse men have been so (hiccough) ; 
 that's what I say." 
 
 11 Hadn't we better make a prisoner of him at once, and 
 bring him to Sir Robert's ?" observed another. 
 
 " Simpson, hold — old — your tongue, I say. Curse me 
 if I'll suffer any man to intherfere with me in the discharge 
 of my duty." 
 
 " How do we know," said another, " but he's a Rapparee 
 in disguise ? — for that matter, he may be Reilly himself." 
 
 11 Captain and gentlemen," said Fergus, " if you have 
 any suspicion of me, I'm willin' to go anywhere you like ; 
 and, above all things, I'd like to go to Sir Robert's, bekaise 
 they know me there — many a good bit and sup I got in his 
 kitchen." 
 
 11 Ho, ho !" exclaimed the sergeant ; " now I have you 
 — now I know whether you can tell truth or not. Answer 
 me this. Did ever Sir Robert himself give you charity ? 
 Come, now." 
 
 Fergus perceived the drift of the question at once. The 
 penurious character of the baronet was so well known 
 throughout the whole barony that if he had replied in the 
 affirmative every man of them would have felt that the as-
 
 io5 WILLY REILLY 
 
 scrtion was a lie, and he would consequently have been de- 
 tected. He was prepared, however. 
 
 11 Throth then, gintlemen," he replied, " since you must 
 have the truth, and although maybe what I'm goin' to say 
 won't be plaisin' to you, as Sir Robert's friends, I must 
 come out wid it ; devil resave the color of his money ever I 
 seen yet, and it isn't but I often axed him for it. No — but 
 the sarvints often sind me up a bit from the kitchen below." 
 
 " Well, come," said the sergeant, " if you have been lyin' 
 all your life, you've spoke the truth now. I think we may 
 let him go." 
 
 " I don't think we ought," said one of them, named 
 Steen, a man of about fifty years of age, and of Dutch de- 
 scent ; " as Barnet said, ' we don't know what he is,' and 
 I agree with him. He may be a Rapparee in disguise, or, 
 what is worse, Reilly himself." 
 
 " What Reilly do yez mane, gintlemen, wid submission ?" 
 asked Fergus. 
 
 "Why, Willy Reilly, the famous Papish," replied the 
 sergeant (We don't wish to fatigue the reader with his 
 drunken stutterings). " It has been sworn that he's training 
 the Papishes every night to prepare them for rebellion, and 
 there's a warrant out for his apprehension. Do you know 
 him .?" 
 
 " Throth I do, well ; and to tell yez the truth, he doesn't 
 stand very high wid his own sort." 
 
 " Why so, my good fellow ?" 
 
 11 Bekaise they think that he keeps too much company wid 
 Prodestans, an' that he's half a Prodestan himself, and that 
 it's only the shame that prevents him from goin' over to 
 them altogether. Indeed, it's the general opinion among 
 the Catholics — " 
 
 11 Papishes ! you old dog." 
 
 "Well, then, Papishes— that he will— an' troth, I don't 
 think the Papishes would put much trust in the same man." 
 
 " Where are you bound for now? and what brings you 
 out at an illegal hour on this lonely road ?" asked Steen. 
 
 V Troth, then, I'm on my way to Mr. Graham's above ; 
 for sure, whenever I'm near him, poor Paddy Brennan never 
 wants for the good bit and sup, and the comfortable straw 
 bed in the barn. May God reward him and his for it !" 
 
 Now, the truth was, that Graham, a wealthy and respect-
 
 WILLY REILLY. 107 
 
 able Protestant farmer, was uncle to the sergeant ; a fact 
 ■which Fergus well knew, in consequence of having been a 
 house servant with him for two or three years. 
 
 " Sergeant," said the Williamite settler, " I think this 
 matter may be easily settled. Let two of the men go back 
 to your uncle's with him, and see whether they know him 
 there or not." 
 
 " Very well," replied the sergeant, " let you and Simpson 
 go back with him — I have no objection. If my uncle's peo- 
 ple don't know him, why then bring him down to Sir 
 Robert's." 
 
 " It's not fair to put such a task upon a man of my age," 
 replied Steen, " when you know that you have younger men 
 here." 
 
 11 It was you proposed it, then," said the sergeant, " and 
 I say, Steen, if you be a true man you have a right to go, 
 and no right at all to shirk your duty. But stop — I'll settle 
 it in a word's speaking : here you — you old Papish, where 
 are you ? — oh, I see — you're there, are you ? Come now, 
 gentlemen, shoulder arms — all right — present arms. Now, 
 you confounded Papish, you say that you have often slept in 
 my Uncle's barn ?" 
 
 "Is Mr. Graham your uncle, sir? — bekaise, if he is, I 
 know that I'm in the hands of a respectable man." 
 
 11 Come now — was there any thing particular in the inside 
 of that barn ? — Gentlemen, are you ready to slap into him 
 if we find him to be an imposther ?" 
 
 " All ready, sergeant." 
 
 11 Come, now, you blasted Papish, answer me — " 
 
 11 Troth, and I can do that, sargin'. You say Mr. 
 Graham's your uncle, an' of coorse you have often been in 
 the barn yourself. Very well, sir, don't you know that 
 there's a prop on one side to keep up one of the cupples 
 that gave way one stormy night, and there's a round hole in 
 the lower part of the door to let the cats in to settle ac- 
 counts wid the mice and rats." 
 
 11 Come, come, boys, it's all right. He has described 
 the barn to a hair. That will do, my Papish old cock. 
 Come, I say, as every man must have a religion, and since 
 the Papishes won't have ours, why the devil shouldn't they 
 have one of their own ?' ' 
 
 *' That's dangerous talk," said Steen, " to proceed from
 
 io3 WILLY RELLLY. 
 
 your lips, sergeant. It smells of treason, I tell you ; and if 
 you had spoken these words in the days of the great and 
 good King William, you might have felt the consequences." 
 
 " Treason and King William be hanged !" replied the 
 sergeant, who was naturally a good-natured, but out-spoken 
 fellow — " sooner than I'd take up a poor devil of a beggar 
 that has enough to do to make out his bit and sup. Go on 
 about your business, poor devil ; you shan't be molested. 
 Go to my uncle's, where you'll get a bellyfull, and a com- 
 fortable bed of straw, and a winnow-cloth in the barn. 
 Zounds ! — it would be a nice night's work to go out for 
 Willy Reilly and to bring home a beggar man in his 
 place." 
 
 This was a narrow escape upon the part of Fergus, who 
 knew that if they had made a prisoner of him, and produced 
 him before Sir Robert Whitecraft, who was a notorious perse- 
 cutor, and with whom the Red Rapparee was now located, 
 he would unquestionably have been hanged like a dog. The 
 officer of the party, however — to wit, the worthy sergeant — 
 was one of those men who love a drop of the native, and 
 whose heart besides it expands into a sort of surly kindness 
 that has something comical and not disagreeable in it. In 
 addition to this, he never felt a confidence in his own au- 
 thority with half the swagger which he did when three 
 quarters gone. Steen and he were never friends, nor indeed 
 was Steen ever a popular man among his acquaintances. 
 In matters of trade and business he was notoriously dis- 
 honest, and in the moral and social relations of life, selfish, 
 uncandid, and treacherous. The sergeant, on the other 
 hand, though an outspoken and flaming anti-Papist in theory, 
 was, in point of fact, a good friend to his Roman Catholic 
 neighbors, who used to say of him that his bark was worse 
 than his bite. 
 
 When the party had passed on, Fergus stood for a moment 
 uncertain as to where he should direct his steps. He had 
 not long to wait, however. Reilly, who had no thoughts of 
 abandoning him to the mercy of the military, without at 
 least knowing his fate, nor, we may add, without a firm de- 
 termination to raising his tenantry, and rescuing the gen- 
 erous fellow at every risk, immediatly sprung across the 
 ditch and joined him. 
 
 " Well, Fergus," said he, clasping his hand, " I heard
 
 WILLY REILLY. 109 
 
 every thing, and I can tell you that every nerve in my body 
 trembled whilst you were among them." 
 
 ' ' Why, ' ' said Fergus, ' ' I knew them at once by their 
 voices, and only that I changed my own as I did I won't 
 say but they'd have nabbed me." 
 
 11 The test of the barn was frightful ; I thought you were 
 gone ; but you must explain that." 
 
 " Ay, but before I do," replied Fergus, " where are we to 
 go ? Do you still stand for widow Buckley's ?" 
 
 " Certainly, that woman may be useful to me." 
 
 " Well, then, we may as well jog on in that direction, 
 and as we go I will tell you." 
 
 " How then did you come to describe the barn — or rather, 
 was your description correct ?" 
 
 "Ay, as Gospel. You don't know that by the best of 
 luck and providence of God, I was two years and a half an 
 inside laborer with Mr. Graham. As is usual, all the inside 
 men-servants slept, winther and summer, in the barn ; and 
 that accounts for our good fortune this night. Only for that 
 scoundrel, Steen, however, the whole thing would not have 
 signified much ; but he's a black and deep villain that. 
 Nobody likes him but his brother scoundrel, Whitecraft, 
 and he's a favorite with him, bekaise he's an active and un- 
 scrupulous tool in his hands. Many a time, when these 
 men — military — militia — yeomen, or whatever they call 
 them, are sent out by this same Sir Robert, the poor fellows 
 don't wish to catch what they call the unfortunate Papishes, 
 and before they come to the house they'll fire off their guns, 
 pretinding to be in a big passion, but only to give their poor 
 neighbors notice to escape as soon as they can." 
 
 In a short time they reached widow Buckley's cabin, who, 
 on understanding that it was Reilly who sought admittance, 
 lost not a moment in opening the door and letting them in. 
 There was no candle lit when they entered, but there was a 
 bright turf fire " blinkin' bonnilie" in the fireplace, from 
 which a mellow light emanated that danced upon the few 
 plain plates that were neatly ranged upon her humble 
 dresser, but which fell still more strongly upon a clean and 
 well-swept hearth, on one side of which was an humble arm- 
 chair of straw, and on the other a grave, but placid-looking, 
 cat, purring, with half-closed eyes, her usual song for the 
 evening.
 
 no WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 " Lord bless us ! Mr. Reilly, is this you ? Sure it's little 
 I expected you, any way ; but come when you will, you're 
 welcome. And who ought to be welcome to the poor ould 
 widow if you wouldn't ?" 
 
 11 Take a stool and sit down, honest man," she said, ad- 
 dressing Fergus ; " and you, Mr. Reilly, take my chair ; it's 
 the one you sent me yourself, and if anybody is entitled to a 
 sate in it, surely you are. I must light a rush." 
 
 " No, Molly," replied Reilly, " I would be too heavy for 
 your frail chair. I will take one of those stout stools, which 
 will answer me better. 
 
 She then lit a rush-light, which she pressed against a small 
 cleft of iron that was driven into a wooden shaft, about 
 three feet long, which stood upon a bottom that resembled 
 the head of a churn-staff. Such are the lights, and such 
 the candlesticks, that are to be found in the cabins and cot- 
 tages of Ireland. 
 
 " I suppose, Molly," said Reilly, " you are surprised at 
 a visit from me just now ?" 
 
 " You know, Mr. Reilly," she replied, " that if you came 
 in the deadest hours of the night you'd be welcome, as I 
 said — and this poor man is welcome too — sit over to the 
 fire, poor man, and warm yourself. Maybe you're hungry ; 
 if you are I'll get you something to eat." 
 
 11 Many thanks to you, ma'am," replied Fergus. " I'm 
 not a taste hungry, and could ait nothing now ; I'm much 
 obliged to you at the same time." 
 
 " Mr. Reilly, maybe you'd like to ait a bit. I can give 
 you a farrel of bread, and a sup o' nice goat's milk. God 
 preserve him from evil that gave me the same goats, and 
 that's your four quarthers, Mr. Reilly. But sure every thing 
 I have either came or comes from your hand ; and if I can't 
 thank you, God will do it for me, and that's betther still." 
 
 "No more about that, Molly — not a word more. Your 
 long residence with my poor mother, and you affection for 
 her in all her trials and troubles, entitle you to more than 
 that at the hands of her son." 
 
 "Mrs. Buckley," observed Fergus, "this is a quiet- 
 looking little place you have here." 
 
 " And it is for that I like it," she replied. " I have pace 
 here, and the noise of the wicked world seldom reaches me 
 in it. My only friend and companion here is the Almighty
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. Ill 
 
 — praise and glory be to his name !" — and here she devoutly- 
 crossed herself — " barrin', indeed, when the light-hearted 
 girshas * come a kailyee \ wid their wheels, to keep the poor 
 ould woman company, and rise her ould heart by their light 
 and merry songs, the cratures." 
 
 " That must be a relief to you, Molly," observed Reilly, 
 who, however, could with difficulty take any part in this 
 little dialogue. 
 
 " And so indeed it is," she replied ; " and, poor things, 
 sure if their sweethearts do come at the dusk to help them 
 to carry home their spinning-wheels, who can be angry wid 
 them ? It's the way of life, sure, and of the world." 
 
 She then went into another little room — for the cabin was 
 divided into two — in order to find a ball of woollen thread, 
 her principal occupation being the knitting of mittens and 
 stockings, and while bustling about Fergus observed with a 
 smile, 
 
 " Poor Molly ! little she thinks that it's the bachelors, 
 rather than any particular love for her company, that brings 
 the thieves here." 
 
 " Yes, but," said Reilly, " you know it's the custom of 
 the country. ' ' 
 
 " Mrs. Buckley," asked Fergus," did the sogers ever pay 
 you a visit ?" 
 
 4 ' They did once," she replied, "about six months ago 
 or more." 
 
 " What in the name of wondher," he repeated, " could 
 bring them to you ?" 
 
 " They were out huntin' a priest," she replied, " that had 
 done something contrary to the law." 
 
 " What did they say, Mrs. Buckley, and how did they 
 behave themselves ?" 
 
 " Why," she answered, " they axed me if I had seen 
 about the country a tight-looking fat little man, wid black 
 twinklin' eyes and a rosy face, wid a pair o' priest's boots 
 upon him, greased wid hog's lard ? I said no, but to the 
 revarse. They then sarched the cabin, tossed the two beds 
 about — poor Jemmy's — God rest my boy's sowl ! — an' after- 
 wards my own. There was one that seemed to hould au- 
 
 * Young girls. 
 
 f This means to spend a portion of the day, or a few hours of the 
 night, in a neighbor's house, in agreeable and amusing conversation.
 
 H2 WILLY RELLLY. 
 
 thority over the rest, and he axed who was my landlord ? 
 I said I had no landlord. They then said that surely I must 
 pay rent to some one, but I said that I paid rent to no- 
 body ; that Mr. Reilly here, God bless him, gave me this 
 house and garden free." 
 
 '* And what did they say when you named Mr. Reilly ?" 
 
 " Why, they said he was a dacent Papish, I think they 
 called it ; and that there wasn't sich another among them. 
 They then lighted their pipes, had a smoke, went about 
 their business, and I saw no more of them from that day to 
 this." 
 
 Reilly felt that this conversation was significant, and that 
 the widow's cabin was any thing but a safe place of refuge, 
 even for a few hours. We have already said that he had been 
 popular with all parties, which was the fact, until his ac- 
 quaintance with the old squire and his lovely daughter. In 
 the meantime the loves of Willy Reilly and the far-famed 
 Cooleen Bawn had gone abroad over the whole country ; 
 and the natural result was that a large majority among those 
 who were anxious to exterminate the Catholic Church by 
 the rigor of bigoted and inhuman laws, looked upon the 
 fact of a tolerated Papist daring to love a Protestant heiress, 
 and the daughter of a man who was considered such a stout 
 prop of the Establishment, as an act that deserved death 
 itself. Reilly' s affection for the Cooleen Bawn was consid- 
 ered, therefore, not only daring but treasonable. Those 
 men, then, he reflected, who had called upon her while in 
 pursuit of the unfortunate priest, had become acquainted 
 with the fact of her dependence upon his bounty ; and he 
 took it for granted, very naturally and very properly, as the 
 event will show, that now, while " on his keeping," it would 
 not be at all extraordinary if they occasionally searched her 
 remote and solitary cabin, as a place where he might be 
 likely to conceal himself. For this night, however, he ex- 
 perienced no apprehension of a visit from them, but with 
 what correctness of calculation we shall soon see. 
 
 " Molly," said he, " this poor man and I must sit with 
 you for a couple of hours, after which we will leave you to 
 your rest." 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Reilly," she replied, " from what I heard 
 this day I can make a purty good guess at the raison why you 
 are here now, instead of bein' in your own comfortable
 
 WILLY REILLY. 113 
 
 house. You have bitther enemies ; but God — blessed be his 
 name — is stronger than any of them. However, I wish 
 you'd let me get you and that poor man something to 
 eat." 
 
 This kind offer they declined, and as the short rush-light 
 was nearly burned out, and as she had not another ready, 
 she got what is called a cam or grisset, put it on the hearth- 
 stone, with a portion of hog's lard in it ; she then placed the 
 lower end of the tongs in the fire, until the broad portion of 
 them, with which the turf is gripped, became red hot ; she 
 then placed the lard in the grisset between them, and 
 squeezed it until nothing remained but pure oil ; through 
 this she slowly drew the peeled rushes, which were in- 
 stantly saturated with the grease, after which she left them 
 on a little table to cool. Among the poorer classes — small 
 farmers and others — this process is performed every evening 
 a little before dusk. Having thus supplied them with these 
 lights, the pious widow left them to their own conversation 
 and retired to the little room in order to repeat her rosary. 
 We also will leave them to entertain themselves as best they 
 can, and request our readers to follow us to a different 
 cene. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AN ACCIDENTAL INCIDENT FAVORABLE TO REILLY, AND 
 A CURIOUS CONVERSATION. 
 
 WE return to the party from whom Fergus Reilly had 
 so narrow an escape. As our readers may expect, 
 they bent their steps to the magnificent residence of Sir 
 Robert Whitecraft. That gentleman was alone in his 
 library, surrounded by an immense collection of books 
 which he never read. He had also a fine collection of 
 paintings, of which he knew no more than his butler, nor 
 perhaps so much. At once sensual, penurious, and bigoted, 
 he spent his whole time in private profligacy — for he was a 
 hypocrite, too — in racking his tenantry, and exhibiting him- 
 self as a champion for Protestant principles. Whenever an
 
 H4 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 unfortunate Roman Catholic, whether priest or layman, hap- 
 pened to infringe a harsh and cruel law of which probably 
 he had never heard, who so active in collecting his myr- 
 midons, in order to uncover, hunt, and run down his luck- 
 less victim ? And yet he was not popular. No one, 
 whether of his own class or any other, liked a bone in his 
 skin. Nothing could infect him with the genial and hospita- 
 ble spirit of the country, whilst at the same time no man 
 living was so anxious to partake of the hospitality of others, 
 merely because it saved him a meal. All that sustained his 
 character at the melancholy period of which we write was 
 what people called the uncompromising energy of his prin- 
 ciples as a sound and vigorous Protestant. 
 
 " Sink them all together," he exclaimed upon this occa- 
 sion, in a kind of soliloquy — " Church and bishop and 
 parson, what are they worth unless to make the best use we 
 can of them ? Here I am prevented from going to that girl 
 to-night — and that barbarous old blockhead of a squire, 
 who was so near throwing me off for a beggarly Papist rebel ; 
 and doubly, trebly, quadruply cursed be that same rebel for 
 crossing my path as he has done. The cursed light-headed 
 jade loves him too — there's no doubt of that — but wait until 
 
 I get him in my clutches, as I certainly shall, and, by , 
 
 his rebel carcass shall feed the crows. But what noise is 
 that ? They have returned ; 1 must go down and learn 
 their success." 
 
 He was right. Our friend the tipsy sergeant and his 
 party were at the hall-door, which was opened as he went 
 down, and he ordered lights into the back parlor. In a few 
 minutes they were ushered in, where they found him seated 
 as magisterially as possible in a large arm-chair. 
 
 " Well, Johnston," said he, assuming as much dignity as 
 he could, " what has been your success ?" 
 
 " A bad evening's sport, sir ; we bagged nothing — didn't 
 see a feather." 
 
 11 Talk sense, Johnston," said he sternly, " and none of 
 this cant. Did you see or hear any thing of the rebel ?' ' 
 
 " Why, sir, we did ; it would be a devilish nice business 
 if a party led and commanded by George Johnston should 
 go out without hearin' and seein' something." 
 
 11 Well, but what did you see and hear, sir ?" 
 
 " Why, we saw Reilly's house, and a very comfortable
 
 WILLY REILLY. 115 
 
 one it is ; and we heard from the servants that he wasn't at 
 home. ' ' 
 
 " You're drunk, Johnston." 
 
 "No, sir, begging your pardon, I'm only hearty;* be- 
 sides, I never discharge my duty half so well as when I'm 
 drunk ; I feel no colors then." 
 
 11 Johnston, if I ever know you to get drunk on duty 
 again I shall have you reduced." 
 
 " Reduced !" replied Johnston, " curse the fig I core 
 whether you do or not ; I'm actin' as a volunteer, and I'll 
 resign." 
 
 11 Come, sir," replied Sir Robert, " be quiet ; I will over- 
 look this, for you are a very good man if you could keep 
 yourself sober." 
 
 11 I told you before, Sir Robert, that I'm a better man 
 when I'm drunk." 
 
 11 Silence, sir, or I shall order you out of the room." 
 
 11 Please your honor," observed Steen, " I have a charge 
 to make against George Johnston." 
 
 "A charge, Steen — what is it? You are a staunch, 
 steady fellow, I know ; what is this charge ?" 
 
 " Why, sir, we met a suspicious character on the old 
 bridle road beyond Reilly's, and he refused to take him 
 prisoner." 
 
 " A poor half-Papist beggarman, sir," replied Johnston, 
 " who was on his way to my uncle's to stop there for the 
 night. Devil a scarecrow in Europe would exchange clothes 
 with him without boot. ' ' 
 
 Steen then related the circumstances with which our 
 readers are acquainted, adding that he suggested to Johnston 
 the necessity of sending a couple of men up with him to as- 
 certain whether what he said was true or not ; but that he 
 flatly refused to do so — and after some nonsense about a 
 barn he let him off. 
 
 " I'll tell you what, sir," said Johnston, " I'll hunt a 
 priest or a Papish that breaks the law with any man livin', 
 but hang me if ever I'll hunt a harmless beggarman lookin' 
 for his bit." 
 
 At this period of the conversation the Red Rapparce, now 
 
 * " Hearty " means when a man is slightly affected by drink so as 
 to feel his spirits elevated.
 
 n WILLY R LILLY. 
 
 in military uniform, entered the parlor, accompanied by 
 some others of those violent men. 
 
 " Steen," said the baronet, " what or who do you sup- 
 pose this ragged ruffian was ?" 
 
 Either a Rapparee, sir, or Reilly himself." 
 
 11 O'Donnel," said he, addressing the Red Robber, 
 " what description of disguises do these villains usually as- 
 sume ? Do they often go about as beggarmen ?" 
 
 " They may have changed their hand, sir, since I became 
 a legal subject, but, before that, three fourths of us — of 
 them — the villains, I mane — went about in the shape of 
 beggars." 
 
 " That's important," exclaimed the baronet. " Steen, 
 take half a dozen mounted men — a cavalry party have ar- 
 rived here a little while ago, and are waiting further orders 
 — I thought if Reilly had been secured it might have been 
 necessary for them to escort him to Sligo. Well, take half 
 a dozen mounted men, and, as you very properly suggested, 
 proceed with all haste to farmer Graham's, and see whether 
 this mendicant is there or not ; if he is there, take him into 
 custody at all events, and if he is not, then it is clear he is 
 a man for whom we ought to be on the lookout." 
 
 " I should like to go with them, your honor," said the 
 Red Rapparee. 
 
 " O'Donnel," said Sir Robert, " I have other business 
 for you to-night." 
 
 11 Well, plaise your honor," said O'Donnel, " as they're 
 goin' in that direction, let them turn to the left after passin' 
 the little strame that crosses the road, I mane on their way 
 home ; if they look sharp they'll find a little boreeti that — 
 but indeed they'll scarcely make it out in the dark, for it's a 
 good way back in the fields — I mane the cabin of widow 
 Buckley. If there's one house more than another in the 
 whole countryside where Reilly is likely to take shelter in, 
 that's it. He gave her that cabin and a large garden free, 
 and besides allows her a small yearly pension. But remem- 
 ber, you can't bring your horses wid you — you must lave 
 some of the men to take charge of them in the boreen till you 
 come back. I wish you'd let me go with them, sir." 
 
 11 I cannot, O'Donnel ; I have other occupation for you 
 to-night." 
 
 Three or four of the men declared that they knew the
 
 WILLY REILLY. 117 
 
 cottage right well, and could find it out without much diffi- 
 culty. " They had been there," they said, "some six or 
 eight months before upon a priest chase." The matter 
 was so arranged, and the party set out upon their expedi- 
 tion. 
 
 It is unnecessary to say that these men had their journey 
 for nothing ; but at the same time one fact resulted from it, 
 which was, that the ragged mendicant they had met must 
 have been some one well worth looking after. The deuce 
 of it was, however, that, owing to the darkness of the night, 
 there was not one among them who could have known Fer- 
 gus the next day if they had met him. They knew, how- 
 ever, that O'Donnel, the Rapparee, was a good authority 
 on the subject, and the discovery of the pretended mendi- 
 cant's imposture was a proof of it. On this account, when 
 they had reached the boreai alluded to, on their return from 
 Graham's, they came to the resolution of leaving their horses 
 in charge, as had been suggested to them, and in silence, 
 and with stealthy steps, pounced at once into the widow's 
 cabin. Before they arrived there, however, we shall take the 
 liberty of preceding them for a few minutes, and once more 
 transport our readers to its bright but humble hearth. 
 
 About three hours or better had elapsed, and our two 
 friends were still seated, maintaining the usual chat with 
 Mrs. Buckley, who had finished her prayers and once more 
 rejoined them. 
 
 11 Fergus, like a good fellow," whispered Reilly, " slip 
 out for a minute or two ; there's a circumstance I wish to 
 mention to Molly — I assure you it's of a very private and 
 particular nature and only for her own ear." 
 
 " To be sure," replied Fergus ; " I want, at all events, to 
 stretch my legs, and to set what the night's about." 
 
 He accordingly left the cabin. 
 
 11 Mrs. Buckley," said Reilly, " it was not for nothing I 
 came here to-night. I have a favor to ask of you." 
 
 "Your favor's granted, sir," she replied — granted, Mr. 
 Reilly, even before I hear it — that is, supposin' always that 
 it's in my power to do it for you." 
 
 "It is simply to carry a letter — and be certain that it 
 shall be delivered to the proper person." 
 
 "Well," she replied, "sure that's aisily done. And 
 where am I to deliver it ?" she asked.
 
 Ii8 WILLY RRILLY. 
 
 " That I shall let you know on some future occasion — 
 perhaps within the course of a week or so." 
 
 " Well, sir," she replied, " I'd go twenty miles to deliver 
 it — and will do so wid a heart and a half." 
 
 " Well, Molly, I can tell you your journey won't be so 
 far ; but there is one thing you are to observe — you must 
 never breathe it to a human creature." 
 
 " I thought you knew me better, Mr. Reilly." 
 
 11 It would be impossible, however, to be too strict here, 
 because you don't know how much depends upon it." 
 
 At this moment Fergus put in his head, and said, " For 
 Christ's sake, snuff out the candle, and Reilly — fly ! — There 
 are people in the next field ! — quick ! — quick !" 
 
 Reilly snatched up his hat, and whispered to the widow, 
 ' ' Deny that you saw me, or that there was any one here ! — 
 Put out the candle ! — they might see our figures darkening 
 the light as we go out !" 
 
 Fergus and Reilly immediately planted themselves behind 
 a whitethorn hedge, in a field adjoining the cabin, in order 
 to reconnoitre the party, whoever they might be, which they 
 could do in safety. This act of reconnoitering, however, 
 was performed by the ear, and not at all by the eye ; the 
 darkness of the night rendered that impossible. Of course 
 the search in the widow's cabin was equally fruitless. 
 
 " Now," whispered Reilly, " we'll go in a line parallel 
 with the road, " but at a safe distance from them, until 
 they reach the cross-roads. If they turn towards my house, 
 we are forewarned, but if they turn towards Sir Robert's, it 
 is likely that I may have an opportunity of securing my cash 
 and papers." 
 
 On reaching the cross-roads alluded to, the party, much 
 to the satisfaction of Reilly and his companion, did turn to- 
 wards the residence of Sir Robert Whitecraft, thus giving 
 the fugitives full assurance that nothing further was to be 
 apprehended from them that night. The men in fact felt 
 fatigued and were anxious to get to bed. 
 
 After approaching Reilly' s house very cautiously, and 
 with much circumspection — not an outhouse, or other place 
 of concealment, having been left unexamined — they were 
 about to enter, when Reilly, thinking that no precaution on 
 such an occasion ought to be neglected, said : 
 
 " Fergus, we are so far safe ; but, under all circum-
 
 WILLY REILLY. 119 
 
 stances, I think it right and prudent that you should keep 
 watch outside. Mark me, I will place Tom Corrigan — you 
 know him — at this window, and if you happen to see any 
 thing in the shape of a human being, or to hear, for in- 
 stance, any noise, give the slightest possible tap upon the 
 glass, and that will be sufficient." 
 
 It was so arranged, and Reilly entered the house ; but, as 
 it happened, Fergus's office proved a sinecure ; although, 
 indeed, when we consider his care and anxiety, we can 
 scarcely say so. At all events, Reilly returned in about half 
 an hour, bearing under his arm a large dark portfolio, 
 which, by the way, was securely locked. 
 
 " Is all right ?" asked Fergus. 
 
 "All is right," replied the other. "The servants have 
 entered into an arrangement to sit up, two in turn each 
 night, so as to be ready to give me instant admittance 
 whenever I may chance to come." 
 
 " But now where are you to place these papers ?" asked 
 his companion. " That's a difficulty." 
 
 11 It is, I grant," replied Reilly, " but after what has hap- 
 pened, I think widow Buckley's cabin the safest place for a 
 day or two. Only that the hour is so unseasonable, I could 
 feel little difficulty in finding a proper place of security for 
 them, but as it is, we must only deposit them for the pres- 
 ent with the widow." 
 
 The roads of Ireland at this period — if roads they could 
 be called — were not only in a most shameful, but dangerous, 
 state. In summer they were a foot deep with dust, and in 
 winter at least eighteen inches with mud. This, however, 
 was by no means the worst of it. They were studded, at 
 due intervals, with ruts so deep that if a horse happened to 
 get into one of them he went down to the saddle-skirts. 
 They were treacherous, too, and such as no caution could 
 guard against ; because, where the whole surface of the road 
 was one mass of mud, it was impossible to distinguish these 
 horse-traps at all. Then, in addition to these, were deep 
 gullies across the roads, worn away by small rills, proceed- 
 ing from rivulets in the adjoining uplands, which were prin- 
 cipally dry, or at least mere threads of water in summer, but 
 in winter became pigmy torrents that tore up the roads 
 across which they passed, leaving them in the dangerous 
 state we have described.
 
 120 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 As Reilly and his companion had got cut upon the road, 
 they were a good deal surprised, and not a little alarmed, to 
 see a horse, without a rider, struggling to extricate himself 
 out of one of the ruts in question. 
 
 " What is this ?" said Fergus. " Be on your guard." 
 
 " The horse," observed Reilly, " is without a rider ; see 
 what it means." 
 
 Fergus approached with all due caution, and on examin- 
 ing the place discovered a man lying apparently in a state of 
 insensibility. 
 
 " I fear," said he, on returning to Reilly, " that his rider 
 has been hurt ; he is lying senseless about two or three 
 yards before the horse." 
 
 " My God !" exclaimed the other, " perhaps he has been 
 killed ; let us instantly assist him. Hold this portfolio 
 whilst I render him whatever assistance I can." 
 
 As he spoke they heard a heavy groan, and on approach- 
 ing found the man sitting, but still unable to rise. 
 
 " You have unfortunately been thrown, sir," said Reilly ; 
 11 I trust in God you are not seriously hurt." 
 
 " I hope not, sir," replied the man, " but I was stunned, 
 and have been insensible for some time ; how long I cannot 
 say." 
 
 " Good gracious, sir !" exclaimed Reilly, " is this Mr. 
 Brown ?" 
 
 " It is, Mr. Reilly ; for heaven's sake aid me to my limbs 
 — that is, if I shall be able to stand upon them." 
 
 Reilly did so, but found that he could not stand or walk 
 without assistance. The horse, in the meantime, had extri- 
 cated himself. 
 
 " Come, Mr. Brown," said Reilly, " you must allow me 
 to assist you home. It is very fortunate that you have not 
 many perches to go. This poor man will lead your horse 
 up to the stable." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Reilly," replied the gentleman, " and 
 in requital for your kindness you must take a bed at my 
 house to-night. I am aware of your position," he added in 
 a confidential voice, "and that you cannot safely sleep in 
 your own ; with me you will be secure." 
 
 Reilly thanked him, and said that this kind offer was 
 most welcome and acceptable, as, in point of fact, he 
 scarcely knew that night where to seek rest with safety.
 
 WILLY REILLY. 121 
 
 They accordingly proceeded to the parsonage — for Mr. 
 Brown was no other than the Protestant rector of the par- 
 ish, a man with whom Reilly was on the most friendly and 
 and intimate terms, and a man, we may add, who omitted 
 no opportunity of extending shelter, protection, and counte- 
 nance to such Roman Catholics as fell under the suspicion 
 or operation of the law. On this occasion he had been 
 called very suddenly to the deathbed of a parishioner, and 
 was then on his return home, after having administered to 
 the dying man the last consolations of religion. 
 
 On reaching the parsonage, Fergus handed the portfolio 
 to its owner, and withdrew to seek shelter in some of his 
 usual haunts for the night ; but Mr. Brown, aided by his 
 w r ife, who sat up for him, contrived that Reilly should be 
 conducted to a private room, without the knowledge of the 
 servants, who were sent as soon as possible to bed. Before 
 Reilly withdrew, however, that night, he requested Mr. 
 Brown to take charge of his money and family papers, which 
 the latter did, assuring him that they should be forthcoming 
 whenever he thought proper to call for them. Mr. Brown 
 had not been seriously hurt, and was able in a day or two 
 to pay the usual attention to the discharge of his duties. 
 
 Reilly, having been told where to find his bedroom, re- 
 tired with confidence to rest. Yet we can scarcely term it 
 rest, after considering the tumultuous and disagreeable 
 events of the evening. He began to ponder upon the life of 
 persecution to which Miss Folliard must necessarily be ex- 
 posed, in consequence of her father's impetuous and fiery 
 temper ; and, indeed, the fact was, that he felt this reflec- 
 tion infinitely more bitter than any that touched himself. 
 In these affectionate calculations of her domestic persecution 
 he was a good deal mistaken, however. Sir Robert White- 
 craft had now gained a complete ascendancy over the dispo- 
 sition and passions of her father. The latter, like many an- 
 other country squire — especially of that day — when his 
 word and will were law to his tenants and dependants, was 
 a very great man indeed, when dealing with them. He 
 could bluster and threaten, and even carry his threats into 
 execution with a confident swagger that had more of magis- 
 terial pride and the pomp of property in it, than a sense of 
 either right or justice. But, on the other hand, let him 
 meet a man of his own rank, who cared nothing about his
 
 122 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 authority as a magistrate, or his assumption as a man of 
 large landed property, and he was nothing but a poor weak- 
 minded tool in his hands. So far our description is cor- 
 rect ; but when such a knave as Sir Robert Whitecraft came 
 in his way — a knave at once calculating, deceitful, plausible, 
 and cunning — why, our worthy old squire, who thought him- 
 self a second Solomon, might be taken by the nose and led 
 round the whole barony. 
 
 There is no doubt that he had sapiently laid down his 
 plans to harass and persecute his daughter into a marriage 
 with Sir Robert, and would have probably driven her from 
 under his roof, had he not received the programnie of his 
 conduct from Whitecraft. That cowardly caitiff had a 
 double motive in this. He found that if her father should 
 " pepper her with persecution," as the old fellow said, be- 
 fore marriage, its consequences might fall upon his own un- 
 lucky head afterwards — in other words, that Helen would 
 most assuredly make him then suffer, to some purpose, for 
 all that his pretensions to her hand had occasioned her to 
 undergo previous to their union ; for, in truth, if there was 
 one doctrine which Whitecraft detested more than another 
 — and with good reason too — it was that of Retribution. 
 
 " Mr. Folliard," said Whitecraft in the very last conver- 
 sation they had on this subject, " you must not persecute 
 your daughter on my account." 
 
 44 Mustn't I ? Why hang it, Sir Robert, isn't persecution 
 the order of the day ? If she doesn't marry you quietly 
 and willingly, we'll turn her out, and hunt her like a 
 priest." 
 
 14 No, Mr. Folliard, violence will never do. On the con- 
 trary, you must change your hand, and try an opposite 
 course. If you wish to rivet her affections upon that 
 Jesuitical traitor still more strongly, persecute her ; for 
 there is nothing in this life that strengthens love so much as 
 opposition and violence. The fair ones begin to look upon 
 themselves as martyrs, and in proportion as you are severe 
 and inexorable, so in proportion are they resolved to win 
 the crown that is before them. I would not press your 
 daughter but that I believe love to be a thing that exists be- 
 fore marriage — never after. There's the honeymoon, for 
 instance. Did ever mortal man or mortal woman hear or 
 dream of a second honeymoon ? No, sir, for Cupid, like a
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 123 
 
 large blue-bottle, falls into, and is drowned, in the honey- 
 pot." 
 
 " Confound me," replied the squire, " if I understand a 
 word you say. However, I dare say it may be very good 
 sense for all that, for you always had a long noddle. Go 
 on." 
 
 " My advice to you then, sir, is this — make as few allu- 
 sions to her marriage with me as possible ; but, in the 
 meantime, you may praise me a little, if you wish ; but, 
 above all things, don't run down Reilly immediately after 
 paying either my mind or person any compliment. Allow the 
 young lady to remain quiet for a time. Treat her with your 
 usual kindness and affection ; for it is possible, after all, 
 that she may do more from her tenderness and affection for 
 you than we could expect from any other motive ; at all 
 events, until we shall succeed in hanging or transporting 
 this rebellious scoundrel." 
 
 " Very good — so he is. Good William ! what a son-in- 
 law I should have ! I who transported one priest already !" 
 
 " Well, sir, as I was saying, until we shall have succeeded 
 in hanging or transporting him. The first would be the 
 safest no doubt ; but until we shall be able to accomplish 
 either one or the other, we have not much to expect in the 
 shape of compliance from your daughter. When the villain 
 is removed, however, hope, on her part, will soon die out — 
 love will lose its pabulum." 
 
 11 I'ts what ?" asked the squire, staring at him with a pair 
 of round eyes that were full of perplexity and wonder. 
 
 " Why, it means food, or rather fodder." 
 
 "Curse you, sir," replied the squire indignantly ; "do 
 you want to make a beast of my daughter ?" 
 
 11 But it's a word, sir, applied by the poets, as the food of 
 Cupid." 
 
 11 Cupid ! I thought he was drowned in the honey-pot, yet 
 he's up again, and as brisk as ever, it appears. However, 
 go on — let us understand fairly what you're at. I think I 
 see a glimpse of it ; and knowing your character upon the 
 subject of persecution as I do, it's more, I must say, than I 
 expected from you. Go on — 1 bid you." 
 
 " I say, then, sir, that if Reilly were either hanged or out 
 of the country, the consciousness of this would soon alter 
 matters with Miss Folliard. If you, then, sir, will enter
 
 124 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 into an agreement with me, I shall undertake so to make the 
 laws bear upon Reilly as to rid either the world or the coun- 
 try of him ; and you shall promise not to press upon your 
 daughter the subject of her marriage with me until then. 
 Still, there is one thing you must do ; and that is, to keep 
 her under the strictest surveillance." 
 
 11 What the devil's that?" said the squire. 
 
 " It means," returned his expected son-in-law, " that she 
 must be well watched, but without feeling that she is so." 
 
 11 Would it not be better to lock her up at once ?" said 
 her father. " That would be making the matter sure." 
 
 11 Not at all," replied Whitecraft. " So sure as you lock 
 her up, so sure she will break prison." 
 
 " Well, upon my soul," replied her father, " I can't see 
 that. A strong lock and key are certainly the best surety 
 for the due appearance of any young woman disposed to 
 run away. I think the best way would be to make her feel 
 at once that her father is a magistrate, and commit her to 
 her own room until called upon to appear. ' ' 
 
 Whitecraft, whose object was occasionally to puzzle his 
 friend, gave a cold grin, and added : 
 
 11 I suppose your next step would be to make her put in 
 security. No — no, Mr. Folliard ; if you will be advised by 
 me, try the soothing system ; antiphlogistic remedies are 
 always the best in a case like hers." 
 
 " Anti — what ? Curse me, if I can understand every 
 tenth word you say. However, I give you credit, White- 
 craft ; for upon my soul I didn't think you knew half so 
 much as you do. That last, however, is a tickler — a nut 
 that I can't crack. I wish I could only get my tongue 
 about it, till I send it among the Grand Jury, and maybe 
 there wouldn't be wigs on the green in making it out." 
 
 " Yes, I fancy it would teach them a little supereroga- 
 tion." 
 
 "A little what? Is it love that has made you so 
 learned, Whitecraft, or so unintelligible, which ? Why, 
 man, if your passion increases, in another week there won't 
 be three men out of Trinity College able to understand you. 
 You will become a perfect oracle. But, in the meantime, 
 let us see how the arrangement stands. Impj-imus, you are 
 to hang or transport Reilly ; and, until then, I am not to 
 annoy my daughter with any allusions to this marriage :
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 125 
 
 but, above all things, not to compare you and Reilly with 
 one another in her presence, lest it might strengthen her 
 prejudices against you." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Mr. Folliard, I did not say so ; I 
 fear no comparison with the fellow." 
 
 " No matter, Sir Robert, if you did not knock it down 
 you staggered it. Omitting the comparison, however, I sup- 
 pose that so far I am right." 
 
 11 I think so, sir," replied the other, conscious, after all, 
 that he had got a touch of " Roland for his Oliver." 
 
 Then he proceeded : " I'm to watch her closely, only 
 she's not to know it. Now, I'll tell you what, Sir Robert, 
 I know you carry a long noddle, with more hard words in it 
 than I ever gave you credit for — but with regard to what 
 you expect from me now — " 
 
 " I don't mean that you should watch her personally 
 yourself, Mr. Folliard." 
 
 11 I suppose you don't ; I didn't think you did ; but I'll 
 tell you what — place the twelve labors of Hercules before 
 me, and I'll undertake to perform them, if you wish, but to 
 watch a woman, Sir Robert — and that woman keen and 
 sharp upon the cause of such vigilance — without her know- 
 ing it in one half hour's time — that is a task that never was, 
 can, or will be accomplished. In the meantime, we must 
 only come as near its accomplishment as we can." 
 
 " Just so, sir ; we can do no more. Remember, then, 
 that you perform your part of this arrangement, and, with 
 the blessing of God, I shall leave nothing undone to per- 
 form mine." 
 
 Thus closed this rather extraordinary conversation, after 
 which Sir Robert betook himself home, to reflect upon the 
 best means of performing his part of it, with what quickness 
 and dispatch, and with what success, our readers already 
 know. 
 
 The old squire was one of those characters who never are 
 so easily persuaded as when they do not fully comprehend 
 the argument used to convince them. Whenever the squire 
 found himself a little at fault, or confounded by either a 
 difficult word or a hard sentence, he always took it for 
 granted that there was something unusually profound and 
 clever in the matter laid before him. Sir Robert knew this, 
 and on that account played him off to a certain extent.
 
 126 WILLY RE2LLY. 
 
 He was too cunning, however, to darken any part of the 
 main argument so far as to prevent its drift from being fully 
 understood, and thereby defeating his own purpose. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A CONFLAGRATION — AN ESCAPE — AND AN ADVENTURE. 
 
 WE have said that Sir Robert Whitecraft was anything 
 but a popular man — and we might have added 
 that, unless among his own clique of bigots and persecutors, 
 he was decidedly unpopular among Protestants in general. 
 In a few days after the events of the night we have de- 
 scribed, Reilly, by the advice of Mr. Brown's brother, an 
 able and distinguished lawyer, gave up the possession of his 
 immense farm, dwelling-house, and offices to the landlord. 
 In point of fact, this man had taken the farm for Reilly 's 
 father, in his own name, a step which many of the liberal 
 and generous Protestants of that period were in the habit 
 of taking, to protect the property for the Roman Catholics, 
 from such rapacious scoundrels as Whitecraft, and others 
 like him, who had accumulated the greater portion of their 
 wealth and estates by the blackest and most iniquitous polit- 
 ical profligacy and oppression. For about a month after the 
 first night of the unsuccessful pursuit after Reilly, the whole 
 country was overrun with military parties, and such misera- 
 ble inefficient police as then existed. In the meantime, 
 Reilly escaped every toil and snare that had been laid for 
 him. Sir Robert Whitecraft, seeing that hitherto he had 
 set them at defiance, resolved to glut his vengeance on his 
 property, since he could not arrest himself. A description 
 of his person had been, almost from the commencement of 
 the proceedings, published in the Huc-and-Cry, and he had 
 been now outlawed. As even this failed, Sir Robert, as we 
 said, came with a numerous party of his myrmidons, bring- 
 ing along with them a large number of horses, carts, and 
 cars. The house at this time was in the possession only of 
 a keeper, a poor, feeble man, with a wife and a numerous 
 family of small children, the other servants having fled from
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 127 
 
 the clanger in which their connection with Reilly involved 
 them. Sir Robert, however, very deliberately brought up 
 his cars and other vehicles, and having dragged out all the 
 most valuable part of the furniture, piled it up, and had it 
 conveyed to his own outhouses, where it was carefully 
 stowed. This act, however, excited comparatively little at- 
 tention, for such outrages were not un frequently committed 
 by those who had, or at least who thought they had, the 
 law in their own hands. It was now dusk, and the house 
 had been gutted of all that had been most valuable in it — 
 but the most brilliant part of the performance was yet to 
 come. We mean no contemptible pun. The young man's 
 dwelling-house, and office-houses were ignited at this mo- 
 ment by this man's military and other official minions, and 
 in about twenty minutes they were all wrapped in one red, 
 merciless mass of flame. The country people, on observing 
 this fearful conflagration, flocked from all quarters ; but a 
 cordon of outposts was stationed at some distance around 
 the premises, to prevent the peasantry from marking the 
 chief actors in this nefarious outrage. Two gentlemen, 
 however, approached, who, having given their names, were 
 at once admitted to the burning premises. These were Mr. 
 Brown, the clergyman, and Mr. Hastings, the actual and 
 legal proprietor of all that had been considered Reilly's 
 property. Both of them observed that Sir Robert was the 
 busiest man among them, and upon making inquiries from 
 the party, they were informed that they acted by his orders, 
 and that, moreover, he was himself the very first individual 
 who had set fire to the premises. The clergyman made his 
 way to Sir Robert, on whose villanous countenance he 
 could read a dark and diabolical triumph. 
 
 " Sir Robert Whitecraft, " said Mr. Brown, " how comes 
 such a wanton and unnecessary waste of property ? " 
 
 11 Because, sir," replied that gentleman, " it is the prop- 
 erty of a Popish rebel and outlaw, and is confiscated to the 
 State." 
 
 " But do you possess authority for this conduct ? — Arc 
 you the State ?" 
 
 " In the spirit of our Protestant Constitution, certainly. 
 I am a loyal Protestant magistrate, and a man of rank, and 
 will hold myself accountable for what I do and have done. 
 Come you, there," he added, " who have knocked down the
 
 i-3 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 pump, take some straw, light it up, and put it with pitch- 
 forks upon the lower end of the stable ; it has not yet caught 
 the flames." 
 
 This order was accordingly complied with, and in a few 
 minutes the scene, if one could dissociate the mind from the 
 hellish spirit which created it, had something terribly sub- 
 lime in it. 
 
 Mr. Hastings, the gentleman who accompanied the clergy- 
 man, the real owner of the property, looked on with appa- 
 rent indifference, but uttered not a word. Indeed, he 
 seemed rather to enjoy the novelty of the thing than other- 
 wise, and passed with Mr. Brown from place to place, as if 
 to obtain the best points for viewing the fire. 
 
 Reilly's residence was a long, large, two-story house, 
 deeply thatched ; the kitchen, containing pantry, laundry, 
 scullery, and all the usual appurtenances connected with it, 
 was a continuation of the larger house, but it was a story 
 lower, and also deeply thatched. The out- offices ran in a 
 long line behind the dwelling house, so that both ran paral- 
 lel with each other, and stood pretty close besides, for the 
 yard was a narrow one. In the meantime, the night, though 
 dry, was dark and stormy. The wind howled through the 
 adjoining trees like thunder, roared along the neighboring 
 hills, and swept down in savage whirlwinds to the bottom of 
 the lowest valleys. The greater portion of the crowd who 
 were standing outside the cordon we have spoken of fled 
 home, as the awful gusts grew stronger and stronger, in 
 order to prevent their own houses from being stripped or 
 unroofed, so that very few remained to witness the rage 
 of the conflagration at its full height. The Irish peasantry 
 entertain a superstition that whenever a strong storm of 
 wind, without rain, arises, it has been occasioned by the 
 necromantic spell of some guilty sorcerer, who, first having 
 sold himself to the devil, afterwards raises him for some 
 wicked purpose ; and nothing but the sacrifice of a black 
 dog or a black cock — the one without a white hair, and 
 the other without a white feather — can prevent him from 
 carrying away, body and soul, the individual who called him 
 up, accompanied by such terrors. In fact the night, inde- 
 pendently of the terrible accessory of the fire, was indescrib- 
 ably awful. Thatch portions of the ribs and roofs of 
 houses were whirled along through the air ; and the sweep-
 
 TIIK CONFLAGRATION.
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 1 29 
 
 ing blast, in addition to its own bowlings, was burdened 
 with the loud screamings of women and children, and the 
 stronger shoutings of men, as they attempted to make each 
 other audible, amidst the roaring of the tempest. 
 
 This was terrible indeed ; but on such a night, wnat must 
 not the conflagration have been, fed by such pabulum — as 
 Sir Robert himself would have said — as that on which it 
 glutted its fiery and consuming appetite. We have said 
 that the offices and dwelling-house ran parallel with each 
 other, and such was the fact. What appeared singular, and 
 not without the possibility of some dark supernatural causes, 
 according to the impressions of the people, was, that the 
 wind, on the night in question, started, as it were, along 
 with the fire ; but the truth is, it had been gamboling in its 
 gigantic play before the fire commenced at all. In the 
 meantime, as we said, the whole premises presented one fiery 
 mass of red and waving flames, that shot and drifted up, 
 from time to time, towards the sky, with the rapidity, and 
 more than the terror, of the aurora borcalis. As the confla- 
 gration proceeded, the high flames that arose from the man- 
 sion, and those that leaped up from the offices, several times 
 met across the yard, and mingled, as if to exult n their 
 fearful task of destruction, forming a long and distinct arch 
 of flame, so exact and regular, that it seemed to proceed 
 from the skill and effort of some powerful demon, who had 
 made it, as it were, a fiery arbor for his kind. The whole 
 country was visible to an astonishing distance, and over- 
 head, the evening sky, into which the uprushing pyramids 
 seemed to pass, looked as if it had caught the conflagration, 
 and was one red mass of glowing and burning copper. 
 Around the house and premises the eye could distinguish a 
 pin ; but the strong light was so fearfully red that the deep 
 tinge it communicated to the earth seemed like blood, and 
 made it appear as if it had been sprinkled with it. 
 
 It is impossible to look upon a large and extensive confla- 
 gration without feeling the mind filled with imagery and 
 comparisons, drawn from moral and actual life. Here, for 
 instance, is a tyrant, in the unrestrained exercise of his 
 power — he now has his enemy in his grip, and hear how he 
 exults ; listen to the mirthful and crackling laughter with 
 which the fiendish despot rejoices, as he gains the victory ; 
 mark the diabolical gambols with which he sports, and the
 
 13° WILLY REILLY. 
 
 demon glee with which he performs his capricious but fright- 
 ful exultations. But the tyrant, after all, will become ex- 
 hausted — his strength and power will fail him ; he will de- 
 stroy his own subjects ; he will become feeble, and when he 
 has nothing further on which to exercise his power, he will, 
 like many another tyrant before him, sink, and be lost in 
 the ruin he has made. 
 
 Again : Would you behold Industry ? Here have its ter- 
 ible spirits been appointed their tasks. Observe the energy, 
 the activity, the persevering fury with which they discharge 
 their separate duties. See how that eldest son of Apollyon, 
 with the appetite of hell, licks into his burning maw every 
 thing that comes in contact with his tongue of fire. What 
 quickness of execution, and how rapidly they pass from 
 place to place ! how they run about in quest of employ- 
 ment ! how diligently and effectually they search every nook 
 and corner, lest any thing might escape them ! Mark the 
 activity with which that strong fellow leaps across, from 
 beam to beam, seizing upon each as he goes. A different 
 task has been assigned to another : he attacks the rafters of 
 the roof — he fails at first, but, like the constrictor, he first 
 licks over his victim before he destroys it — bravo ! — he is at 
 it again — it gives w r ay — he is upon it, and about it ; and 
 now his difficulties are over — the red wood glows, splits and 
 crackles, and flies off in angry flakes, in order to become a 
 minister to its active and devouring master. See ! observe ! 
 What business — what a coil and turmoil of industry ! 
 Every flame at work — no idle hand here — no lazy lounger 
 reposing. No, no — the industry of a hive of bees is noth- 
 ing to this. Running up — running down — running in all 
 directions : now they unite together to accomplish some 
 general task, and again disperse themselves to perform their 
 individual appointments. 
 
 Eut hark ! what comes here ? Room for another ele- 
 ment. 'Tis the wind-storm, that comes to partake in the 
 triumph of the victory which his ministers have assisted to 
 gain. But lo ! here he comes in person ; and now they 
 unite — or how ? — Do they oppose each other ? Here does 
 the wind-storm drive back the god of fire from his victim ; 
 again the fiery god attempts to reach it ; and again he feels 
 that he has met more than his match. Once, twice, thrice 
 he has failed in getting at it. But is this conflict real — this
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 131 
 
 fierce battle between the elements ? Alas, no ; they are 
 both tyrants, and what is to be expected ? 
 
 The wind god, always unsteady, wheels round, comes to 
 the assistance of his opponent, and gives him new courage, 
 new vigor, and new strength. But his inferior ministers 
 must have a share of this dreadful repast. Off go a thou- 
 sand masses of burning material, whirling along. Off go 
 the glowing timbers and rafters, on the wind, by which they 
 are borne in thousands of red meteors across the sky. But 
 hark, again ! Room for the whirlwind ! Here it comes, 
 and addresses itself to yon tall and waving pyramid ; they 
 embrace ; the pyramid is twisted into the figure of a gigantic 
 corkscrew — round they go, rapid as thought ; the thunder 
 of the wind supplies them with the appropriate music, and 
 continues until this terrible and gigantic waltz of the ele- 
 ments is concluded. But now these fearful ravagers are 
 satisfied, because they have nothing more on which they can 
 glut themselves. They appear, however, to be seated. The 
 wind has become low, and is only able to work up a feeble 
 effort at its former strength. The flames, too, are subsiding 
 — their power is gone ; occasional jets of fire come forth, 
 but they instantly disappear. By degrees, and one after 
 auother, they vanish. Nothing now is visible but smoke, 
 and every thing is considered as over — when lo ! like a 
 great general, who has achieved a triumphant victory, it is 
 deemed right to take a last look at the position of the ene- 
 my. Up, therefore, starts an unexpected burst of flame — 
 blazes for a while ; looks about it, as it were ; sees that the 
 victory is complete, and drops down into the darkness from 
 which it came. The conflagration is over ; the wind-storm 
 is also appeased. Small hollow gusts, amongst the trees 
 and elsewhere, are now all that are heard. By degrees, 
 even these cease ; and the wind is now such as it was in the 
 course of the evening, when the elements were compara- 
 tively quiet and still. 
 
 Mr. Brown and his friend, Mr. Hastings, having waited 
 until they saw the last rafter of unfortunate Reilly's house 
 and premises sink into a black mass of smoking ruins, 
 turned their steps to the parsonage, which they had no 
 sooner entered than they went immediately to Reilly's room, 
 who was still there under concealment. Mr. Brown, how-
 
 132 WILLY RELLLY. 
 
 ever, went out again and returned with some wine, which he 
 placed upon the table. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Reilly, "this has become an awful 
 night ; the wind has been tremendous, and has done a 
 good deal of damage, I fear, to your house and premises, 
 Mr. Brown. I heard the slates falling about in great num- 
 bers ; and the inmates of the house were, as far as I could 
 judge, exceedingly alarmed." 
 
 " It was a dreadful night in more senses than one," 
 replied Mr. Brown. 
 
 " By the by," said Reilly, "was there not afire some- 
 where in the neighborhood ? I observed through the win- 
 dows a strong light flickering and vibrating, as it were, over 
 the whole country. What must it have been ?" 
 
 " My dear Reilly," replied Mr. Brown, " be calm ; your 
 house and premises are, at this moment, one dark heap of 
 smouldering ruins." 
 
 " Oh, yes — I understand," replied Reilly — " Sir Robert 
 Whitecraf t. ' ' 
 
 " Sir Robert Whitecraft," replied Mr. Brown ; it is too 
 true, Reilly — you are now houseless and homeless ; and 
 may God forgive him !" 
 
 Reilly got up and paced the room several times, then sat 
 down, and filling himself a glass of wine, drank it off ; 
 then looking at each of them, said, in a voice rendered 
 hoarse by the indignation and resentment which he felt 
 himself compelled, out of respect for his kind friends, to 
 restrain, "Gentlemen," he repeated, "what do you call 
 this?" 
 
 " Malice — persecution — vengeance," replied Mr. Brown, 
 whose resentment was scarcely less than that of Reilly him- 
 self. " In the presence of God, and before all the world, I 
 would pronounce it one of the most diabolical acts ever 
 committed in the history of civil society. But you have one 
 consolation, Reilly ; your money and papers are safe." 
 
 " It is not that," replied Reilly ; " I think not of them. 
 It is the vindictive and persecuting spirit of that man — that 
 monster — and the personal motives from which he acts, that 
 torture me, and that plant in my heart a principle of ven- 
 geance more fearful than his. But you do not understand 
 me, gentlemen ; I could smile at all he has done to myself 
 yet. It is of the serpent-tooth which will destroy the peace
 
 WILLY REILLY. 133 
 
 of others, that I think. All these motives being considered, 
 what do you think that man deserves at my hand ?" 
 
 "My dear Reilly," said the clergyman, "recollect that 
 there is a Providence ; and that we cannot assume to our- 
 selves the disposition of His judgments, or the knowledge of 
 His wisdom. Have patience. Your situation is one of 
 great distress and almost unexampled difficulty. At all 
 events, you are, for the present, safe under this roof ; and 
 although I grant you have much to suffer, still you have a 
 free conscience, and, I dare say, would not exchange your 
 position for that of your persecutor." 
 
 " No," said Reilly ; " most assuredly not — most assuredly 
 not ; no, not for worlds. Yet is it not strange, gentlemen, 
 that that man will sleep sound and happily to-night, whilst I 
 will lie upon a bed of thorns ?" 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Brown tapped gently at the door, 
 which was cautiously opened by her husband. 
 
 " John," said she, " here is a note which I was desired 
 to give to you without a moment's delay." 
 
 " Thank you, my love ; I will read it instantly." 
 
 He then bolted the door, and coming to the table took up 
 one of the candles and read the letter, which he handed to 
 Mr. Hastings. Now we have already stated that this gen- 
 tleman, whilst looking on at the destruction of Reilly's 
 property, never once opened his lips. Neither did he, from 
 the moment they entered Reilly's room. He sat like a 
 dumb man, occasionally helping himself to a glass of wine. 
 After having perused the note he merely nodded, but said 
 not a word ; he seemed to have lost the faculty of speech. 
 At length Mr. Brown spoke : 
 
 11 This is really too bad, my dear Reilly ; here is a note 
 signed ' H. F.,' which informs me that your residence, con- 
 cealment, or whatever it is, has been discovered by Sir 
 Robert Whitecraft, and that the military are on their way 
 here to arrest you ; you must instantly fly." 
 
 Hastings then got up, and taking Reilly's hand, said : 
 
 11 Yes, Reilly, you must escape — disguise yourself — take 
 all shapes — since you will not leave the country ; but there 
 is one fact I wish to impress upon you : meddle not with 
 — injure not — Sir Robert Whitecraft. Leave him to 
 
 ME." 
 
 " Go out by the back way," said Mr. Brown, " and fly
 
 131- WILLY RELLLY. 
 
 into the fields, lest they should surround the house and ren- 
 der escape impossible. God bless you and preserve you 
 from the violence of your enemies !" 
 
 It is unnecessary to relate what subsequently occurred. 
 Mr. Brown's premises, as he had anticipated, were com- 
 pletely surrounded ere the party in search of Reilly had de- 
 manded admittance. The whole house was searched from 
 top to bottom, but, as usual, without success. Sir Robert 
 Whitecraft himself was not with them, but the party were all 
 but intoxicated, and, were it not for the calm and unshrink- 
 ing firmness of Mr. Brown, would have been guilty of a 
 very offensive degree of insolence. 
 
 Reilly, in the meantime, did not pass far from the house. 
 On the contrary, he resolved to watch from a safe place the 
 motions of those who were in pursuit of him. In order to 
 do this more securely, he mounted into the branches of a 
 magnificent oak tree that stood in the centre of a field ad- 
 joining a kind of back lawn that stretched from the walled 
 garden of the parsonage. The fact is, that the clergyman's 
 house had two hall-doors — one in front, and the other in the 
 rear — and as the rooms commanded a view of the scenery 
 behind the house, which was much finer than that in front, 
 on this account the back hall-door was necessary, as it gave 
 them a free and easy egress to the lawn we have mentioned, 
 from which a magnificent prospect was visible. 
 
 It was obvious that the party, though unsuccessful, had 
 been very accurately informed. Finding, however, that the 
 bird had flown, several of them galloped across the lawn — 
 it was a cavalry party, having been sent out for speed — and 
 passed into the field where the tree grew in which Reilly was 
 concealed. After a useless search, however, they returned, 
 and pulled up their horses under the oak. 
 
 "Well," said one of them, "it's a clear case that the 
 scoundrel can make himself invisible. We have orders from 
 Sir Robert to shoot him, and to put the matter upon the 
 principle of resistance against the law, on his side. Sir 
 Robert has been most credibly informed that that disloyal 
 parson has concealed him in his house for nearly the last 
 month. Now who could ever think of looking for a Popish 
 rebel in the house of a Protestant parson ? What the deuce 
 is keeping those fellows ? I hope they won't go too far into 
 the country."
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 13*5 
 
 " Any man that says Mr. Brown is a disloyal parson is a 
 liar," said one of them in a stern voice. 
 
 " And I say," said another, with a hiccough, " that, hang 
 me, but I think this same Reilly is as loyal a man as e'er a 
 one amongst us. My name is George Johnston, and I'm 
 not ashamed of it ; and the truth is, that only Miss Folliard 
 fell in love with Reilly, and refused to marry Sir Robert, 
 Reilly would have been a loyal man still, and no ill-will 
 
 against him. But, by , it was too bad to burn his house 
 
 and place — and see whether Sir Robert will come off the 
 better of it. I myself am a good Protestant — show me the 
 man that will deny that, and I'll become his schoolmaster 
 only for five minutes. I do say, and I'll tell it to Sir Rob- 
 ert's face, that there's something wrong somewhere. Give 
 me a Papish that breaks the law, let him be priest or lay- 
 man, and I'm the boy that will take a grip of him if I can 
 get him. But, confound me, if I like to be sent out to hunt 
 innocent, inoffensive Papishes, who commit no crime ex- 
 cept that of having property that chaps like Sir Robert have 
 their eye on. Now suppose the Papishes had the upper 
 hand, and that they treated us so, what would you say ?" 
 
 " All I can say is," replied another of them, " that I'd 
 wish to get the reward." 
 
 " Curse the reward," said Johnston, " I like fair play." 
 
 11 But how did Sir Robert come to know ?" asked another, 
 " that Reilly was with the parson ?" 
 
 " Who the deuce here can tell that ?" replied several. 
 
 " The thing was a hoax," said Johnston, " and a cursed 
 uncomfortable one for us. But here come these fellows, 
 just as they went, it seems. Well, boys, no trail of this 
 cunning fox ?" 
 
 "Trail!" exclaimed the others. "Gad, you might as 
 well hunt for your grandmother's needle in a bottle of 
 straw. The truth is, the man's not in the country, and 
 whoever gave the information as to the parson keeping him 
 was some enemy of the parson's more than of Reilly's, I'll 
 go bail. Come, now, let us go back, and give an account 
 of our luck, and then to our barracks." 
 
 Now at this period it was usual for men who were promi- 
 nent for rank and loyalty, and whose attachment to the 
 Constitution and Government was indicated by such acts 
 and principles as those which we have hitherto read in the
 
 136 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 life of Sir Robert Whitecraft — we say, it was usual for such 
 as him to be allowed a small detachment of military, whose 
 numbers were mostly rated, according to the services re- 
 quired of them, by the zeal and activity of their employer, 
 as well as for his protection ; and, in order to their accom- 
 modation, some uninhabited house in the neighborhood 
 was converted into a barrack for the purpose. Such 
 was the case in the instance of Sir Robert Whitecraft, 
 who, independently of his zeal for the public good, was 
 supposed to have an eye in this disposition of things, 
 to his own personal safety. He, consequently, had his 
 little barrack so closely adjoining his house that a notice 
 of five minutes could at any time have its inmates at his 
 premises, or in his presence. 
 
 After these men went away, Reilly, having waited a few 
 minutes, until he was satisfied that they had actually, one 
 and all of them, disappeared, came down from the tree, and 
 once more betook himself to the road. Whither to go he 
 knew not. In consequence of having received his education 
 abroad, his personal knowledge of the inhabitants belonging 
 to the neighborhood was very limited. Go somewhere, 
 however, he must. Accordingly, he resolved to advance, at 
 all events, as far as he might be able to travel before bed- 
 time, and then resign himself to chance for a night's shel- 
 ter. One might imagine, indeed, that his position as a 
 wealthy Roman Catholic gentleman, suffering persecution 
 from the tool and scourge of a hostile government, might 
 have calculated upon shelter and secrecy from those belong- 
 ing to his own creed. And so, indeed, in nineteen cases 
 out of twenty he might ; but in what predicament should 
 he find himself if the twentieth proved treacherous ? And 
 against this he had no guarantee. That age was peculiarly 
 marked by the foulest personal perfidy, precipitated into 
 action by rapacity, ingratitude, and the blackest ambition. 
 The son of a Roman Catholic gentleman, for instance, had 
 nothing more to do than change his creed, attach himself to 
 the government, become a spy and informer on his family, 
 and he ousted his own father at once out of his hereditary 
 property — an ungrateful and heinous proceeding, that was 
 too common in the time of which we write. Then, as to the 
 people themselves, they were, in general, steeped in poverty 
 and ignorance, and this is certainly not surprising when we
 
 WILLY REILLY. 137 
 
 consider that no man durst educate them. The govern- 
 ment rewards, therefore, assailed them with a double temp- 
 tation. In the first, the amount of it — taking their poverty 
 into consideration — was calculated to grapple with and over- 
 come their scruples ; and in the next, they were certain by 
 their treachery to secure the protection of government for 
 themselves. 
 
 Such, exactly, was the state of the country on the night 
 when Reilly found himself a solitary traveller on the road, 
 ignorant of his destiny, and uncertain where or in what 
 quarter he might seek shelter until morning. 
 
 He had not gone far when he overtook another traveller, 
 with whom he entered into conversation. 
 
 11 God save you, my friend." 
 
 " God save you kindly, sir," replied the other ; " was not 
 this an awful night ?" 
 
 11 If you may say so," returned Reilly unconsciously, 
 and for the moment forgetting himself, " well may I, my 
 friend." 
 
 Indeed it is probable that Reilly was thrown somewhat off 
 his guard by the accent of his companion, from which he at 
 once inferred that he was a Catholic. 
 
 "Why, sir," replied the man, "how could it be more 
 awful to you than to any other man ?' ' 
 
 " Suppose my house was blown down," said Reilly, " and 
 that yours was not, would not that be cause sufficient ?" 
 
 " My house!" exclaimed the man with a deep sigh; 
 " but sure you ought to know, sir, that it's not every man 
 has a house." 
 
 11 And perhaps I do know it." 
 
 "Wasn't that a terrible act, sir — the burning of Mr. 
 Reilly's house and place ?" 
 
 " Who is Mr. Reilly ?" asked the other. 
 
 " A Catholic gintleman, sir, that the soldiers are afther," 
 replied the man. 
 
 11 And perhaps it is right that they should be after him. 
 What did he do ? The Catholics are too much in the habit 
 of violating the law, especially their priests, who persist in 
 marrying Protestants and Papists together, although they 
 know it is a hanging matter. If they deliberately put their 
 necks into the noose, who can pity them ?" 
 
 "It seems they do, then," replied the man in a subdued
 
 I3# WILLY REILLY. 
 
 voice ; " and what is still more strange, it very often happens 
 that persons of their own creed are somewhat too ready to 
 come down wid a harsh word upon 'em." 
 
 " Well, my friend," responded Reilly, " let them not de- 
 serve it ; let them obey the law." 
 
 '• And are you of opinion, sir," asked the man with a sig- 
 nificant emphasis upon the personal pronoun which we have 
 put in italics ; " are you of opinion, sir, that obedience to 
 the law is always a security to either perso?i o?' property ?" 
 
 The direct force of the question could not be easily parried, 
 at least by Reilly, to whose circumstances it applied so power- 
 fully, and he consequently paused for a little to shape his 
 thoughts into the language he wished to adopt ; the man, 
 however, proceeded : 
 
 " I wonder what Mr. Reilly would say if such a question 
 was put to him ?" 
 
 " I suppose," replied Reilly, " he would say much as I 
 say — that neither innocence nor obedience is always a secu- 
 rity under any law or any constitution either." 
 
 His companion made no reply, and they walked on for 
 some time in silence. Such indeed was the precarious 
 state of the country then that, although the stranger, from 
 the opening words of their conversation, suspected his com- 
 panion to be no other than Willy Reilly himself, yet he 
 hesitated to avow the suspicions he entertained of his iden- 
 tity, although he felt anxious to repose the fullest confidence 
 in him ; and Reilly, on the other hand, though perfectly 
 aware of the true character of his companion, was influenced 
 in their conversation by a similar feeling. Distrust it could 
 not be termed on either side, but simply the operation of 
 that general caution which was generated by the state of the 
 times, when it was extremely difficult to know the individual 
 on whom you could place dependence. Reilly' s generous 
 nature, however, could bear this miserable manoeuvring no 
 longer. 
 
 "Come, my friend," said he, "we have been beating 
 about the bush with each other to no purpose ; although I 
 know not your name, yet I think I do your profession." 
 
 " And I would hold a wager," replied the other, " that 
 Mr. Reilly, whose house was burned down by a villain this 
 night, is not a thousand miles from me." 
 
 " And suppose you are right ?"
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 139 
 
 " Then, upon my veracity, you're safe, if I am. It would 
 ill become my cloth and character to act dishonorably or 
 contrary to the spirit of my religion. 
 
 1 Non ignara mali miseris succurrere disco.' 
 
 You see, Mr. Reilly, I couldn't make use of any other gen- 
 der but the feminine without violating prosody ; for 
 although I'm not so sharp at my Latin as I was, still I 
 couldn't use ignanw, as you see, without fairly committing 
 myself as a scholar ; and indeed, if I went to that, it would 
 surely be the first time I have been mistaken for a dunce." 
 
 The honest priest, now that the ice was broken, and con- 
 scious that he was in safe hands, fell at once into his easy 
 and natural manner, and rattled away very much to the 
 amusement of his companion. " Ah !" he proceeded, 
 11 many a character I have been forced to assume." 
 
 " How is that ?" inquired Reilly. " How did it happen 
 that you were forced into such a variety of characters ?" 
 
 ' ' Why, you see, Mr. Reilly — troth and maybe I had bet- 
 ter not be naming you aloud ; walls have ears, and so may 
 hedges. How, you ask ? Why, you see, I'm not regis- 
 tered, and consequently have no permission from govern- 
 ment to exercise my functions." 
 
 "Why," said Reilly, "you labor under a mistake, my 
 friend ; the bill for registering Catholic priests did not pass ; 
 it was lost by a majority of two. So far make your mind 
 easy. The consequence is, that if you labor under no eccle- 
 siastical censure you may exercise all the functions of your 
 office — that is, as well as you can, and as far as you dare." 
 
 " Well, that same's a comfort," said the priest ; " but the 
 report was, and is, that we are to be registered. However, 
 be that as it may, I have been a perfect Proteus. The met- 
 amorphoses of Ovid were nothing to mine. I have repre- 
 sented every character in society at large ; to-day I've been 
 a farmer, and to-morrow a poor man,'" sometimes a fool — a 
 rare character, you know, in this world — and sometimes a 
 fiddler, for I play a little." 
 
 " And which character did you prefer among them all ?" 
 asked Reilly, with a smile which he could not repress. 
 
 " Oh, in troth, you needn't ask that, Mr. R — hem — 
 
 * A mendicant.
 
 1-J.o WILLY REILLY. 
 
 you needn't ask that. The first morning I took to the 
 fiddle I was about to give myself up to government at once. 
 As for my part, I'd be ashamed to tell you how I sent those 
 that were unlucky enough to hear my music scampering 
 across the country." 
 
 '! And, pray, how long is that since ?" 
 
 11 Why, something better than three weeks, the Lord pity 
 me !" 
 
 " And what description of dress did you wear on that oc- 
 casion ?' ' asked Reilly. 
 
 11 Dress — why, then, an old yellow caubeen, a blue frieze 
 coat, and — movrone, oh ! — a striped breeches. And the 
 worst of it was, that big Paddy Mullin, from Mullaghmore, 
 having met me in old Darby Doyle's, poor man, where I went 
 to take a little refreshment, ordered in something to eat, 
 and began to make me play for him. There was a Protest- 
 ant in the house, too, so that I couldn't tell him who I was, 
 and I accordingly began, and soon cleared the house of 
 them. God bless you, sir, you could little dream of all I 
 went through. I was one day set in the house I was con- 
 cealed in, in the town of Ballyrogan, and only for the town 
 fool, Art M'Kenna, I suppose I'd have swung before this." 
 
 11 How was that ?" asked Reilly. 
 
 " Why, sir, one day I got the hard word that they 
 would be into the house where I was in a few minutes. 
 To escape them in my own dress I knew was impossible ; 
 and what was to be done ? The poor fool, who was as true 
 as steel, came to my relief. ' Here,' said he, ' exchange wid 
 me. I'll put on your black clothes, and you'll put on my 
 red ones ' — he was dressed like an old soldier — ' then I'll 
 take to my scrapers, and while they are in pursuit of me 
 you can escape to some friend's house, where you may get 
 another dress. God knows,' said he, with a grin on him I 
 didn't like, ' it's a poor exchange on my part. You can play 
 the fool, and cock your cap, without any one to ask you for 
 authority,' says he, ' and if I only marry a wrong couple I 
 maybe hanged. Go off now.' Well, sir, out I walked, 
 dressed in a red coat, military hat, white knee-breeches, and 
 black leggings. As I was going out I met the soldiers. 
 ' Is the priest inside, Art ? ' they asked. I pointed in a 
 wrong direction. ' Up by Kilclay ? ' I nodded. The first 
 searched the house, however, but found neither priest nor
 
 WILLY REILLY. 141 
 
 fool ; only one of them, something sharper than the rest, 
 went out of the back door, and saw unfortunate Art, dressed 
 in black, running for the bare life. Of course they thought 
 it was me they had. Off they started ; and a tolerable 
 chase Art put them to. At last he was caught, after a run 
 across the country of about four miles ; but ne'er a word 
 came out of his lips, till a keen fellow, on looking closely at 
 him, discovered the mistake. Some of them were then go- 
 ing to kill the poor fool, but others interfered, and wouldn't 
 allow him to be touched ; and many of them laughed heart- 
 ily when they saw Art turned into a clergyman, as they 
 said. Art, however, was no coward, and threatened to 
 read every man of them out from the altar. ' I'll exkimni- 
 cate every mother's son of you,' said he. ' I'm a reverend 
 clargy ; and, by the contents of my soger's cap, I'll close 
 the mouths on your faces, so that a blessed pratie or a boult 
 of fat bacon will never go down one of your villanous 
 throats again ; and then,' he added, ' I'll sell you for 
 scarecrows to the Pope o' Room, who wants a dozen or two 
 of you to sweep out his palace.' It was then, sir, that, while 
 I was getting out of my red clothes, I was transformed 
 again ; but, indeed, the most of us are so now, God help 
 us !" 
 
 They had now arrived at a narrow part of the road, when 
 the priest stood. 
 
 " Mr. Reilly," said he, "I am very tired ; but, as it is, 
 we must go on a couple of miles further, until we reach 
 Glen Dhu, where I think I can promise you a night's lodg- 
 ing, such as it will be." 
 
 "I am easily satisfied," replied his companion ; " it would 
 be a soft bed that would win me to repose on this night, at 
 least." 
 
 11 It will certainly be a rude and a rough one," said the 
 priest, " and there will be few hearts there free from care, 
 no more than yours, Mr. Reilly. Alas ! that I should be 
 obliged to say so in a Christian country." 
 
 "You say you are fatigued," said Reilly. "Take my 
 arm ; I am strong enough to yield you some support. 
 
 The priest did so, and the proceeded at a slower pace, 
 until they got over the next two miles, when the priest 
 stopped again. 
 
 " I must rest a little," said he, " although we arc now
 
 142 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 within a hundred yards of our berth for the night. Do you 
 know where you are ?" 
 
 "Perfectly," replied Reilly ; "but, good mercy! sure 
 there is neither house nor home within two miles of us. 
 We are in the moors, at the very mouth of Glen Dhu." 
 
 " Yes," replied his companion, " and I am glad we are 
 here." 
 
 The poor hunted priest felt himself, indeed, very much 
 exhausted, so much so that, if the termination of his journey 
 had been at a much longer distance from thence, he would 
 scarcely have been able to reach it. 
 
 " God help our unhappy Church," said he, " for she is 
 suffering much ; but still she is suffering nobly, and with 
 such Christian fortitude as will make her days of trial and 
 endurance the brightest in her annals. All that power and 
 persecution can direct against us is put in force a thousand 
 ways ; but we act under the consciousness that we have 
 God and truth on our side, and this gives us strength and 
 courage to suffer. And if we fly, Mr. Reilly, and hide our- 
 selves, it is not from any moral cowardice we do so. It 
 certainly is not true courage to expose our lives wantonly 
 and unnecessarily to the vengeance of our enemies. Read 
 the Old Testament and history, and you will find how many 
 good and pious men have sought shelter in wildernesses and 
 caves, as we have done. The truth is, we feel ourselves 
 called upon, for the sake of our suffering and neglected 
 flocks, to remain in the country, and to afford them all the 
 consolation and religious support in our power, God help 
 them." 
 
 " I admire the justice of your sentiments," replied Reilly, 
 " and the spirit in which they are expressed. Indeed I am 
 of opinion that if those who foster and stimulate this detest- 
 able spirit of persecution against you only knew how cer- 
 tainly and surely it defeats their purpose, by cementing your 
 hearts and the hearts of your flocks together, they would 
 not, from principles even of worldly policy, persist in it. 
 The man who attempted to break down the arch by heaping 
 additional weight upon it ultimately found that the greater 
 the weight the stronger the arch, and so I trust it will be 
 with us." 
 
 " It would seem," said the priest, "to be an attempt to 
 exterminate the religion of the people by depriving them
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 143 
 
 of their pastors, and consequently of their Church, in order 
 to bring them to the impression that, upon the principle of any 
 Church being better than no Church, they may gradually be 
 absorbed into Protestantism. This seems to be their policy ; 
 but how can any policy, based upon such persecution, and 
 so grossly at variance with human liberty, ever succeed ? 
 As it is, we go out in the dead hours of the night, when even 
 persecution is asleep, and administer the consolations of re- 
 ligion to the sick, the dying, and the destitute. Now these 
 stolen visits are sweeter, perhaps, and more efficacious, than 
 if they took place in freedom and the open day. Again, we 
 educate their children in the principles of their creed, during 
 the same lonely hours, in waste houses, where we are obliged 
 to keep the windows staffed with straw, or covered with 
 blinds of some sort, lest a chance of discovery might ensue. 
 Such is the life we lead — a life of want and misery and suf- 
 fering, but we complain not ; on the contrary, we submit 
 ourselves to the will of God, and receive this severe visita- 
 tion as a chastisement intended for our good." 
 
 The necessities of our narrative, however, compel us to 
 leave them here for the present ; but not without a hope 
 that they found shelter for the night, as we trust we shall 
 be able to show. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 REILLY'S ADVENTURE CONTINUED — A PROSPECT OF BY-GONE 
 TIMES — REILLY GETS A BED IN A CURIOUS ESTABLISHMENT. 
 
 WE now beg our readers to accompany us to the library 
 of Sir Robert Whitecraft, where that worthy gentle- 
 man sits, with a bottle of Madeira before him ; for Sir 
 Robert, in addition to his many other good qualities, pos- 
 sessed that of being a private drinker. The bottle, we say, 
 Avas before him, and with a smile of triumph and satisfaction 
 on his face, he arose and rang the bell. In a few minutes 
 a liveried servant attended it. 
 " Carson, send O'Donnel here." 
 
 Carson bowed and retired, and in a few minutes the Red 
 Rapparee entered.
 
 144 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 " How is this, O'Donnel ? Have you thrown aside your 
 uniform ?" 
 
 " I didn't think I'd be called out on duty again to-night, 
 sir." 
 
 " It doesn't matter, O'Donnel — it doesn't matter. What 
 do you think of the bonfire ?" 
 
 " Begad, it was a beauty, sir, and well managed." 
 
 " Ay, but I am afraid, O'Donnel, I went a little too far 
 — that I stretched my authority somewhat." 
 
 11 But isn't he a rebel and an outlaw, Sir Robert ? and in 
 that case — " 
 
 " Yes, O'Donnel ; and a rebel and an outlaw of my own 
 making, which is the best of it. The fellow might have lain 
 there, concocting his treason, long enough, only for my vigi- 
 lance. However, it's all right. The government, to which 
 I have rendered "such important services, will stand by me, 
 and fetch me out of the burning — that is, if there has been 
 any transgression of the law in it. The Papists are privately 
 recruiting for the French service, and that is felony ; Reilly 
 also was recruiting for the French service — was he not ?" 
 
 11 He offered me a commission, sir." 
 
 " Very good ; that's all right ? but can you prove that ?" 
 
 11 Why, I can swear it, Sir Robert." 
 
 11 Better still. But do you think he is in the country, 
 O'Donnel?" 
 
 11 I would rather swear he is, sir, than that he is not. He 
 won't lave her aisily. " 
 
 11 Who do you mean by her^ sir ?" 
 
 11 I would rather not name her, your honor, in comfection 
 with the vagabond." 
 
 " That's delicate of you, O'Donnel ; I highly approve of 
 your sentiment. Here, have a glass of wine." 
 
 " Thank you, Sir Robert ; but have you any brandy, sir ? 
 My tongue is as dry as a stick, wid that glorious bonfire we 
 had ; but, besides, sir, I wish to drink success to you in all 
 your undertakings. A happy marriage, sir !" and he ac- 
 companied the words with a ferocious grin. 
 
 " You shall have one glass of brandy, O'Donnel, but no 
 more. I wish you to deliver a letter for me to-night. It is 
 
 to the sheriff, who dines with Lord , a friend of mine ; 
 
 and I wish you to deliver it at his lordship's house, where 
 you will be sure to find him. The letter is of the greatest
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 145 
 
 importance, and you will take care to deliver it safely. No 
 answer by you is required. He was out to-day, levying fines 
 from Popish priests, and a heavy one from the Popish 
 bishop, and I do not think, with a large sum of money about 
 him, that he will go home to-night. Here is the letter. I 
 expect he will call on me in the morning, to breakfast — at 
 least I have asked him, for we have very serious business to 
 discuss." 
 
 The Rapparee took the letter, finished his glass of brandy, 
 and disappeared to fulfil his commission. 
 
 Now it so happened that on that very evening, before 
 the premises had been set on fire, Mary Mahon, by O'Don- 
 nel's order, had entered the house, and under, as it were, the 
 protection of the military, gathered up as much of Reilly's 
 clothes and linen as she could conveniently carry to her 
 cottage, which was in the immediate vicinity of Whitecraft's 
 residence — it being the interest of this hypocritical volup- 
 tuary to have the corrupt wretch near him. The Rapparee, 
 having left Whitecraft to his reflections, immediately di- 
 rected his steps to her house, and, with her connivance, 
 changed the dress he had on for one which she had taken 
 from Reilly's wardrobe. He then went to the house of the 
 nobleman where the sheriff was dining, but arrived only in 
 time to hear that he was about to take horse on his return 
 home. On seeing him preparing to mount, bearing a lan- 
 tern in his hand, as the night was dark and the roads bad, 
 he instantly changed his purpose as to the letter, and came 
 to the resolution of not delivering it at all. 
 
 " I can easily say," thought he, " that the sheriff had 
 gone home before I came, and that will be a very sufficient 
 excuse. In the meantime," he added, ** I will cross the 
 country and be out on the road before him." 
 
 The sheriff was not unarmed, however, and felt him- 
 self tolerably well prepared for any attack that might be 
 made on him ; and, besides, he was no coward. After a 
 ride of about two miles he found himself stopped, and al- 
 most at the same instant the lantern that he carried was 
 knocked out of his hand and extinguished, but not until he 
 caught a faint glimpse of the robber's person, who, from his 
 dress, appeared to be a man much above the common class. 
 Quick as lightning he pulled out one of his pistols, and, 
 cocking it, held himself in readiness. The night was dark,
 
 146 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 and this preparation for self-defence was unknown to his 
 assailant. On feeling the reins of his horse's bridle in the 
 hands of the robber, he snapped the pistol at his head, but 
 alas ! it only flashed in the pan. The robber, on the other 
 hand, did not seem anxious to take his life, for it was a 
 principle among the Rapparees to shed, while exercising 
 their rapacious functions, as little blood as possible. They 
 have frequently taken life from a feeling of private ven- 
 geance, but not often while robbing on the king's highway. 
 The sheriff, now finding that one pistol had missed, was 
 about to draw cut the second, when he was knocked insen- 
 sible off his horse, and on recovering found himself minus 
 the fines which he had that day levied — all the private cash 
 about him — and his case of pistols. This indeed was a 
 bitter incident to him ; because, in addition to the loss of 
 his private purse and firearms — which he valued as nothing 
 — he knew that he was responsible to government for the 
 amount of the fines. 
 
 With considerable difficulty he was able to remount his 
 horse, and with a sense of stupor, which was very painful, 
 he recommenced his journey home. After a ride of about 
 two miles he met three horsemen, who immediately chal- 
 lenged him and demanded his name and residence. 
 
 " I am the sheriff of the county," he replied, " and have 
 been robbed of a large sum of money and my pistols ; and 
 now," he added, " may I beg to know who you are, and by 
 what authority you demand my name and residence ?" 
 
 11 Excuse us, Mr. Sheriff," they replied ; " we belong to 
 the military detachment which government has placed 
 under the control of Sir Robert Whitecraft." 
 
 " Oh, indeed," exclaimed the sheriff ; " I wish to heaven 
 you had been a little more advanced on your journey ; you 
 might have saved me from being plundered, as I have been, 
 and probably secured the robber." 
 
 " Could you observe, sir, what was the villain's appear- 
 ance ?" 
 
 " I had a small lantern," replied the functionary, " by 
 which I caught a brief but uncertain glance of him. I am 
 not quite certain that I could recognize his features, though, 
 if I saw him again — but perhaps I might ; certainly I could 
 his dress." 
 
 11 How was he dressed, sir ?" they inquired.
 
 WILLY REILLY. 147 
 
 " Quite beyond the common," said the sheriff ; " I think 
 he had on a brown coat, of superior cloth and make, and I 
 think, too, the buckles of his shoes were silver." 
 
 " And his features, Mr. Sheriff ?" 
 
 "I cannot exactly say," he returned ; " I was too much 
 agitated to be able to recollect them ; but indeed the dim 
 glimpse I got was too brief to afford me an opportunity of 
 seeing them with any thing like distinctness." 
 
 11 From the description you have given, sir," said one of 
 them, " the man who robbed you must have been Reilly the 
 Outlaw. That is the very dress he has been in the habit of 
 wearing. Was he tall, sir, and stout in person ?" 
 
 11 He was a very large man, certainly," replied the sheriff ; 
 " and I regret I did not see his face more distinctly." 
 
 " It can be no other, Mr. Sheriff," observed the man ; 
 11 the fellow has no means of living now, unless by levying 
 contributions on the road. For my part, I think the scoun- 
 drel can make himself invisible ; but it must go hard with 
 us or we will secure him yet. Would you wish an escort 
 home, Mr. Sheriff ? because, if you do, we shall accompany 
 you." 
 
 " No," replied the other, "I thank you. I would not 
 have ventured home unattended if the Red Rapparee had 
 still been at his vocation, and his gang undispersed ; but as 
 he is now on the safe side, I apprehend no danger." 
 
 " It's not at all impossible but Reilly may step into his 
 shoes," said the cavalryman. 
 
 " I have now neither money nor arms," continued the 
 sheriff ; " nothing the villain robbers could covet, and 
 what, then, have I to fear ?" 
 
 "You have a life, sir," observed the man respectfully, 
 " and if you'll allow me to say it — the life of a man who is 
 not very well liked in the country, in consequence of certain 
 duties you are obliged to perform. Come, then, sir, we shall 
 see you home." 
 
 It was so arranged, and the sheriff reached his own resi- 
 dence, under their escort, with perfect safety. 
 
 This indeed was a night of adventure to Reilly — hunted, 
 as he was, like a beast of prey. After what had taken place 
 already in the early portion of it, he apprehended no further 
 pursuit, and in this respect he felt his mind comparatively 
 at ease — for, in addition to any other conviction of his
 
 I4 8 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 safety, he knew that the night was far advanced, and as the 
 country was unsettled, he was not ignorant that the small 
 military parties that were in the habit of scouring the coun- 
 try generally — unless when in the execution of some express 
 duty — retired to their quarters at an early hour, in order to 
 avoid the severe retaliations which were frequently made 
 upon them by the infuriated peasantry whom they — or 
 rather the government which employed them — had almost 
 driven to madness, and would have driven to insurrection 
 had the people possessed the means of rising. As it was, 
 however, he dreaded no further pursuit this night, for the 
 reasons which we have stated. 
 
 In the meantime the sheriff, feeling obliged by the civility 
 of the three dragoons, gave them refreshments on a very 
 liberal scale, of which — rather exhausted as they were — they 
 made a very liberal use. Feeling themselves now consider- 
 ably stimulated by liquor, they mounted their horses and 
 proceeded towards their barracks at a quick pace. In con- 
 sequence of the locality in which the sheriff lived, it was 
 necessary that they should travel in a direction opposite to 
 that by which Reilly and the priest were going. At all 
 events, after riding a couple of miles, they overtook three 
 infantry soldiers who were also on their way to quarters. 
 The blood, however, of the troopers was up— thanks to the 
 sheriff ; they mentioned the robbery, and requested the three 
 infantry to precede them as an advanced guard, as quietly 
 as possible, stating that there might still be a chance of com- 
 ing across the villain who had plundered the sheriff, inti- 
 mating their impression, at the same time, that Reilly was 
 the man, and adding that if they could secure him their 
 fortune was made. As has always been usual in executing 
 cases of the law attended with peculiar difficulty': these men 
 — the infantry— like our present detectives, had gone out 
 that night in colored clothes. On perceiving two individu- 
 als approaching them in the dim distance, they immediately 
 threw their guns into the ditch, lest they should put our 
 friends upon their guard and cause them to escape if they 
 could. Reilly could have readily done so ; but having, 
 only a few minutes before, heard from the poor old priest 
 that he had, for some months past, been branded and pur- 
 sued as a felon, he could not think of abandoning him now 
 that he was feeble and jaded with fatigue as well as with
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 149 
 
 age. Now it so happened that one of these fellows had 
 been a Roman Catholic, and having committed some breach 
 of the law, found it as safe as it was convenient to change 
 his creed, and as he spoke the Irish language fluently — in- 
 deed there were scarcely any other then spoken by the 
 peasantry — he commenced clapping his hands on seeing 
 the two men, and expressing the deepest sorrow for the loss 
 of his wife, from whose funeral, it appeared from his lamen- 
 tations, he was then returning. 
 
 "We have nothing to apprehend here," said Reilly ; 
 " this poor fellow is in sorrow, it seems — God help him ! 
 Let us proceed." 
 
 " Oh !" exclaimed the treacherous villain, clapping his 
 hands — [we translate his words] — "Oh, Yeeah ! Yeeah!* 
 what a bitther loss you'll be, my darlin' Madge, to me and 
 your orphan childher, now and for evermore ! Oh, where 
 was there sich a wife, neighbors ? who ever heard her harsh 
 word, or her loud voice ? And from mornin' till night ever, 
 ever busy in keepin' every thing tight and clane and reg- 
 ular ! Let me alone, will yez ? I'll go back and sleep upon 
 her grave this night — so I will ; and if all the blasted sogers 
 in Ireland — may sweet bad luck to them ! — were to come 
 to prevent me, I'd not allow them. Oh, Madge, darlin', 
 but I'm the lonely and heartbroken man widout you this 
 night !" 
 
 "Come, come," said the priest, "have firmness, poor 
 man ; other people have these calamities to bear as well as 
 yourself. Be a man." 
 
 " Oh, are you a priest, sir ? bekase if you are I want con- 
 solation if ever a sorrowful man did." 
 
 " I am a priest," replied the unsuspecting man, " and 
 any thing I can do to calm your mind, I'll do it." 
 
 He had scarcely uttered these words when Reilly felt his 
 two arms strongly pinioned, and as the men who had seized 
 him were powerful, the struggle between him and them was 
 dreadful. The poor priest at the same moment found him- 
 self also a prisoner in the hands of the bereaved widower, 
 to whom he proved an easy victim, as he was incapable of 
 making resistance, which, indeed, he declined to attempt. 
 If he did not possess bodily strength, however, he was not 
 
 * God, God.
 
 150 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 without presence of mind. For whilst Reilly and his cap- 
 tors were engaged in a fierce and powerful conflict, he 
 placed his fore-finger and thumb in his mouth, from which 
 proceeded a whistle so prercingly loud and shrill that it 
 awoke the midnight echoes around them. This was con- 
 sidered by the dragoons as a signal from their friends in 
 advance, and, without the loss of a moment, they set spurs 
 to their horses, and dashed up to the scene of struggle, just 
 as Reilly had got his right arm extricated, and knocked one 
 of his captors down. In an instant, however, the three dra- 
 goons, aided by the other men, were upon him, and not less 
 than three cavalry pistols were levelled at his head. Un- 
 fortunately, at this moment the moon began to rise, and the 
 dragoons, on looking at him more closely, observed that he 
 was dressed precisely as the sheriff had described the person 
 who robbed him — the brown coat, light-colored breeches, 
 and silver buckles — for indeed this was his usual dress. 
 
 "You are Willy Reilly," said the man who had been 
 spokesman in their interview with the sheriff : " you needn't 
 deny it, sir — I know you !" 
 
 11 If you know me, then," replied Reilly, " where is the 
 necessity for asking my name ?" 
 
 " I ask again, sir, what is your name ? If you be the man 
 I suspect you to be, you will deny it." 
 
 11 My name," replied the other, " is William Reilly, and 
 as I am conscious of no crime against society — of no offence 
 against the State — I shall not deny it." 
 
 11 I knew I was right," said the dragoon. " Mr. Reilly, 
 you are our prisoner on many charges, not the least of 
 which is your robbery of the sheriff this night. You must 
 come with us to Sir Robert Whitecraft ; so must this other 
 person who seems your companion." 
 
 " Not a foot I'll go to Sir Robert Whitecraft's to-night," 
 replied the priest. " I have made my mind up against such 
 a stretch at such an hour as this ; and, with the help of 
 God, I'll stick to my resolution." 
 
 " Why do you refuse to go ?" asked the man, a good deal 
 surprised at such language. 
 
 " Just for a reason I have : as for that fellow being Willy 
 Reilly, he's no more Willy Reilly than I am ; whatever he 
 is, however, he's a good man and true, but must be guided 
 by wiser heads than his own ; and I now tell him — ay, and
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 151 
 
 you too — that he won't see Sir Robert Whitecraft's treach- 
 erous face to-night, no more than myself." 
 
 " Come," said one of them, " drag the idolatrous old 
 rebel along. Come, my old couple-beggar, there's a noose 
 before you." 
 
 He had scarcely uttered the words when twenty men, 
 armed with strong pikes, jumped out on the road before 
 them, and about the same number, with similar weapons, 
 behind them. In fact, they were completely hemmed in ; 
 and, as the road was narrow and the ditches high, they were 
 not at all in a capacity to make resistance. 
 
 " Surrender your prisoners," said a huge man in a voice 
 of thunder — " surrender your prisoners — here are we ten to 
 one against you ; or if you don't, I swear there won't be a 
 living man amongst you in two minutes' time. Mark us 
 well — we are every man of us armed — and I will not ask you 
 a second time." 
 
 As to numbers and weapons the man spoke truth, and 
 the military party saw at once that their prisoners must be 
 given up. 
 
 11 Let us have full revenge on them now, boys," ex- 
 claimed several voices ; " down with the tyrannical villains 
 that are parsecuting and murdherin' the country out of a 
 face. This night closes their black work ;" and as the 
 words were uttered, the military felt themselves environed 
 and pressed in upon by upwards of nve-and-twenty sharp 
 and bristling pikes. 
 
 " It is true, you may murder us," replied the dragoon ; 
 11 but we are soldiers, and to die is a soldier's duty. Stand 
 back," said he, " for, by all that's sacred, if you approach 
 another step, William Reilly and that rebel priest will fall 
 dead at your feet. We may die then ; but we will sell our 
 lives dearly. Cover the priest, Robinson." 
 
 " Boys," said the priest, addressing the insurgent party, 
 " hold back, for God's sake, and for mine. Remember 
 that these men are only doing their duty, and that whoever 
 is to be blamed, it is not they — no, but the wicked men and 
 cruel laws that set them upon us. Why, now, if these men, 
 out of compassion and a feeling of kindness to poor persecuted 
 creatures, as we are, took it into their heads or their hearts to 
 let that man and me off, they would have been, probably, treat- 
 ed like dogs for neglecting their duty. I am, as you know, a
 
 152 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 minister of God, and a man of peace, whose duty it is to 
 prevent bloodshed whenever I can, and save human life, 
 whether it is that of a Catholic or a Protestant. Recollect, 
 my friends, that you will, every one of you, have to stand 
 before the judgment throne of God to seek for mercy and 
 salvation. As you hope for that mercy, then, at the mo- 
 ment of your utmost need, I implore, I entreat you, to show 
 these men mercy now, and allow them to go their way in 
 safety." 
 
 11 I agree with every word the priest has said," added 
 Reilly ; " not from any apprehension of the threat held out 
 against myself, but from, I trust, a higher principle. Here 
 are only six men, who, as his Reverence justly said, are, 
 after all, only in the discharge of their public duty. On the 
 other hand, there are at least forty or fifty of you against 
 them. Now I appeal to yourselves, whether it would be a 
 manly, or generous, or Christian act, to slaughter so poor a 
 handful of men by the force of numbers. No : there would 
 be neither credit nor honor in such an act. I assure you, 
 my friends, it would disgrace your common name, your 
 common credit, and your common country. Nay, it would 
 seem like cowardice, and only give a handle to your enemies 
 to tax you with it. But I know you are not cowards, but 
 brave and generous men, whose hearts and spirits are above 
 a mean action. If you were cowardly butchers, I know we 
 might speak to you in vain ; but we know you are incapable 
 of imbruing your hands, and steeping your souls, in the guilt 
 of unresisting blood — for so I may term it, where there are 
 so few against so many. My friends, go home, then, in the 
 name of God, and, as this reverend gentleman said, allow 
 these men to pass their way without injury." 
 
 11 But who are you ?" said their huge leader, in his terrible 
 voice, " who presumes to lecture us ?" 
 
 "I am one," replied Reilly, "who has suffered more 
 deeply, probably, than any man here. I am without house 
 or home, proscribed by the vengeance of a villain — a villain 
 who has left me without a shelter for my head — who, this 
 night, has reduced my habitation, and all that appertained 
 to it, to a heap of ashes — who is on my trail, night and day, 
 and who will be on my trail, in order to glut his vengeance 
 with my blood. Now, my friends, listen — I take God to wit- 
 ness, that if that man were here at this moment, I would plead
 
 WILLY REILLY. 153 
 
 for his life with as much earnestness as I do for those of the 
 men who are here at your mercy. I feel that it would be 
 cowardly and inhuman to take it under such circumstances ; 
 yes, and unworthy of the name of William Reilly. Now," 
 he added, " these men will pass safely to their quarters." 
 
 As they were about to resume their journey, the person 
 who seemed to have the command of the military said : 
 
 " Mr. Reilly, one word with you : I feel that you have 
 saved our lives ; I may requite you for that generous act 
 yet ;" and he pressed his hand warmly as he spoke, after 
 which they proceeded on their way. 
 
 That the person of Reilly was not recognized by any of 
 these men is accounted for by a well-known custom, pecu- 
 liar to such meetings, both then and now. The individuals 
 before and around him were all strangers, from distant parts 
 of the country ; for whenever an outrage is to be committed, 
 or a nocturnal drilling to take place, the peasantry start 
 across the country, in twos and threes, until they quietly 
 reach some lonely and remote spot, where their persons are 
 not known. 
 
 No sooner had he mentioned /its name, however, than 
 there arose a peculiar murmur among the insurgents — such a 
 murmur indeed as it was difficult to understand ; there was 
 also a rapid consultation in Irish, which was closed by a 
 general determination to restrain their vengeance for that 
 night, at least, and for the sake of the celebrated young 
 martyr — for as such they looked upon him — to allow the 
 military to pass on without injury. Reilly then addressed 
 them in Irish, and thanked them, both in his own name and 
 that of the priest, for the respect evinced by their observa- 
 tion of the advice they had given them. The priest also 
 addressed them in Irish, aware, as he was, that one sentence 
 in that language, especially from a person in a superior rank 
 of life, carries more weight than a whole oration in the lan- 
 guage of the Sassenagh. The poor old man's mind was 
 once more at ease, and after these rough, but not intractable, 
 men had given three cheers for " bould Willy Reilly," 
 three more for the Coolecn Bawn, not forgetting the priest, 
 the latter, while returning thanks, had them in convulsions 
 of laughter. 
 
 11 May I never do harm," proceeded his reverence 
 humorously, " but the first Christian duty that every true
 
 1 54 WILLY RELLLY. 
 
 Catholic ought to learn is to whistle on his fingers. The 
 moment ever your children, boys, are able to give a squall, 
 clap their forefinger and thumb in their mouth, and leave 
 the rest to nature. Let them talk of their spinnet and sin- 
 net, their fiddle and their diddle, their dancing- and their 
 prancing, but there is no genteel accomplishment able to be 
 compared to a rousing whistle on the fingers. See what it 
 did for us to-night. My soul to glory, but only for it, Mr. 
 Reilly, and I would have soon taken a journey with our heels 
 foremost ; and, what is worse, the villains would have forced 
 us to take a bird's-eye view of our own funeral from the 
 three sticks, meaning the two that stand up, and the third 
 that goes across them.* However, God's good, and, after 
 all, boys, you see there is nothing like an accomplished edu- 
 cation. As to the soldiers, I don't think myself that they'll 
 recover the bit of fright they got until the new potatoes 
 come in. Troth, while you were gathering in about them, I 
 felt that the unfortunate vagabonds were to be pitied ; but, 
 Lord help us, when men are in trouble — especially in fear 
 of their lives — and with twelve inches of sharp iron near 
 their breasts, it's wonderful what effect fear will have on 
 them. Troth, I wasn't far from feeling the same thing my- 
 self, only I knew there was relief at hand ; at all events, it's 
 well you kept your hands off them, for now, thank good- 
 ness, you can step home without the guilt of murder on your 
 souls." 
 
 Father Maguire, for such was his name, possessed the art 
 of adapting his language and dialect to those whom he ad- 
 dressed, it mattered not whether they were South, West, or 
 North ; he was, in fact, a priest who had never been in any 
 college, but received ordination in consequence of the 
 severity of the laws, whose operation, by banishing so many 
 of that class from the country, rendered the services of such 
 men indispensable to the spiritual wants of the people. Fa- 
 ther Maguire, previous to his receiving holy orders, had 
 been a schoolmaster, and exercised his functions on that 
 capacity in holes and corners ; sometimes on the sheltery or 
 sunny side of a hedge, as the case might be, and on other 
 occasions when and where he could. In his magisterial 
 capacity, " the accomplishment" of whistling was absolutely 
 
 * The gallows,
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 155 
 
 necessary to him, because it often happened that in stealing 
 in the morning from his retreat during the preceding night, 
 he knew no more where to meet his little flock of scholars 
 than they did where to meet him, the truth being that he 
 seldom found it safe to teach two days successively in the 
 same place. Having selected the locality for instruction 
 during the day, he put his forefinger and thumb into his 
 mouth, and emitted a whistle that went over half the coun- 
 try. Having thus given the signal three times, his scholars 
 began gradually and cautiously to make their appearance, 
 radiating towards him from all directions, reminding one of 
 a hen in a farm-yard, who, having fallen upon some whole- 
 some crumbs, she utters that peculiar sound which immedi- 
 ately collects her eager little flock about her, in order to dis- 
 pense among them the good things she has to give. Poor 
 Father Maguire was simplicity itself, for, although cheerful, 
 and a good deal of a humorist, yet he was pious, inoffen- 
 sive, and charitable. True, it is not to be imagined that he 
 could avoid bearing a very strong feeling of' enmity against 
 the Establishment, as, indeed, we do not see, so long as 
 human nature is what it is, how he could have done other- 
 wise ; he hated it, however, in the aggregate, not in detail, 
 for the truth is, that he received shelter and protection 
 nearly as often from the Protestants themselves, both lay 
 and clerical, as he did from those of his own creed. The 
 poor man's crime against the State proceeded naturally from 
 the simplicity of his character and the goodness of his heart. 
 A Protestant peasant had seduced a Catholic young woman 
 of considerable attractions, and was prevailed upon to marry 
 her, in order to legitimize the infant which she was about to 
 bear. Our poor priest, anxious to do as much good, and to 
 prevent as much evil as be could, was prevailed upon to 
 perform the ceremony, contrary to the law in that case made 
 and provided. Ever since that, the poor man had been 
 upon his keeping like a felon, as the law had made him ; 
 but so well known were his harmless life, his goodness of 
 heart, and his general benevolence of disposition — for, alas ! 
 he was incapable of being benevolent in any practical sense 
 — that, unless among the bigoted officials of the day, there 
 existed no very strong disposition to hand him over to the 
 clutches of the terrible statute which he had, good easy 
 man, been prevailed on to violate.
 
 156 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 In the meantime, the formidable body who had saved 
 Reilly's life and his own dispersed, or disappeared at least ; 
 but not until they had shaken hands most cordially with 
 Reilly and the priest, who now found themselves much in 
 the same position in which they stood previous to their sur- 
 prise and arrest. 
 
 " Now," said Reilly, " the question is, what are we to 
 do ? where are we to go ? and next, how did you come to 
 know of the existence in this precise locality of such a body 
 of men ?" 
 
 " Because I have set my face against such meetings," 
 replied the priest. " One of those who was engaged to be 
 present happened to mention the fact to me as a clergyman, 
 but you know that, as a clergyman, I can proceed no fur- 
 ther." 
 
 11 I understand," said Reilly, " I perfectly understand 
 you. It is not necessary. And now let me say — " 
 
 " Always trust in God, my friend," replied the priest, in 
 an accent quite different from that which he had used to the 
 peasantry. " I told you, not long ago, that you would have 
 a bed to-night : follow me, and I will lead you to a crypt 
 of nature's own making, which was not known to mortal 
 man three months ago, and which is now known only to 
 those whose interest it is to keep the knowledge of it silent 
 as the grave." 
 
 They then proceeded, and soon came to a gap or opening 
 on the left-hand side of the road through which they passed, 
 the priest leading. Next they found themselves in a wild 
 gully or ravine that was both deep and narrow. This they 
 crossed, and arrived at a ledge of precipitous rocks, most of 
 which were overhung to the very ground with long luxuriant 
 heather. The priest went along this until he came to one 
 particular spot, when he stooped, and observed a particular 
 round stone bedded naturally in the earth. 
 
 " God — blessed be his name — has made nothing in vain," 
 he whispered ; " I must go foremost, but do as I do." He 
 then raised up the long heath, and entered a low, narrow fis- 
 sure in the rocks, Reilly following him closely. The 
 entrance was indeed so narrow that it was capable of ad- 
 mitting but one man at a time, and even that by his working 
 himself in upon his knees and elbows. In this manner they 
 advanced in utter darkness for about thirty yards, when
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 157 
 
 they reached a second opening, about three feet high, which 
 bore some resemblance to a Gothic arch. This also it was 
 necessary to enter consecutively. Having passed this they 
 were able to proceed upon their legs, still stooping, how- 
 ever, until, as they got onwards, they found themselves able 
 to walk erect. A third and larger opening, however, was 
 still before them, over which hung a large thick winnow- 
 cloth. 
 
 " Now," said the priest, " leave every thing to me. If we 
 were to put our heads in rashly here we might get a pair of 
 bullets through them that would have as little mercy on us 
 as those of the troopers, had we got them. No clergyman 
 here, or anywhere else, ever carries firearms, but there are 
 laymen inside who are not bound by our regulations. The 
 only arms we are allowed to carry are the truths of our 
 religion and the integrity of our lives." 
 
 He then advanced a step or two, and shook the winnow- 
 cloth three times, when a deep voice from behind it asked, 
 " Quisvenit? "Introibo ad altar e £>ei," replied the priest, 
 who had no sooner uttered the words than the cloth was 
 partially removed, and a voice exclaimed, " Bcnedicite, 
 dilecte f rater ; be at us qui re nit in nomine Domini et sacro- 
 sanctcE Ecclesiaz. ' ' 
 
 Reilly and his companion then entered the cave, which 
 they had no sooner done than the former was seized with a 
 degree of wonder, astonishment, and awe, such as he had 
 never experienced in his life before. The whole cavern was 
 one flashing scene of light and beauty, and reminded him of 
 the gorgeous descriptions that were to be found in Arabian 
 literature, or the brilliancy of the fairy palaces as he had 
 beard of them in the mellow legends of his own country. 
 From the roof depended gorgeous and immense stalactites, 
 some of them reaching half way to the earth, and others of 
 them resting upon the earth itself. Several torches, com- 
 posed of dried bog fir, threw their strong light among them 
 with such effect that the eye became not only dazzled but 
 fatigued and overcome by the radiance of a scene so un- 
 usual. In fact, the whole scene appeared to be out of, or 
 beyond, nature. There were about fifteen individuals pres- 
 ent, most of them in odd and peculiar disguises, which gave 
 them a grotesque and supernatural appearance, as they 
 passed about with their strong torches — some bright and
 
 158 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 some flashing red ; and as the light of either one or other 
 fell upon the stalactites, giving them a hue of singular bril- 
 liancy or deep purple, Reilly could not utter a word. The 
 costumes of the individuals about him were so strange and 
 varied that he knew not what to think. Some were in the 
 dress of clergymen, others in that of ill-clad peasants, and 
 nearly one third of them in the garb of mendicants, who, 
 from their careworn faces, appeared to have suffered se- 
 verely from the persecution of the times. In a few min- 
 utes, however, about half a dozen diminutive beings made 
 their appearance, busied, as far as he could guess, in em- 
 ployments, which his amazement at the whole spectacle, un- 
 prepared as he was for it, prevented him from understand- 
 ing. If he had been a man of weak or superstitious mind, 
 unacquainted with life and the world, it is impossible to 
 say what he might have imagined. Independently of this — 
 strong-minded as he was — the impression made upon him 
 by the elf-like sprites that ran about so busily, almost in- 
 duced him, for a few moments, to surrender to the illusion 
 that he stood among individuals who had little or no natu- 
 ral connection with man or the external world which he in- 
 habited. Reflection, however, and the state of the country, 
 came to his aid, and he reasonably inferred that the cavern 
 in which he stood was a place of concealment for those un- 
 fortunate individuals who, like himself, felt it necessary to 
 evade the vengeance of the laws. 
 
 Whilst Reilly was absorbed in the novelty and excitement of 
 this strange and all but supernatural spectacle, the priest 
 held a short conversation, at some distance from him, with 
 the strange figures which had surprised him so much. 
 Whenever he felt himself enabled to take his eyes from the 
 splendor and magnificence of all he saw around him, to fol- 
 low the motions of Father Maguire, he could observe that 
 that gentleman, from the peculiar vehemence of his attitudes 
 and the evident rapidity of his language, had made either 
 himself or his presence there the topic of very earnest dis- 
 cussion. It fact it appeared to him that the priest, from 
 whatever cause, appeared to be rather hard set to defend 
 him and to justify his presence among them. A tall, stern- 
 looking man, with a lofty forehead and pale ascetic features 
 — from which all the genial impulses of humanity, that had 
 once characterized them, seemed almost to have been ban-
 
 WILLY RELLLY. 159 
 
 ished by the spirit of relentless persecution — appeared to 
 bear hard upon him, whatever the charge might be, and by 
 the severity of his manner and the solemn but unyielding 
 emphasis of his attitudes, he seemed to have wrought him- 
 self into a state of deep indignation. But as it is better 
 that our readers should be made acquainted with the topic 
 of their discussion, rather than their attitudes, we think it 
 necessary to commence it in a new chapter. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 SCENES THAT TOOK PLACE IN THE MOUNTAIN CAVE. 
 
 "T WILL not hear your apology, brother," said the tall 
 X man with the stern voice ; " your conduct, knowing 
 our position, and the state of this unhappy and persecuted 
 country, is not only indiscreet, but foolish, indefensible, 
 mad. Here is a young man attached — may God pardon 
 him — to the daughter of one of the most persecuting here- 
 tics in the kingdom. She is beautiful, by every report that 
 we have heard of her, even as an angel ; but reflect that she 
 is an heiress — the inheritress of immense property — and that, 
 as a matter of course, the temptations are a thousand to one 
 against him. He will yield, I tell you, to the heretic syren ; 
 and as a passport to her father's favor and her affection, 
 he will, like too many of his class, abandon the faith of his 
 ancestors, and become an apostate, for the sake of wealth 
 and sensual affection." 
 
 " I question, my lord," replied the priest, " whether it is 
 consistent with Christian charity to impute motives of such 
 heinous guilt, when we are not in a condition to bear out 
 our suspicions. The character of this young gentleman as 
 a Catholic is firm and faithful, and I will stake my life upon 
 his truth and attachment to our Church." 
 
 " You know him not, father," replied the bishop, for such 
 lie was ; " I tell you, and I speak from better information 
 than you possess, that he is already suspected. What has 
 been his conduct ? He has associated himself more with 
 Protestants than with those of his own Church : he has
 
 160 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 dined with them, partaken of their hospitality, joined in 
 their amusements, slept in their houses, and been with them 
 as a familiar friend and boon companion. I see, father, 
 what the result will necessarily be ; first an apostate — next, 
 an informer — and, lastly, a persecutor ; and all for the sake 
 of wealth and the seductive charms of a rich heiress. I say, 
 then, that deep in this cold cavern shall be his grave, rather 
 than have an opportunity of betraying the shepherds of 
 Christ's persecuted flock, and of hunting them into the cav- 
 erns of the earth like beasts of prey. Our retreat here is 
 known only to those who, for the sake of truth and their 
 own lives, will never disclose the knowledge of it, bound as 
 they are, in addition to this, by an oath of the deepest and 
 most dreadful solemnity — an oath the violation of which 
 would constitute a fearful sacrilege in the eye of God. As 
 for these orphans, whose parents w r ere victims to the cruel 
 laws that are grinding us, I have so trained and indoctrinated 
 them into a knowledge of their creed, and a sense of their 
 duty, that they are thoroughly trustworthy. On this very 
 day I administered to them the sacrament of confirmation. 
 No, brother, we cannot sacrifice the interests and wel- 
 fare of our holy Church to the safety of a single life — to 
 the safety of a person who I foresee will be certain to betray 
 us." 
 
 " My lord," replied the priest, " I humbly admit your 
 authority and superior sanctity, for in what does your pre- 
 cious life fall short of martyrdom but by one step to the 
 elevation which leads to glory ? I mean the surrendering 
 of that life for the true faith. I feel, my lord, that in your 
 presence I am nothing ; still, in our holy Church there is 
 the humble as well as the exalted, and your lordship will 
 admit that the gradations of piety, and the dispensations of 
 the higher and the lower gifts, proceed not only from the 
 wisdom of God but from the necessities of man." 
 
 "I do not properly understand you, father," said the 
 bishop in a voice whose stern tones were mingled with 
 something like contempt. 
 
 " I beg your lordship to hear me," proceeded Father 
 Maguire. "You say that Reilly has associated more fre- 
 quently with Protestants than he has with persons of our 
 own religion. That may be true, and I grant that it is so ; 
 but, my lord, are you aware that he has exercised the in flu-
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 161 
 
 ence which he has possessed over them for the protection 
 and advantage and safety of his Catholic friends and neigh- 
 bors, to the very utmost of his ability, and frequently with 
 success ?" 
 
 " Yes ; they obliged him because they calculated upon 
 his accession to their creed and principles." 
 
 " My lord," replied the priest with firmness, " I am an 
 humble but independent man ; if humanity and generosity, 
 exercised as I have seen them this night, guided and di- 
 rected by the spirit of peace, and of the word of God itself, 
 can afford your lordship a guarantee of the high and Chris- 
 tian principles by which this young man's heart is actuated, 
 then I may with confidence recommend him to your clem- 
 ency." 
 
 " What would you say ?" asked the bishop. 
 
 " My lord, he was the principal means of saving the lives 
 of six Protestants — heretics, I mean — from being cut off in 
 their iniquities and sins this night." 
 
 " How do you mean ?" replied the stern bishop ; " ex- 
 plain yourself !" 
 
 The good priest then gave a succinct account of the cir- 
 cumstances with which the reader is already acquainted ; 
 and, after having finished his brief narrative, the unfortunate 
 man perceived that, instead of having rendered Reilly a ser- 
 vice, he had strengthened the suspicions of the prelate 
 against him. 
 
 " So !" said the bishop, " you advance the history of this 
 dastardly conduct as an argument in his favor !" 
 
 As he uttered these word6, his eyes, which had actually 
 become bloodshot, blazed again ; his breath went and 
 came strongly, and he ground his teeth with rage. 
 
 Father Maguire, and those who were present, looked at 
 each other with eyes in which might be read an expression 
 of deep sorrow and compassion. At length a mild-looking, 
 pale-faced man, with a clear, benignant eye, approached him, 
 and laying his hand in a gentle manner upon his arm, said, 
 " Pray, my dear lord, let me entreat your lordship to re- 
 member the precepts of our great Master : ' Love your 
 enemies ; bless them that curse you ; do good to them that 
 hate you, and pray for them that despitefully use you, and 
 persecute you.' And surely, my lord, no one knows better 
 than you do that this is the spirit of our religion, and that
 
 102 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 whenever it is violated the fault is not that of the creed, but 
 the man." 
 
 11 Under any circumstances," said the bishop, declining 
 to reply to this, and placing his open hand across his fore- 
 head, as if he felt confusion or pain — " under any circum- 
 stances, this person must take the oath of secrecy with re- 
 spect to the existence of this cave. Call him up. ' ' 
 
 Reilly, as we have said, saw at once that an angry discus- 
 sion had taken place, and felt all but certain that he was 
 himself involved in it. The priest, in obedience to the wish 
 expressed by the bishop, went down to where he stood, and 
 whispering to him, said : 
 
 " Salvation to me, but I had a hard battle for you. I 
 fought, however, like a trump. The strange, and — ahem — 
 kind of man you are called upon to meet now is one of our 
 bishops — but don't you pretend to know that— 'he has heard 
 of your love for the Cooleen Bawn, and of her love for you 
 — be easy now — not a thing it will be but the meeting of two 
 thunderbolts between you — and he's afraid you'll be deluded 
 by her charms — turn apostate on our hands — and that the 
 first thing you're likely to do, when you get out of this sub- 
 terranean palace of ours, will be to betray its existence to 
 the heretics. I have now put you on your guard, so keep a 
 sharp lookout ; be mild as mother's milk. But if you ' my 
 lord ' him, I'm dished as a traitor beyond redemption." 
 
 Now, if the simple-hearted priest had been tempted by 
 the enemy himself to place these two men in a position 
 where a battle-royal between them was most likely to ensue, 
 he could not have taken a more successful course for that 
 object. Reilly, the firm, the high-minded, the honorable, 
 and, though last not least, the most indignant at any impu- 
 tation against his integrity, now accompanied the priest in a 
 state of indignation that was nearly a match for that of the 
 bishop. 
 
 11 This is Mr. Reilly, gentlemen ; a firm and an honest 
 Catholic, who, like ourselves, is suffering for his religion." 
 
 " Mr. Reilly," said the bishop, "it is good to suffer for 
 our religion." 
 
 "It is our duty," replied Reilly, " when we are called 
 upon to do so ; but for my part, I must confess, I have no 
 relish whatsoever for the honors of martyrdom. I would 
 rather aid it and assist it than suffer for it."
 
 WILLY REILLY. 163 
 
 The bishop gave a stern look at his friends, as much as to 
 say : " You hear ! incipient heresy and treachery at the 
 first step." 
 
 " He's more mad than the bishop," thought Father Ma- 
 guire ; "in God's name what will come next, I wonder? 
 Reilly's blood, somehow, is up ; and there they are looking 
 at each other, like a pair o' game cocks, with their necks 
 stretched out in a cockpit — when I was a boy I used to go to 
 see them — ready to dash upon one another." 
 
 "Are you not now suffering for your religion?" asked 
 the prelate. 
 
 " No," replied Reilly, "it is not for the sake of my re- 
 ligion that I have suffered any thing. Religion is made only 
 a pretext for it ; but it is not, in truth, on that account that 
 I have been persecuted." 
 
 " Pray, then, sir, may I inquire the cause of your perse- 
 cution ?" 
 
 " You may," replied Reilly, " but I shall decline to an- 
 swer you. It comes not within your jurisdiction, but is a 
 matter altogether personal to myself, and with which you 
 can have no concern." 
 
 Here a groan from the priest, which he could not sup- 
 press, was shivered off, by a tremendous effort, into a series 
 of broken coughs, got up in order to conceal his alarm at 
 the fatal progress which Reilly, he thought, was uncon- 
 sciously making to his own ruin. 
 
 " Troth," thought he, " the soldiers were nothing at all 
 to what this will be. There his friends would have found 
 the body and given him a decent burial ; but here neither 
 friend nor fellow will know where to look for him. I was 
 almost the first man that took the oath to keep the existence 
 of this place secret from all unless those that were suffering 
 for their religion ; and now, by denying that, he has me in 
 the trap along with himself." 
 
 A second groan, shaken out of its continuity into another 
 comical shower of fragmental coughs, closed this dreary but 
 silent soliloquy. 
 
 The bishop proceeded : " You have been inveigled, young 
 man, by the charms of a deceitful and heretical syren, for 
 the purpose of alienating you from the creed of your fore- 
 fathers." 
 
 " It is false," replied Reilly ; " false, if it proceeded from
 
 164 WILLY REILL V. 
 
 the lips of the Pope himself ; and if his lips uttered to me 
 what you now have done, I would (ling the falsehood in his 
 teeth, as I do now in yours — yes, if my life should pay the 
 forfeit of it. What have you to do with my private con- 
 cerns ?" 
 
 Reilly's indignant and impetuous reply to the prelate 
 struck all who heard it with dismay, and also with horror, 
 when they bethought themselves of the consequences. 
 
 '* You are a heretic at heart," said the other, knitting his 
 brows ; " from your own language you stand confessed — a 
 heretic." 
 
 " I know not," replied Reilly, " by what right or authority 
 you adopt this ungentlemanly and illiberal conduct towards 
 me ; but so long as your language applies only to myself and 
 my religion, I shall answer you in a different spirit. In the 
 first place, then, you are grievously mistaken in supposing me 
 to be a heretic. I am true and faithful to my creed, and 
 will live and" die in it. ' ' 
 
 Father Maguire felt relieved, and breathed more freely , 
 a groan was coming, but it ended in a hem." 
 
 "Before we proceed any farther, sir," said this strange 
 man, " you must take an oath." 
 
 " For what purpose, sir ?" inquired Reilly. 
 
 " An oath of secrecy as to the existence of this place of 
 our retreat. There are at present here some of the — " he 
 checked himself, as if afraid to proceed farther. " In fact, 
 every man who is admitted amongst us must take the oath." 
 
 Reilly looked at him with indignation. ' ' Surely, ' ' thought 
 he to himself, " this man must be mad ; his looks are wild, 
 and the fire of insanity is in his eyes ; if not, he is nothing 
 less than an incarnation of ecclesiastical bigotry and folly. 
 The man must be mad, or worse." At length he addressed 
 him. 
 
 "You doubt my integrity and my honor, then," he re- 
 plied haughtily. 
 
 " We doubt every man until he is bound by his oath." 
 
 " You must continue to doubt me, then," replied Reilly ; 
 " for, most assuredly, I will not take it." 
 
 " You must take it, sir," said the other, " or you never 
 leave the cavern which covers you," and his eyes once more 
 blazed as he uttered the words. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Reilly, " there appear to be fifteen or
 
 WILLY I? LILLY. 165 
 
 sixteen of you present : may I be permitted to ask why you 
 suffer this unhappy man to be at large ?' ' 
 
 " Will you take the oath, sir ?" persisted the insane bishop 
 in a voice of thunder — " heretic and devil, will you take the 
 oath ?" 
 
 " Unquestionably not. I will never take any oath that 
 would imply want of honor in myself. Cease, then, to 
 trouble me with it. I shall not take it." 
 
 This last reply affected the bishop's reason so deeply that 
 he looked about him strangely, and exclaimed, " We are lost 
 and betrayed. But here are angels — I see them, and will 
 join in their blessed society," and as he spoke, he rushed to- 
 wards the stalactites in a manner somewhat wild and violent, 
 so much so, indeed, that from an apprehension of his re- 
 ceiving injury in some of the dark interstices among them, 
 they found it necessary, for his sake, to grapple with him 
 for a few moments. 
 
 But, alas ! they had very little indeed to grapple with. 
 The man was but a shadow, and they found him in their 
 hands as feeble as a child. He made no resistance, but 
 suffered himself to be managed precisely as they wished. 
 Two of the persons present took charge of him, one sitting 
 on each side of him. Reilly, who looked on with amazement, 
 now strongly blended with pity — for the malady of the un- 
 happy ecclesiastic could no longer be mistaken — Reilly, we 
 say, was addressed by an intelligent-looking individual, with 
 some portion of the clerical costume about him. 
 
 " Alas ! sir," said he, " it was not too much learning, but 
 too much persecution, that has made him mad. That and 
 the ascetic habits of his life have clouded or destroyed a 
 great intellect and a good heart. He has eaten only one 
 sparing meal a day during the last month ; and though se- 
 vere and self-denying to himself, he was, until the last week 
 or so, like a father, and an indulgent one, to us all." 
 
 At this moment the pale, mild-looking clergyman, to 
 whom we have alluded, went over to where the bishop sat, 
 and throwing himself upon his bosom, burst into tears. The 
 sorrow indeed became infectious, and in a few minutes there 
 were not many dry eyes around him. Father Macguire, 
 who was ignorant of the progressive change that had taken 
 place in him since his last visit to the cave, now wept like 
 a child, and Reilly himself experienced something that
 
 166 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 amounted to remorse, when he reflected on the irreverent 
 tone of voice in which he had replied to him. 
 
 The paroxysm, however, appeared to have passed away ; 
 he was quite feeble, but not properly collected, though calm 
 and quiet. After a little time he requested to be put to 
 bed. And this leads us to the description of another portion 
 of the cave to which we have not yet referred. At the 
 upper end of the stalactite apartment, which we have already 
 described, there was a large projection of rock, which nearly 
 divided it from the other, and which discharged the office of 
 a wall, or partition, between the two apartments. Here 
 there was a good fire kept, but only during the hours of 
 night, inasmuch as the smoke which issued from a rent or 
 cleft in the top of this apartment would have discovered 
 them by day. Through this slight chasm, which was strictly 
 concealed, they received provisions, water, and fuel. In 
 fact, it would seem as if the whole cave had been expressly 
 designed for the purpose to which it was then applied, or, at 
 least, for some one of a similar nature. 
 
 On entering this, Reilly found a good fire, on which was 
 placed a large pot with a mess in it, which emitted a very 
 savory odor. Around the sides, or walls of this rock, were 
 at least a score of heather shake-down beds, the fragrance of 
 which was delicious. Pots, pans, and other simple culinary 
 articles were there, with a tolerable stock of provisions, not 
 omitting a good-sized keg of mountain dew, which their se- 
 cluded position, the dampness of the place, and their ab- 
 sence from free air, rendered very necessary and gratifying. 
 
 " Here !" exclaimed Father Magtiire, after the feeble 
 prelate had been assisted to this recess, " here, now, put 
 his lordship to bed ; I have tossed it up for him in great 
 style ! I assure you, my dear friends, it's a shake-down fit 
 for a prince ! — and better than most of the thieves deserve. 
 What bed of down ever had the sweet fragrance this flowery 
 heather sends forth ? Here, my lord — easy, now — lay him 
 down gently, just as a mother would her sleeping child — for, 
 indeed, he is a child," he whispered, "and as weak as a 
 child ; but a sound sleep will do him' good, and he'll be a 
 new man in the morning, please God." 
 
 Upon this rough, but wholesome and aromatic couch, the 
 exhausted prelate was placed, where lie had not been many 
 minutes until he fell into a profound sleep, a fact which
 
 WILLY REILLY. 167 
 
 gratified them very much, for they assured Reilly and the 
 priest that he had slept but a few hours each night during 
 the last week, and that such slumber as he did get was fever- 
 ish and unquiet. 
 
 Our good-humored friend, however, was now cordially 
 welcomed by these unfortunate ecclesiastics, for such, in 
 fact, the majority of them were. His presence seemed to 
 them like a ray of light from the sun. His good humor, 
 his excellent spirits, which nothing could repress, and his 
 drollery kept them alive, and nothing was so much regretted 
 by them as his temporary absences from time to time ; for, 
 in truth, he was their messenger, their steward, and their 
 newsman — in fact, the only link that connected them with 
 external life, and the ongoings of the world abroad. The 
 bed in which the bishop now slept was in a distant corner 
 of this inner apartment, or dormitory, as it might be termed, 
 because the situation was higher and drier, and consequently 
 more healthy, as a sleeping-place, than any other which the 
 rude apartment afforded. The fire on which the large pot 
 simmered was at least a distance of twenty-five yards from 
 his bed, so that they could indulge in conversation without 
 much risk of disturbing him. 
 
 It is unnecessary to say that Reilly and his friend Father 
 Maguire felt, by this time, a tolerably strong relish for 
 something in the shape of sustenance — a relish which was ex- 
 ceedingly sharpened by the savory smell sent forth through- 
 out the apartment by the contents of whatsoever was con- 
 tained in the immense pot. 
 
 " My dear brethren," said the priest, " let us consider 
 this cavern as a rich monastery ; such, alas ! as existed in 
 the good days of old, when the larder and refectory were a 
 credit to religion and a relief to the destitute, but which, 
 alas ! — and alas ! again — we can only think of as a — in the 
 meantime, I can stand this no longer. If I possess judg- 
 ment or penetration in re cnlinaria, I am of opinion," he 
 added (stirring up the contents of it), " that it is fit to be 
 operated on ; so, in God's name, let us have at it." 
 
 In a few minutes two or three immense pewter dishes 
 were heaped with a stew made up of mutton, bacon, hung 
 beef, onions, and potatoes, forming indeed a most delicious 
 mess for any man, much less the miserable men who were 
 making it disappear so rapidly.
 
 1 63 WILL Y REILL V. 
 
 Reilly, the very picture of health, after maintaining a pace 
 inferior to that of none, although there were decidedly some 
 handy workmen there, now was forced to pull up and halt. 
 In the meantime some slow but steady operations went on 
 with a perseverance that was highly creditable ; and it was 
 now that, having a little agreeable leisure to observe and 
 look about him, he began to examine the extraordinary cos- 
 tumes of the incongruous society in which, to his astonish- 
 ment, he found himself a party. We must, however, first 
 account for the oddness and incongruity of the apparent 
 characters which they were forced to assume. 
 
 At this period the Catholics of Ireland were indeed fright- 
 fully oppressed. A proclamation had recently been issued 
 by the Government, who dreaded, or pretended to dread, an 
 insurrection — by which document convents and monasteries 
 were suppressed — rewards offered for the detection and ap- 
 prehension of ecclesiastics, and for the punishment of such 
 humane magistrates as were reluctant to enforce laws so un- 
 sparing and oppressive. Increased rewards were also 
 offered to spies and informers, with whom the country un- 
 fortunately abounded. A general disarming of all Catholics 
 took place ; domiciliary visits were made in quest of bishops, 
 priests, and friars, and all the chapels in the country were 
 shut up. Many of the clergy flew to the metropolis, where 
 they imagined they might be more safe, and a vast number 
 to caverns and mountains, in order to avoid the common 
 danger, and especially from a wholesome terror of that class 
 of men called priest-hunters. The Catholic peasantry hav- 
 ing discovered their clergy in these wild retreats, flocked to 
 them on Sundays and festivals, in order to join in private — 
 not public — worship, and to partake of the rites and sacra- 
 ments of their Church. 
 
 Such was the state of the country at the period when the 
 unfortunate men whom we are about to describe were pent 
 up in this newly discovered cavern. 
 
 Now, Reilly himself was perfectly acquainted with all this, 
 and knew very well that these unhappy men, having been 
 frequently compelled to put on the first disguise that came 
 to hand, had not means, nor indeed disposition, to change 
 these disguises, unless at the risk of being recognized, taken 
 into custody, and surrendered to the mercy of the law. 
 
 When their savory meal was concluded, Father Maguire,
 
 WILLY REILLY. 169 
 
 who never forgot any duty connected with his position — be 
 that where it might — now went over to the large pot, exclaim- 
 ing : 
 
 " It would be too bad, my friends, to forget the creatures 
 here that have been so faithful and so steady to us. Poor 
 things, I could see, by the way they fixed their longing eyes 
 upon us while we were doing the handy-work at the stew, 
 that if the matter had been left to themselves, not a spoon- 
 ful ever went into our mouths but they'd have practised the 
 doctrine of tithe upon. Come, darlings — here, now, is a lit- 
 tle race for you — every one of you seize a spoon, keep a 
 hospitable mouth, and a supple wrist. These creatures, 
 Mr. Reilly, are so many little brands plucked out of the 
 burning. They are the children of parents who suffered for 
 their faith, and were brought here to avoid being put into 
 these new traps for young Catholics, called Charter Schools, 
 into which the Government wishes to hook in our rising 
 generation, under pretence of supporting and educating 
 them ; but, in point of fact, to alienate them from the affec- 
 tion of their parents and relations, and to train them up in 
 the State religion, poor things. At all events, they are very 
 handy to us here, for they slip out by turns and bring us 
 almost every thing we want — and not one of them ever 
 opened his lips as to the existence of this spelunca." 
 
 The meal of the poor things was abundant, but they soon 
 gave over, and in a few minutes they tumbled themselves 
 into their heather beds, and were soon sunk in their inno- 
 cent slumbers. 
 
 " Now, gentlemen, that we have eaten a better meal than 
 we could expect in this miserable place, thanks to the kind- 
 ness of our faithful flocks, what do you think of a sup of 
 what's in the keg ? Good eating deserves a drop of mixture 
 after it, to aid in carrying on the process of digestion ! 
 Father Hennessy, what are you at ?" he exclaimed, address- 
 ing an exceedingly ill-looking man, with heavy brows and a 
 sinister aspect. " You forget, sir, that the management of 
 the keg is my duty, whenever I am here. You are the only 
 person here who violates our regulations in that respect. 
 Walk back and wait till you are helped like another. Do 
 you call that being spiritually inclined ? If so, there is not 
 a doubt of it but you ought to be a bishop ; and if you come 
 to that, I'll stake my credit on it that you'll never let much
 
 17° WILLY RELLLY. 
 
 wind into your stomach so long as you can get plenty of the 
 solids and fluids to keep it out." 
 
 " I'm weak in the stomach," replied Hennessy, with a 
 sensual grin, " and require it." 
 
 "But I say," replied Father Maguire, "that it would 
 require stronger proof than any your outward man presents 
 to confirm the truth of that. As for bearing a load either of 
 the liquids or solids aforesaid, I'll back your bit of abdomen 
 there against those of any three of us." 
 
 Cups and noggins, and an indescribable variety of small 
 vessels that were never designed for drinking, were now 
 called into requisition, and a moderate portion of the keg 
 was distributed among them. Reilly, while enjoying his 
 cup, which as well as the others he did with a good deal of 
 satisfaction, could not help being amused by the comical 
 peculiarity of their disguises. 
 
 The sinister- looking clergyman, whom we have named 
 Hennessy, subsequently became a spy and informer, and, 
 we may add, an enemy equally formidable and treacherous 
 to the Catholics of the time, in consequence of having been 
 deprived of his clerical functions by his bishop, who could 
 not overlook his immoral and irregular conduct. He is 
 mentioned by Matthew O'Connor, in his " History of the 
 Irish Catholics," and consigned to infamy as one of the 
 greatest scourges, against both the priesthood and the peo- 
 ple, that ever disgraced the country. But it must be ad- 
 mitted that he stands out in dark relief against the great 
 body of the Catholic priests at that period, whose firmness, 
 patience, and fidelity to their trust, places them above all 
 praise and all suspicion. It is, however, very reasonable, 
 that men so hunted and persecuted should be forced, not 
 only in defence of their own lives and liberties, but also for 
 the sake of their flocks, to assume such costumes as might 
 most effectually disguise them, so as that they would be able 
 still, even in secret and by stealth, to administer the rites of 
 their religion to the poor and neglected of their own creed. 
 Some were dressed in common frieze, some in servants' cast- 
 off liveries — however they came by them — and not a few in 
 military uniform, that served, as it were, to mark them 
 staunch supporters of the very Government that persecuted 
 them. A reverend archdeacon, somewhat comely and cor- 
 pulent, had, by some means or other, procured the garb of
 
 WILLY RELLLY. 171 
 
 a recruiting sergeant, which fitted him so admirably that the 
 illusion was complete ; and, what bore it out still more forci- 
 bly, was the presence of a smart-looking little friar, who 
 kept the sergeant in countenance in the uniform of a drum- 
 mer. Mass was celebrated every day, hymns were sung, 
 and prayers offered up to the Almighty, that it might please 
 him to check the flood of persecution which had over- 
 whelmed or scattered them. Still, in the intervals of devo- 
 tion, they indulged in that reasonable cheerfulness and harm- 
 less mirth which were necessary to support their spirits, de- 
 pressed as they must have been by this dreadful and melan- 
 choly confinement — a confinement where neither the light 
 of the blessed sun, nor the fresh breezes of heaven, nor the 
 air we breathe, in its usual purity, could reach them. Sir 
 Thomas More and Sir Walter Raleigh, however, were cheer- 
 ful on the scaffold ; and even here, as we have already said, 
 many a rustic tale and legend, peculiar to those times, went 
 pleasantly around ; many a theological debate took place, 
 and many a thesis was discussed, in order to enable the un- 
 happy men to pass away the tedious monotony of their im- 
 prisonment in this strange lurking-place. The only man 
 who kept aloof and tcok no part in these amusing recrea- 
 tions was Hennessy, who seemed mcody and sullen, but 
 who, nevertheless, was frequently detected in making stolen 
 visits to the barrel. 
 
 Notwithstanding all this, however, the sight was a melan- 
 choly one ; and whatever disposition Reilly felt to smile at 
 what he saw and heard was instantly changed on perceiving 
 their unaffected piety, which was evident by their manner, 
 and a rude altar in a remote end of the cave, which was laid 
 out night and day for the purpose of celebrating the ceremo- 
 nies and mysteries of their Church. Before he went to his 
 couch of heather, however, he called Father Maguire aside, 
 and thus addressed him : 
 
 11 I have been a good deal struck to-night, my friend, by 
 all that I have witnessed in this singular retreat. The poor 
 prelate I pity ; and I regret I did not understand him 
 sooner. His mind, I fear, is gone." 
 
 " Why, I didn't understand him myself," replied the 
 priest ; " because this was the first symptom he has shown 
 of any derangement in his intellect, otherwise I would no
 
 1 72 WILLY REILL V. 
 
 more have contradicted him than I would have cut my left 
 hand off." 
 
 " There is, however, a man — a clergyman here, called 
 Hennessy ; who is he, and what has been his life ?" 
 
 " Why;" replied the other, " I have heard nothing to his 
 disadvantage. He is a quiet, and, it is said, a pious man — 
 and I think he is too. He is naturally silent, and seldom 
 takes any part inourconveis .t:o:i. He says, however, that his 
 concealment here bears hard upon him, and is depressing his 
 spirits every day more and more. The only thing I ever 
 could observe in him is what you saw yourself to-night — a 
 slight relish for an acquaintance with the barrel. He some- 
 times drains a drop — indeed, sometimes too much — out of 
 it, when he gets our backs turned ; but then he pleads low 
 spirits three or four times a day — indeed, so often that, 
 upon my word, he'll soon have the barrel pleading the same 
 complaint." 
 
 " Well," replied Reilly, after listening attentively to him, 
 " I desire you and your friends to watch that man closely. 
 I know something about' him ; and I tell you that if ever the 
 laws become more lenient, the moment this man makes his 
 appearance his bishop will deprive him of all spiritual juris- 
 diction for life. Mark me now, Father Maguire ; if he 
 pleads any necessity for leaving this retreat and going 
 abroad again into the world, don't let a single individual of 
 you remain here one hour after him. Provide for your safety 
 and your shelter elsewhere as well as you can ; if not, the 
 worst consequences may — nay, will follow." 
 
 The priest promised to communicate this intelligence to 
 his companions, one by one ; after which, both he and 
 Reilly, feeling fatigued and exhausted by what they had un- 
 dergone in the course of the night, threw themselves each 
 upon his couch of heather, and in a few minutes not only 
 they, but all their companions, were sunk in deep sleep.
 
 WILLY R BILLY. 173 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE SQUIRE'S DINNER AND KIS GUESTS. 
 
 WE now return to Cooleen Bawn, who, after her sepa- 
 ration from Reilly, retired to her own room, where 
 she indulged in a paroxysm of deep grief, in consequence of 
 her apprehension that she might never see him again. She 
 also calculated upon the certainty of being obliged to sus- 
 tain a domestic warfare with her father, as the result of hav- 
 ing made him the confidant of her love. In this, however, 
 she was agreeably disappointed ; for, on meeting him the 
 next morning, at breakfast, she was a good deal surprised to 
 observe that he made no allusion whatsoever to the circum- 
 stance — if, indeed, an occasional muttering of some unintel- 
 ligible words, sotto voce, might not be supposed to allude to 
 it. The truth was, the old man found the promise he had 
 made to Sir Robert one of such difficulty to his testy and 
 violent disposition, that his language, and the restraint 
 which he felt himself under the necessity of putting on it, 
 rendered his conversation rather ludicrous. 
 
 " We'll, Helen," he said, on entering the breakfast-parlor, 
 " how did you rest last night, my love? Rested sound — 
 eh ? But you look rather pale, darling. (Hang the ras- 
 cal !)" 
 
 " I cannot say that I slept as well as usual, sir. I felt 
 headache." 
 
 "Ay, headache — was it? (heartache, rather. The vil- 
 lain.) Well, come, let me have a cup of tea and a mouthful 
 of that toast." 
 
 " Will you not have some chicken, sir ?" 
 
 " No, my dear — no ; just what I said — a mouthful of 
 toast, and a cup of tea, with plenty of cream in it. Thank 
 you, love. (A good swing for him will be delightful. I'll 
 go to see it.) Helen, my dear, I'm going to give a dinner- 
 party next week. Of course we'll have your future — hem — 
 I mean we'll have Sir Robert, and — let me see — who else ? 
 Why, Oxley, the sheriff, Mr. Brown, the parson — I wish he 
 didn't lean so much to the cursed Papists, though — Mr. 
 Hastings, who is tarred with the same stick, it is whispered.
 
 174 WILLY K HILLY. 
 
 Well, who n:xt ? Lord Deilmacare, a good-natured jackass 
 — a fellow who would eat a jacketful of carrion, if placed 
 before him, with as much gout as if it were venison. He 
 went home one night, out of this, with the parson's outside 
 coat and shovel hat upon him, and did not return them for 
 two days." 
 
 11 Does this habit proceed from stupidity, papa ?" 
 
 " Xot at all ; but from mere carelessness. The next two 
 days he was out with his laborers, and if a cow or pig 
 chanced — [the villain ! we'll hang him to a certainty) — 
 chanced, I say, to stray into the field, he would shy the 
 shovel hat at them, without remorse. Oh ! we must have 
 him, by all means. But who next? Sir Jenkins J Oram. 
 Give him plenty to drink, and he is satisfied." 
 
 " But what are his political principles, papa ?" 
 
 " They are to be found in the bottle, Helen, which is the 
 only creed, political or religious, to which I ever knew him 
 to be attached ; and I tell you, girl, that if every Protestant 
 in Ireland were as deeply devoted to his Church as he is to 
 the bottle, we would soon be a happy people, uncorrupted 
 by treacherous scoundrels, who privately harbor Papists and 
 foster Popery itself. (The infernal scoundrel.)" 
 
 " But, papa," replied his daughter, with a melancholy 
 smile, " I think I know some persons, who, although very 
 loud and vehement in their outcry against Popery, have, 
 nevertheless, on more than one or two occasions, harbored 
 Papists in their house, and concealed even priests, when the 
 minions of the law were in search of them." 
 
 " Yes, and it is of this cursed crew of hollow Protestants 
 that I now speak — ahein — ay — ha — well, what the devil — 
 hem. To be sure I — I — I — but it doesn't signify ; we can't 
 be wise at all times. But after all, Helen (she has me there), 
 after all, I say, there are some good Papists, and some good 
 — ahem — priests, too. There now, I've got it out. How- 
 ever, Helen, those foolish days are gone, and we have noth- 
 ing for it now but to hunt Popery out of the country. But 
 to proceed as to the dinner." 
 
 " I think Popery is suffering enough, sir, and more than 
 enough." 
 
 "Ho, ho," he exclaimed with triumph, "here comes 
 the next on my list — a fine fellow, who will touch it up still 
 more vigorously — I mean Captain Smellpriest. "
 
 WILLY REILLY. 175 
 
 "I have heard of that inhuman man," replied Helen ; 
 " I wish you would not ask him, papa. I am told he equals 
 Sir Robert Whitecraft in both cowardice and cruelty. Is 
 not that a nickname he has got in consequence of his ac- 
 tivity in pursuit of the unfortunate priests ?" 
 
 "It's a nickname he has given himself," replied her 
 father ; " and he has become so proud of it that he will 
 allow himself to be called by no other. He swears that if 
 a priest gets on the windy side of him, he will scent him as 
 a hound would a fox. Oh ! by my honor, Smellpriest must 
 be here. The scoundrel like Whitecraft ! — eh — what am I 
 saying ? Smellpriest, I say, first began his career as a 
 friend to the Papists ; he took large tracts of land in 
 their name, and even purchased a couple of estates with 
 their money ; and in due time, according as the tide con- 
 tinued to get strong against them, he thought the best plan 
 to cover his villany — ahem — his policy, I mean — was to 
 come out as a fierce loyalist ; and as a mark of his repent- 
 ance, he claimed the property, as the real purchaser, and 
 arrested those who were fools enough to trust him." 
 
 " I think I know another gentleman of my acquaintance 
 who holds property in some similar trust for Papists," ob- 
 served Helen, " but who certainly is incapable of imitating 
 the villany of that most unprincipled man." 
 
 " Come, come, Helen ; come, my girl ; tut — ahem ; 
 come, you are getting into politics now, and that will never 
 do. A girl like you ought to have nothing to do with poli- 
 tics or religion." 
 
 " Religion ! papa." 
 
 " Oh — hem — I don't mean exactly that. Oh, no ; I ex- 
 cept religion ; a girl may be as religious as she pleases, only 
 she must say as little upon the subject as possible. Come, 
 another cup of tea, with a little more sugar, for, I give you 
 my honor, you did not make the last one of the sweetest ;" 
 and so saying, he put over his cup with a grimace, which re- 
 sembled that of a man detected in a bad action, instead of a 
 good one. 
 
 At this moment John, the butler, came in with a plate of 
 hot toast ; and, as he was a privileged old man, he ad- 
 dressed his master without much hesitation. 
 
 " That was a quare business," he observed, using the 
 word quare as an equivocal one, until he should see what
 
 176 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 views of the circumstance his master might take; "a 
 quare business, sir, that happened to Mr. Reilly." 
 
 " What business do you allude to, you old sinner ?" 
 
 " The burning of his house and place, sir. All he has, or 
 had, is in a heap of ashes." 
 
 Helen felt not for the burning, but her eyes were fixed 
 upon the features of the old man, as if the doom of her life 
 depended on his words ; whilst the paper on which we write 
 is not whiter than were her cheeks. 
 
 " What — what — how was it ?" asked his master ; " who did 
 it ? — and by whose authority was it done ?" 
 
 " Sir Robert Whitecraft and his men did it, sir." 
 
 " Ay, but I can't conceive he had any authority for such 
 an act." 
 
 "Wasn't Mr. Reilly an outlaw, sir? Didn't the Red 
 Rapparee, who is now a good Protestant, swear insurrection 
 against him ?" 
 
 " The red devil, sirra," replied the old squire, forgetting 
 his animosity to Reilly in the atrocity and oppression of the 
 deed — " the red devil, sirra ! would that justify such a cow- 
 ardly scoundrel as Sir Rob — eh ? — ugh — ugh — ugh — that 
 went against my breath, Helen. Well, come here, I say, you 
 old sinner ; they burned the place, you say ?" 
 
 11 Sir Robert and his men did, sir." 
 
 " I'm not doubting that, you old houseleek. I know Sir 
 Robert too well — I know the infernal — ahem ; a most excel- 
 lent loyal gentleman, with two or three fine estates, both 
 here and in England ; but he prefers living here, for reasons 
 best known to himself and me, and — and to somebody else. 
 Well, they burned Reilly out — but tell me this ; did they 
 catch the rascal himself ? eh ? here's five pounds for you, if 
 you can say they have him safe." 
 
 11 That's rather a loose bargain, your honor," replied the 
 man with a smile ; " for saying it ?•— why, -what's to prevent 
 me from saying it, if I wished ?" 
 
 11 None of your mumping, you old snapdragon ; but tell 
 me the truth, have they secured him hard and fast ?" 
 
 11 No, sir, he escaped them, and as report goes they know 
 nothing about him, except that they haven't got him." 
 
 Deep and speechless was the agony in which Helen sat 
 during this short dialogue, her eyes having never once been 
 withdrawn from the butler's countenance ; but now that she
 
 WILLY REILLY. 177 
 
 had heard of her lover's personal safety, a thick, smothered 
 sob, which, if it were to kill her, she could not repress, 
 burst from her bosom.. Unwilling that either her father or 
 the servant should witness the ecstasy which she could not 
 conceal, and feeling that another minute would disclose the 
 delight which convulsed her heart and frame, she arose, 
 and, with as much composure as she could assume, went 
 slowly out of the room. On entering her apartment, she 
 signed to her maid to withdraw, after which she closed and 
 bolted the door, and wept bitterly. The poor girl's emotion, 
 in fact, was of a twofold character ; she wept with joy at 
 Reilly's escape from the hands of his cruel and relentless 
 enemy, and with bitter grief at the impossibility which she 
 thought there existed that he should ultimately be able to 
 keep out of the meshes which she knew Whitecraft would 
 spread for him. The tears, however, which she shed abun- 
 dantly, in due time relieved her, and in the course of an 
 hour or two she was able to appear as usual in the family. 
 
 The reader may perceive that her father, though of an 
 abrupt and cynical temper, was not a man naturally of a 
 bad or unfeeling heart. Whatever mood of temper chanced 
 to be uppermost influenced him for the time ; and indeed it 
 might be said that one half of his feelings were usually in a 
 state of conflict with the other. In matters of business he 
 was the very soul of integrity and honor, but in his views of 
 public affairs he was uncertain and inconsistent ; and of 
 course his whole life, as a magistrate and public man, was 
 a perpetual series of contradictions. The consequence of 
 all this was, that he possessed but small influence, as arising 
 from his personal character ; but not so from his immense 
 property, as well as from the fact that he was father to the 
 wealthiest and most beautiful heiress in the province, or 
 perhaps, so far as beauty was concerned, in the kingdom 
 itself. 
 
 At length the day mentioned for the dinner arrived, and, 
 at the appointed hour, so also did the guests. There were 
 some ladies asked to keep Helen in countenance, but we 
 need scarcely say, that as the list of them was made out by 
 her thoughtless father, he paid, in the selection of some of 
 them, very little attention to her feelings. There was the 
 sheriff, Mr. Oxley, and his lady — the latter a compound in 
 whom it was difficult to determine whether pride, vulgarity,
 
 1/3 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 or obesity prevailed. Where the sheriff had made his cap- 
 ture of her was never properly known, as neither of them 
 belonged originally to that .neighborhood in which he had, 
 several years ago, purchased large property. It was said he 
 had got her in London ; and nothing was more certain than 
 that she issued forth the English language clothed in an in- 
 veterate cockney accent. She was a high moralist, and a 
 merciless castigator of all females who manifested, or who 
 were supposed to manifest, even a tendency to walk out of the 
 line of her own peculiar theory on female conduct. Her 
 weight might be about eighteen stone, exclusive of an addi- 
 tional stone of gold chains and bracelets, in which she moved 
 like a walking gibbet, only with the felon in it ; and to 
 crown all, she wore upon her mountainous bosom a cameo 
 nearly the size of a frying-pan. Sir Jenkins Joram, who 
 took her down to dinner, declared, on feeling the size of the 
 bracelets which encircled her wrists, that he labored for a 
 short time under the impression that he and she were liter- 
 ally handcuffed together ; an impression, he added, from 
 which he was soon relieved by the consoling reflection that 
 it was the sheriff himself whom the clergyman had sentenced 
 to stand in that pleasant predicament. Of Mrs. Brown and 
 Mrs. Hastings we have only to say that they were modest, 
 sensible, unassuming women, without either parade or pre- 
 tence, such, in fact, as you will generally meet among our 
 well-bred and educated countrywomen. Lord Deilmacare 
 was a widower, without family, and not a marrying man. 
 Indeed, when pressed upon this subject, he was never known 
 to deviate from the one reply. 
 
 11 Why don't you marry again, my lord ? — will you ever 
 marry ?" 
 
 " No, madame, I got enough of it," a reply which, some- 
 how, generally checked any further inquiry on the subject. 
 Between Lady Joram and Mrs. Smellpriest there subsisted a 
 singular analogy with respect to their conjugal attachments. 
 It was hinted that her ladyship, in those secret but delicious 
 moments of matrimonial felicity which make up the sugar- 
 candy morsels of domestic life, used to sit with Sir Jenkins 
 for the purpose, by judicious exercise, of easing, by convivial 
 exercise, a rheumatic affection which she complained of in her 
 right arm. There is nothing, however, so delightful as a gen- 
 eral and loving sympathy between husband and wife ; and here
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 179 
 
 it was said to exist in perfection. Mrs. Smellpriest, on the 
 other hand, was said to have been equally attached to the 
 political principles of the noble captain, and to wonder 
 why any clergyman should be suffered to live in the country 
 but those of her own Church ; such delightful men, for in- g 
 stance, as their curate, the Rev. Samson Strong, who was 
 nothing more nor less than a divine bonfire in the eyes of 
 the Christian world. Such was his zeal against Papists, she 
 said, as well as against Popery at large, that she never 
 looked on him without thinking that there was a priest to be 
 burned. Indeed Captain Smellpriest, she added, was under 
 great obligations to him, for no sooner had his reverence 
 heard of a priest taking earth in the neighborhood, than he 
 lost no time in communicating the fact to her husband ; 
 after which he would kindly sit with and comfort her whilst 
 fretting lest any mischief might befall her dear captain. 
 
 The dinner passed as all dinners usually do. They hob- 
 nobbed, of course, and indulged in that kind of promiscuous 
 conversation which cannot well be reported. From a feel- 
 ing of respect to Helen, no allusion was made either to the 
 burning of Reilly's property or to Reilly personally. The 
 only person who had any difficulty in avoiding the subject 
 was the old squire himself, who more than once found the 
 topic upon his lips, but with a kind of short cough he gulped 
 it down, and got rid of it for the time. In what manner he 
 might treat the act itself was a matter which excited a good 
 deal of speculation in the minds of those who were present. 
 He was known to be a man who, if the whim seized him to 
 look upon it as a cowardly and vindictive proceeding, would 
 by no means scruple to express his opinions strongly against 
 it ; whilst, on the other hand, if he measured it in connection 
 with his daughter's forbidden attachment to Reilly, he would, 
 of course, as vehemently express his approbation of the out- 
 rage. Indeed, they were induced to conclude that this latter 
 view of it was that which he was most likely to take, in con- 
 sequence of the following proposal, which, from any other 
 man, would have been an extraordinary one : 
 
 11 Come, ladies, before you leave us we must have one 
 toast ; and I shall give it in order to ascertain whether we 
 have any fair traitresses among us, or any who are secretly 
 attached to Popery or Papists." 
 
 The proposal was a cruel one, but the squire was so utterly
 
 i So WILLY REILLY. 
 
 destitute of consideration or delicacy of feeling that we do 
 not think he ever once reflected upon the painful position in 
 which it placed his daughter. 
 
 " Come," he proceeded, "here is prosperity to Captain 
 Smellpriest and priest-hunting !" * 
 
 "Asa Christian minister," replied Mr. Brown, " and an 
 enemy to persecution in every sense, but especially to that 
 which would punish any man for the great principle which 
 we ourselves claim — the rights of conscience — I decline to 
 drink the toast ;" and he turned down his glass. 
 
 " And I," said Mr. Hastings, "as a Protestant and a 
 Christian, refuse it on the same principles ;" and he also 
 turned down his glass. 
 
 " But you forget, gentlemen," proceeded the squire, 
 " that I addressed myself principally to the ladies." 
 
 " But you know, sir," replied Mrs. Brown, with a smile, 
 11 that it is quite unusual and out of character for ladies to 
 drink toasts at all, especially those which involve religious 
 or political opinions. These, I am sure, you know too 
 well, Mr. Foliiard, are matters with which ladies have, and 
 ought to have, nothing to do. I also, therefore, on behalf 
 of our sex, decline to drink the toast ; and I trust that every 
 ladv who respects herself will turn down her glass as I 
 do." 
 
 Mrs. Hastings and Helen immediately followed her ex- 
 ample, whilst at the same time poor Helen's cheeks and 
 neck were scarlet. 
 
 " You see, sir," said Mr. Brown, good-humoredly, " that 
 the sex — at least one half of them — are against you." 
 
 " That's because they're Papists at heart," replied the 
 squire, laughing. 
 
 * We have been charged by an able and accomplished writer with 
 an incapacity of describing, with truth, any state of Irish society 
 above that of our peasantry : and the toast proposed by the eccentric 
 old squire is, we presume, the chief ground upon which this charge is 
 rested. We are, however, just as well aware as our critic, that to 
 propose toasts before the female portion of the company leave the 
 dinner-table, is altogether at variance wth the usages of polite society. 
 But we really thought we had guarded our readers against any such 
 inference of our own ignorance by the character which we had drawn 
 of the squire, as well as by the words with which the toast is intro- 
 duced — where we said, " from any other man would have been an 
 extraordinary one." I may also refer to Mrs. Brown's reply.
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 181 
 
 Helen felt eased at seeing her father's good humor, for 
 she now knew that the proposal of the toast was but a jest, 
 and did not aim at any thing calculated to distress her feel- 
 ings. 
 
 " But, in the meantime," proceeded the squire, " I am 
 not without support. Here is Lady Joram and Mrs. Smell- 
 priest and Mrs. Oxley — and they are a host in themselves — 
 each' of them willing and ready to support me." 
 
 11 I don't see," said Lady Joram, " why a lady, anymore 
 than a gentleman, should refuse to drink a proper toast as 
 this is ; Sir Jenkins has not turned down his glass, and 
 neither shall I. Come, then, Mr. Folliard, please to fill 
 mine ; I shall drink it in a bumper." 
 
 " And I," said Mrs. Oxley, " always drinks my 'usband's 
 principles. In Lunnon, where true 'igh life is, ladies don't 
 refuse to drink toasts. I know that feyther, both before and 
 after his removal to Lunnon, used to make us all drink the 
 ' 'Ard ware of Old Hingland ' — by witch," she proceeded, 
 correcting herself by a reproving glance from the sheriff — 
 11 by witch he meant what he called the glorious sinews of 
 the country at large, lestwise in the manufacturing districts. 
 But upon a subject like this" — and she looked with some- 
 thing like disdain at those who had turned down their glasses 
 — " every lady as is a lady ought to 'ave no objection to 
 hexplain her principles by drinking the toast ; but p'raps it 
 ain't fair to press it upon some of 'em." 
 
 " Well, then," proceeded the squire, with a laugh that 
 seemed to have more than mirth in it, " are all the loyal 
 subjects of the crown ready ? Lord Deilmacare, your glass 
 is not filled ; won't you drink it ?" 
 
 " To be sure," replied his lordship ; " I have no hatred 
 against Papists ; I get my rent by their labor ; but I never 
 wish to spoil sport — get along — I'll do any thing." 
 
 With the exceptions already mentioned, the toast was 
 drank immediately, after which the ladies retired to the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 " Now, gentlemen," said the squire, " fill your glasses, 
 and let us enjoy ourselves. You have a right to be proud 
 of your wife, Mr. Sheriff, and you too, Sir Jenkins — for, 
 upon my soul, if it had been his Majesty's health, her lady- 
 ship couldn't have honored it with a fuller bumper. And, 
 Smellpriest, your wife did the thing handsomely as well as
 
 1 82 WILLY RE ILLY'. 
 
 the rest. Upon my soul, you ought to be happy men, with 
 three women so deeply imbued with the true spirit of our 
 glorious Constitution." 
 
 11 Ah, Mr. Folliard," said Smellpriest, " you don't know 
 the value of that woman. When I return, for instance, 
 after a hunt, the first question she puts to me is — Well, my 
 love, how many priests did you catch to-day ? And out 
 comes Mr. Strong with the same question. Strong, how- 
 ever, between ourselves, is a goose ; he will believe any 
 thing, and often sends me upon a cold trail. Now, I 
 pledge you my honor, gentlemen, that this man, who is all 
 zeal, has sent me out dozens of times, with the strictest in- 
 structions as to where I'd catch my priest ; but, hang me, 
 if ever I caught a single priest upon his instructions yet ! 
 still, although unfortunate in this kind of sport, his heart is 
 in the right place. Whitecraft, my worthy brother sports- 
 man, how does it happen that Reilly continues to escape 
 you?" 
 
 " Why does he continue to escape yourself, captain ?" re- 
 plied the baronet. 
 
 " Why," said the other, " because I am more in the ec- 
 clesiastical line, and, besides, he is considered to be, in an 
 especial manner, your game. 
 
 " I will have him yet, though," said Whitecraft, " if he 
 should assume as many shapes as Proteus." 
 
 " By the way, Whitecraft," observed Folliard, " they tell 
 me you burned the unfor — you burned the scoundrel's house 
 and offices." 
 
 " I wish you had been present at the bonfire, sir," replied 
 his intended son-in-law ; "it would have done your heart 
 good." 
 
 11 I daresay," said the squire ; " but still, what harm did 
 his house and place do you ? I know the fellow is a Jesuit, 
 a rebel, and an outlaw — at least you tell me so ; and you 
 must know. But upon what authority did you. burn the 
 rascal out ?" 
 
 "As to that," returned the baronet, " the present laws 
 against Popery and the general condition of the times are a 
 sufficient justification ; and I do not think that I am likely 
 to be brought over the coals for it ; on the contrary, I look 
 upon myself as a man who, in burning the villain out, have 
 rendered a very important service to Government."
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 183 
 
 " I regret, Sir Robert," observed Mr. Brown, " that you 
 should have disgraced yourself by such an oppressive act. 
 I know that throughout the country your conduct to this 
 young man is attributed to personal malice rather than to 
 loyalty." 
 
 " The country may put what construction on my conduct 
 it pleases," he replied, " but I know I shall never cease till 
 I hang him." 
 
 Mr. Hastings was a man of very few words ; but he had 
 an eye the expression of which could not be mistaken — keen, 
 manly, and firm. He sat sipping his wine in silence, but 
 turned from time to time a glance upon the baronet, which 
 was not only a searching one, but seemed to have something 
 of triumph in it. 
 
 " What do you say, Hastings ?" asked Whitecraft ; " can 
 you not praise a loyal subject, man ?" 
 
 " I say nothing, Sir Robert," he replied ; " but I think 
 occasionally." 
 
 11 Well, and what do you think occasionally ?" 
 
 11 Why, that the times may change." 
 
 "Whitecraft," said Smellpriest, "I work upon higher 
 principles than they say you do. I hunt priests, no doubt 
 of it ; but then I have no personal malice against them ; I 
 proceed upon the broad and general principle of hatred to 
 Popery : but, at the same time, observe it is not the man 
 but the priest I pursue." 
 
 "And when you hang or transport the priest, what be- 
 comes of the man?" asked the baronet, with a diabolical 
 sneer. " As for me, Smellpriest, I make no such distinc- 
 tions ; they are unworthy of you, and I'm sorry to hear you 
 express them. I say, the man." 
 
 " And I say, the priest," replied the other. 
 
 "What do you say, my lord?" asked Mr. Folliard of 
 the peer. 
 
 " I don't much care which," replied his lordship ; " man 
 or priest, be it as you can determine ; only I say that when you 
 hang the priest, I agree with Whitecraft there, that it is all 
 up with the man, and when you hang the man, it is all up 
 with the priest. By the way, Whitecraft," he proceeded, 
 " how would you like to swing yourself ?" 
 
 " I am sure, my lord," replied the baronet, " you wouldn't 
 wish to see me hanged."
 
 1S4 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 "Well, I don't know — perhaps I might, and perhaps I 
 might not ; but I know you would make a long corpse, and 
 I think you would dangle handsomely enough ; you have 
 long limbs, a long body, and half a mile of neck ; upon my 
 soul, one would think you were made for it. Yes, I dare 
 say I should like to see you hanged — I am rather inclined to 
 think I would — it's a subject, however, on which I am 
 perfectly indifferent ; but if ever you should be hanged, Sir 
 Robert, I shall certainly make it a point to see you thrown 
 off if it were only as a mark of respect for your humane 
 and excellent character." 
 
 " He would be a severe loss to the country," observed 
 Sir Jenkins ; " the want of his hospitality would be deeply 
 felt by the gentry of the neighborhood ; for which reason," 
 he observed sarcastically, " I hope he will be spared to us 
 as long as his hospitality lasts." 
 
 11 In the meantime, gentlemen," observed the sheriff, " I 
 wish that, with such keen noses for priests and rebels and 
 criminals, you could come upon the trail of the scoundrel 
 who robbed me of three hundred and fifty pounds." 
 
 "Would you know him again, Mr. Sheriff?" asked Sir 
 Robert, " and could you describe his appearance ?" 
 
 " I have been turning the matter over," replied the 
 sheriff, " and I feel satisfied that I would know him if I 
 saw him. He was dressed in a broadcloth brown coat, 
 light-colored breeches, and had silver buckles in his shoes. 
 The fellow was no common robber. Stuart — one of your 
 dragoons, Sir Robert, who came to my relief when it was 
 too late — insists, from my description of the dress, that it 
 was Reilly. " 
 
 "Are you sure he was not dressed in black?" asked 
 Smellpriest. "Did you observe a beads or crucifix about 
 him ?" 
 
 " I have described the dress accurately," replied the 
 sheriff ; " but I am certain that it was not Reilly. On 
 bringing the matter to my recollection, after I had got rid 
 of the pain and agitation, I was able to remember that the 
 ruffian had a coarse face and red whiskers. Now Reilly' s 
 hair and whiskers are black." 
 
 " It was a reverend Papist," said Smellpriest ; "one of 
 those from whom you had levied the fines that day, and who 
 thought it no harm to transfer them back again to holy
 
 WILLY REILLY. 185 
 
 Church. You know not how those rascals can disguise 
 themselves." 
 
 " And can you blame them, Smellpriest," said the squire, 
 " for disguising themselves ? Now, suppose the tables were 
 turned upon us, that Popery got the ascendant, and that Pa- 
 pists started upon the same principles against us that we put 
 in practice against them ; suppose that Popish soldiers were 
 halloed on against our parsons, and all other Protestants 
 conspicuous for an attachment to their religion, and anxious 
 to put down the persecution under which we suffered ; why, 
 hang it, could you blame the parsons, when hunted to the 
 death, for disguising themselves ? And if you could not, 
 how can you blame the priests ? Would you' have the poor 
 devils walk into your hands and say, ' Come, gentlemen, be 
 good enough to hang or transport us.' I am anxious to se- 
 cure Reilly, and either to hang or transport him. I would 
 say the latter, though." 
 
 " And I the former," observed Sir Robert. 
 
 " Well, Bob, that is as may happen ; but in the meantime, 
 I say he never robbed the sheriff here ; and if he were going 
 to the gallows to-morrow, I would maintain it. ' ' 
 
 Neither the clergyman nor Mr. Hastings took much part 
 in the conversation ; but the eye of the latter was, during 
 the greater portion of the evening, fixed upon the baronet, 
 like that of a basilisk, accompanied by a hidden meaning, 
 which it was impossible to penetrate, but which, nevertheless, 
 had such an effect upon Whitecraft that he could not help 
 observing it. 
 
 "It would seem, Mr. Hastings," said he, " as if you had 
 never seen me before. Your eye has scarcely been off me 
 during the whole evening. It is not pleasant, sir, nor 
 scarcely gentlemanly. 
 
 "You should feel proud of it, Sir Robert," replied 
 Hastings ; " I only admire you." 
 
 " Well, then, I wish you would express your admiration in 
 some other manner than by staring at me." 
 
 " Gadzooks, Sir Robert," said the squire, "don't you 
 know that a cat may look at a king ? Hastings must be a 
 man of devilish good taste, Bob, and you ought to thank 
 him." 
 
 Mr. Brown and Mr. Hastings soon afterwards went up- 
 stairs, and left the other gentlemen to their liquor, which
 
 1 36 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 ihey now began to enjoy with a more convivial spirit. The 
 old squire's loyalty rose to a very high pitch, as indeed did 
 that of his companions, all of whom entertained the same 
 principles, with the exception of Lord Deilmacare, whose 
 opinions never could be got at, for the very sufficient reason 
 that he did not know them himself. 
 
 11 Come, Whitecraft, " said the squire, " help yourself, 
 and push the bottle ; now that those two half- Papists are 
 gone, we can breathe and speak a little more freely. Here's 
 our glorious Constitution, in Church and State, and curse 
 all priests and Papists — barring a few, that I know to be 
 honest." 
 
 " I drink it, but I omit the exception," said Sir Robert, 
 11 and I wonder, sir, you would make any exception to such 
 a toast." 
 
 "I drink it," said Smellpriest, "including the rascal 
 priests." 
 
 " And I drink it," said the sheriff, " as it has been pro- 
 posed." 
 
 " What was it ?" said Lord Deilmacare ; " come, I drink 
 it — it doesn't matter. I suppose, coming from our excellent- 
 host, it must be right and proper." 
 
 They caroused deeply, and in proportion as the liquor 
 affected their brains, so did their determination to rid the 
 squire of the rebel Reilly form itself into an express resolu- 
 tion to that effect. 
 
 11 Hang Reilly — hang the villain — the gallows for him — 
 hurra !" and in this charitable sentiment their voices all 
 joined in a fierce and drunken exclamation, uttered with 
 their hands all clasped in each other with a strong and firm 
 grip. From one mouth alone, however, proceeded, amidst 
 a succession of hiccups, the word " transportation," which, 
 when Lord Deilmacare heard, he changed his principle, and 
 joined the old squire in the same mitigation of feeling. 
 
 " I say, Deilmacare," shouted Sir Robert, " we must 
 hang him high and dry." 
 
 "Very well," replied his lordship, "with all my heart, 
 Sir Px.obert ; we must hang you high and dry." 
 
 " But, Deilmacare," said the squire, " we shall only trans- 
 port him." 
 
 "Very good," exclaimed his lordship, emptying a 
 bumper ; " we shall only transport you, Sir Robert."
 
 WILLY REILLY. 187 
 
 " Hang him, Deilmacare !" 
 
 11 Very well, hang him !" 
 
 " Transport him, I say, Deilmacare," from the squire. 
 
 " Good again," said his lordship ; " transport him, 
 say I." 
 
 And on went the drunken revel, until they scarcely knew 
 what they said. 
 
 The clergyman and Mr. Hastings, on reaching the draw- 
 ing-room, found Helen in a state of inexpressible distress. 
 A dispute upon the prevailing morals of all modern young 
 ladies had been got up by Lady Joram and Mrs. Oxley, for 
 the express purpose of venting their petty malice against the 
 girl, because they had taken it into their heads that she paid 
 more attention to Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Hastings than she 
 did to them. This dispute was tantamount to what, in the 
 prize ring, is called a cross, when the fight is only a mock 
 one, and terminates by the voluntary defeat of one of the 
 parties, upon a preconcerted arrangement. 
 
 " I don't agree with you, my lady ; nor can I think that 
 the morals of young ladies in 'igh life, by witch I mean the 
 daughters and heiresses of wealthy squires — " 
 
 11 But, my dear Mrs. Oxley," said her ladyship, interrupt- 
 ing her, and placing her hand gently upon her arm, as if to 
 solicit her consent to the observation she was about to make, 
 "you know, my dear Mrs. Oxley, that the daughter of a 
 mere country squire can have no pretensions to come under 
 the definition of high life." 
 
 11 Wy not ?" replied Mrs. Oxley ; " the squires are often 
 wealthier than the haristocracy ; and I don't at all see," 
 she added, " wy the daughter of such a man should not be 
 considered as moving in 'igh life — always, of course, pro- 
 vided that she forms no disgraceful attachments to Papists 
 and rebels and low persons of that 'e r e class. No, my 
 lady, I don't at all agree with you in your view of 'igh life." 
 
 11 You don't appear, madam, to entertain a sufficiently 
 accurate estimate of high life." 
 
 " I beg pardon, ma'am, but I think I can understand 'igh 
 life as well as those that don't know it better nor myself. 
 I've seen a great deal of 'igh life. Feyther 'ad a willar at 
 'Igate, and Tgate is known to be the 'ighest place about the 
 metropolis of Lunnon — it and St. Paul's are upon a bevel." 
 
 " Level, perhaps, you mean, ma'am ?"
 
 i S3 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 " Level or bevel, it doesn't much diversify — but I prefer 
 the bevel to the level on all occasions. All I knows is," she 
 proceeded, " that it is a shame for any young lady, as is a 
 young lady, to take a liking to a Papist, because we know 
 the Papists are all rebels and would cut our throats, only 
 for the protection of our generous and merciful laws. ,: 
 
 "I don't know what you mean by merciful laws," ob- 
 served Airs. Brown. " They surely cannot be such laws as 
 oppress and persecute a portion of the people, and give an 
 unjust license to one class to persecute another, and to pre- 
 vent them from exercising the duties which their religion 
 imposes upon them." 
 
 11 Well," said Lady Joram, " all I wish is, that the Papists 
 were exterminated ; we should then have no apprehensions 
 that our daughters would disgrace themselves by falling in 
 love with them." 
 
 This conversation was absolutely cruel, and the amiable 
 Airs. Brown, from compassion to Helen, withdrew her into 
 a corner of the room, and entered into conversation with 
 her upon a different topic, assuring her previously that she 
 would detail their offensive and ungenerous remarks to her 
 father, who, she trusted, would never see them under his 
 roof again, nor give them an opportunity of indulging in 
 their vulgar malignity a second time. Helen thanked her, 
 and said their hints and observations, though rude and un- 
 generous, gave her but little pain. The form of language in 
 which they were expressed, she added, and the indefensible 
 violation of all the laws of hospitality, blunted the severity 
 of what they said. 
 
 " I am not ashamed," she said, "of my attachment to 
 the brave and generous young man who saved my father's 
 life. He is of no vulgar birth, but a highly educated and a 
 highly accomplished gentleman — a man, in fact, my dear 
 Mrs. Brown, whom no woman, be her rank in life ever so 
 high or exalted, might blush to love. / do not blush to 
 make the avowal that I love him ; but, unfortunately, in 
 consequence of the existing laws of the country, my love 
 for him, which I will never conceal, must be a hopeless 
 one." 
 
 " I regret the state of those laws, my dear Miss Folliard, 
 as much as you do ; but still their existence puts a breach 
 between you and Reilly, and under those circumstances my
 
 WILLY REILLY. 189 
 
 advice to you is to overcome your affection for him if you 
 can. Marriage is out of the question." 
 
 "It is not marriage I think of — for that is out of the 
 o x uestion — but Reilly's life and safety. If he were safe, I 
 should feel comparatively happy ; happiness, in its full ex- 
 tent, I never can hope to enjoy ; but if he were only safe — 
 if he were only safe, my dear Mrs. Brown ! I know that he 
 is hunted like a beast of prey, and under such circumstances 
 as disturb and distract the country, how can he escape ?" 
 
 The kind-hearted lady consoled her as well as she could ; 
 but, in fact, her grounds for consolation were so slender that 
 her arguments only amounted to those general observations 
 which, commonplace as they are, we are in the habit of hear- 
 ing from day to day. Helen was too high-minded to shed 
 tears, but Mrs. Brown could plainly perceive the depth of 
 her emotion, and feel the extent of what she suffered. 
 
 We shall not detail at further length the conversation of 
 the other ladies — if ladies they can be called ; nor that of 
 the gentlemen, after they entered the drawing-room. Sir 
 Robert Whitecraft attempted to enter into conversation with 
 Helen, but found himself firmly and decidedly repulsed. In 
 point of fact, some of the gentlemen were not in a state to 
 grace a drawing-room, and in a short time they took their 
 leave and retired. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 SIR ROBERT MEETS A BROTHER SPORTSMAN DRAWS HIS 
 
 NETS, BUT CATCHES NOTHING. 
 
 11 " I ^IS conscience that makes cowards of us all," said 
 X Shakespeare, with that wonderful wisdom which 
 enlightens his glorious pages ; and, in fact, Sir Robert 
 Whitecraft, in his own person, fully corroborated the truth 
 of the poet's apophthegm. The man, besides, was naturally 
 a coward ; and when to this we add the consciousness of his 
 persecutions and cruelties, and his apprehensions from the 
 revenge of Reilly — the destruction of whose property, with- 
 out any authority from Government for the act, he felt him-
 
 190 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 self guilty of — the reader may understand the nature and 
 extent of his terrors on his way home. The distance be- 
 tween his own house and that of his intended father-in-law 
 was about three miles, and there lay a long space of level 
 road, hedged in, as was then the custom, on both sides, from 
 behind which hedges an excellent aim could be taken. As 
 Sir Robert proceeded along this lonely path, his horse 
 stumbled against some stones that were in his way, or per- 
 haps that had been purposely placed there. Be that as it 
 may, the baronet fell, and a small man. of compact size and 
 vigorous frame, was found aiding him to rise. Having 
 helped him into his saddle, the baronet asked him, with an 
 infirm and alarmed voice, who he was. 
 
 " Why, Sir Robert," he replied, " you must know I am 
 not a Papist, or I wouldn't be apt to render you any as- 
 sistance ; I am somewhat of your own kidney — a bit of a 
 priest-hunter, on a small scale. I used to set them for 
 Captain Smellpriest, but he paid me badly, and as there 
 was great risk among the bloody Papists, I made up my 
 mind to withdraw out of his service ; but you are a gentle- 
 man, Sir Robert, what Captain Smellpriest is not, and if you 
 want an active and useful enemy to Popery, I am your 
 man." 
 
 " I want such a person, certainly," replied the baronet, 
 who, in consequence of the badness of the road and the 
 darkness of the night, was obliged to walk his horse with 
 caution. " By the way," said he, " did you not hear a 
 noise behind the hedge ?" 
 
 " I did," replied the other, " but it was the noise of 
 cattle." 
 
 11 I am not aware," replied Sir Robert, " what the devil 
 cattle can have to do immediately behind the hedge. I 
 rather think they are some of our own species ;" and as he 
 ceased speaking the tremendous braying of a jackass came 
 upon their ears. 
 
 " You were right, Sir Robert," replied his companion ; 
 " I beg pardon, I mean that I was right ; you know now it 
 was cattle." 
 
 " What is your name ?" asked Sir Robert. 
 
 " Rowland Drum, Sir Robert ; and, if you will permit 
 me, I should like to see you safe home. I need not say 
 that you are hated by the Papists ; and as the road is lone-
 
 WILLY REILLY. 191 
 
 some and dangerous, as a priest-hunter myself I think it an 
 act of duty not to leave you." 
 
 11 Thank you," said Sir Robert, " you are a civil person, 
 and I will accept your escort." 
 
 11 Whatever danger you may run, Sir Robert, I will stand 
 by your side and partake of it." 
 
 " Thank you, friend," replied Sir Robert; "there wa 
 lonely place before us, where a ghost is said to be seen — the 
 ghost of a priest whom I hunted for a long time ; Smell- 
 priest, it is said, shot him at the place I allude to. He was 
 disguised as a drummer, and is said to haunt the locality 
 where he was shot." 
 
 "Well, I shall see you safe over the place, Sir Robert, 
 and go home with you afterwards, provided you will promise 
 to give me a bed and my supper ; to-morrow we can talk on 
 matters of business." 
 
 " I shall certainly do so," replied Sir Robert, " not only 
 in consequence of your attention to me, but of our common 
 purpose." 
 
 They then proceeded onwards — passed the haunted spot 
 — without either hearing or seeing the spectral drummer. 
 On arriving at home, Sir Robert, who drank privately, or- 
 dered wine for himself, and sent Rowland Drum to the 
 kitchen, where he was rather meagerly entertained, and was 
 afterwards lodged for the night in the garret. 
 
 The next morning, after breakfast, Sir Robert sent for 
 Mr. Drum, who, on entering the breakfast parlor, was thus 
 addressed by his new patron : 
 
 " What's this you say your name is ?" 
 
 11 Rowland Drum, sir." 
 
 " Rowland Drum ! Well, now, Rowland Drum, are you 
 well acquainted with the priests of this diocese ?" 
 
 " No man better," replied the redoubtable Rowland. 
 " I know most of them by person, and have got private 
 descriptions of them all from Captain Smellpriest, which 
 will be invaluable to you, Sir Robert. The fact is — and 
 this I mention in the strictest confidence — that Smellpriest is 
 suspicious of your attachment to our glorious Constitution." 
 
 " The confounded rascal," replied the baronet. " Did 
 he ever burn as many Popish houses as I have done ? He 
 has no appetite for any thing but the pursuit and capture of 
 priests ; but I have a far more general and unsparing prac-
 
 "9 2 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 tice, for I not only capture the priests, where I can, but 
 every lay Papist that we suspect in the country. Here, for 
 instance. Do you see those papers ? They are blank war- 
 rants for the apprehension of the guilty and suspected, and 
 also protections, transmitted to me from the Secretary of 
 State, that I may be enabled, by his authority, to protect 
 such Papists as will give useful information to the Govern- 
 ment. Here they are, signed by the Secretary, but the 
 blanks are left for myself to fill up." 
 
 " I wish we could get Reilly to come over," said Mr. 
 Drum. 
 
 "Oh! the infernal villain," said the baronet, "all the 
 protections that ever were or could be issued from the Sec- 
 retary's office would not nor could not save him. Old Fol- 
 liard and I will hang him, if there was not another man to be 
 hanged in the three kingdoms." 
 
 At this moment a servant came in and said, " Sir Robert, 
 there is a woman here who wishes to have some private con- 
 versation with you." 
 
 11 What kind of a woman is she ?" asked the baronet. 
 
 " Faith, your honor, a sturdy and strapping wench, some- 
 what rough in the face, but of great proportions." 
 
 Now it so happened that Mr. Drum had been sitting at 
 the window during this brief conversation, and at once re- 
 cognized, under the disguise of a woman, the celebrated in- 
 former, the Rev. Mr. Hennessy, a wretch whose criminal 
 course of life, as we said before, was so gross and rep- 
 robate that his pious bishop deemed it his duty to suspend 
 him from all clerical functions. 
 
 " Sir Robert," said Drum, " I must go up to my room 
 and shave. My presence, I apprehend, won't be necessary 
 where there is a lady in question." 
 
 11 Very well," replied the baronet ; " I know not what 
 her business may be ; but I shall be glad to speak with you 
 after she shall have gone." 
 
 It was very well that Hennessy did not see Drum, whom 
 he would at once have recognized ; but, at all events, the 
 interview between the reprobate priest and the baronet lasted 
 for at least an hour. 
 
 After the Rev. Miss Hennessy had taken her departure, 
 Mr. Drum was sent for by the baronet, whom he still found 
 in the breakfast parlor.
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 193 
 
 " Drum," said he, " you have now an opportunity of es- 
 sentially serving not only me, but the Government of the 
 country. This lady turns out to be a Popish priest in dis- 
 guise, and I have taken him into my confidence as a guide 
 and auxiliary. Now you have given me proofs of personal 
 attachment, which is certainly more than he has done as yet. 
 I have heard of his character as an immoral priest ; and the 
 man who could be false to his own creed is not a man to be 
 relied upon. He has described to me the position of a cav- 
 ern, in which are now hiding a set of proscribed priests ; 
 but I cannot have confidence in his information, and I wish 
 you to go to the ravine or cavern, or whatever the devil it 
 is, and return to me with correct intelligence. It may be a 
 lure to draw me into danger, or perhaps to deprive me of my 
 life ; but, on second thought, I think I shall get a military 
 force, and go myself." 
 
 11 And perhaps never return, unless with your heels fore- 
 most, Sir Robert. I tell you that this Hennessy is the most 
 treacherous scoundrel on the face of the earth. You do not 
 know what he's at, but I will tell you, for I have it from 
 his own cousin. His object is to have you assassinated, in 
 order to restore himself to the good graces of the bishop and 
 the Catholic party, who, I must say, however, would not 
 countenance such a murderous act ; still, Sir Robert, if you 
 were taken off, the man who took you off would have his 
 name honored and exalted throughout the country." 
 
 " Yes, I believe you are right, Drum ; they are thirst- 
 ing for my blood, but not more than I am thirsting for 
 theirs." 
 
 "Well, then," said Drum, "don't trust yourself to the 
 counsels of this Hennessy, who, in my opinion, only wants 
 to make a scapegoat of you. Allow me to go to the place 
 he mentions, for I know the ravine well, but I never knew 
 nor do I believe that there is a cavern at all in it, and that 
 is what makes me suspect the scoundrel's motives. He can 
 have hundreds of outlaws secretly armed, who would never 
 suffer you to escape with your life. The thing is an ambus- 
 cade ; take my word for it, it is nothing less. Of course 
 you can go, yourself and your party, if you wish. You will 
 prevent me from running a great risk ; but I am only anx- 
 ious for your safety." 
 
 " Well, then," said Sir Robert, " you shall go upon this
 
 194 WILLY R LILLY. 
 
 mission. It may not be safe for me to do so. Try if you 
 can make out this cavern, if there be a cavern." 
 
 " I will try, Sir Robert ; and I will venture to say, that 
 if it can be made out, / will make it out." 
 
 Rowland Drum accordingly set out upon his mission, and 
 having arrived at the cavern, with which he was so well ac- 
 quainted, he entered it with the usual risk. His voice, how- 
 ever, was recognized, and he got instant admittance. 
 
 11 My dear friends," said he, after he had entered the 
 inner part of it, "you must disperse immediately. Hen- 
 nessy has betrayed you, and if you remain here twenty-four 
 hours longer, Sir Robert Whitecraft and a party of military, 
 guided, probably, by the treacherous scoundrel himself, will 
 be upon you. The villain had a long interview with him, 
 and gave a full detail of the cavern and its inmates." 
 
 11 But how did you become acquainted with Sir Robert 
 Whitecraft ?" asked the bishop. 
 
 " In order, my lord, to ascertain his intentions and future 
 proceedings," replied Mr. Drum, " that we might guard 
 against his treachery and persecution. On his way home 
 from a dinner at Squire Folliard's I met him in a lonely part 
 of the road, where he was thrown from his horse ; I helped 
 him into his saddle, told him I was myself a priest-hunter, 
 and thus got into his confidence so far as to be able to frus- 
 trate Hennessy's treachery, and to counteract his own de- 
 signs." 
 
 " Sir," said the bishop sternly, " you have acted a part 
 unworthy of a Christian clergyman. We should not do evil 
 that good may follow ; and you have done evil in associating 
 yourself, in any sense and for any purpose, with this blood- 
 thirsty tiger and persecutor of the faithful." 
 
 11 My lord," replied the priest, " this is not a time to enter 
 into a discussion on such a subject. Hennessy has betrayed 
 us ; and if you do not disperse to other places of safety, he 
 will himself, as I said, lead Sir Robert Whitecraft and a 
 military party to this very cavern, and then may God have 
 mercy on you all." 
 
 11 Brethren," said the bishop, " this is, after all, possible 
 that our brother has, by the mercy and providence of God, 
 through his casual meeting with this remorseless man, been 
 made the instrument of our safety. As for myself, I am 
 willing to embrace the crown of martyrdom, and to lay down
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 195 
 
 my life, if necessary, for the faith that is in me. You all 
 know what I have already suffered, and you know that per- 
 secution drives a wise man mad. My chldren," he added, 
 " it is possible, and I fear too probable, that some of us may 
 never see each other in this life again ; but at the same time, 
 let it be our hope and consolation that we shall meet in a 
 better. And for this purpose, and in order to secure a fu- 
 turity of happiness, let us lead spotless and irreproachable 
 lives, such as will enable us to meet the hour of death, 
 whether it comes by the hand of God or the persecution of 
 man. Be faithful to the principles of our holy religion — be 
 faithful to truth — to moral virtue — be faithful to God, before 
 whose awful tribunal we must all appear, and render an ac- 
 count of our lives. It would be mere wantonness to throw 
 yourselves into the hands of our persecutors. Reserve your- 
 selves for the continuance and the sustainment of our blessed 
 religion ; but if you should happen to fall, by the snares and 
 devices of the enemy, into the power of those who are striv- 
 ing to work our extermination, and if they should press you 
 to renounce your faith, upon the alternative of banishment 
 or death, then, I say, banishment, or death itself, sooner 
 than become apostates to your religion. I shall retire to a 
 neighborhood only a few miles distant from this, where the 
 poor Catholic population are without spiritual aid or conso- 
 lation. I have been there before, and I know their wants, 
 and were it not that I was hunted and pursued with a view 
 to my death — to my murder, I should rather say — I would 
 have remained with them still. But that I considered it a 
 duty to that portion of the Church over which God called 
 upon me to preside and watch, I would not have avoided 
 those inhuman traffickers in the blood of God's people. 
 Yet I am bound to say that, from the clergymen of the Es- 
 tablished Church, and from many Protestant magistrates, 
 we have received kindness, sympathy, and shelter. Their 
 doors, their hearths, and their hearts have been open to us, 
 and that, too, in a truly Christian spirit. Let us, then, 
 render them good for good ; let us pray for their conversion, 
 and that they may return to the right path." 
 
 11 They have acted generously and nobly," added Reilly, 
 " and in a truly Christian spirit. Were it not for the shelter 
 and protection which I myself received from one of them, 
 my mangled body would probably be huddled down into
 
 19 6 WILLY REILLY, 
 
 some obscure grave, as a felon, and my property — which is 
 mine only by a necessary fiction and evasion of the law — 
 have passed into the hands of Sir Robert Whitecraft. I am 
 wrong, however, in saying that it could. Mr. Hastings, a 
 generous and liberal Protestant, took it in his own name for 
 my father, but gave me a deed of assignment, placing it as 
 securely in my hands, and in my power, as if I were Sir 
 Robert Whitecraft himself ; and I must add — which I do 
 with pleasure — that the deed in question is now in the pos- 
 session of the Rev. Mr. Brown, the amiable rector of the 
 parish." 
 
 14 But he is a heretic," said a red-faced little man, dressed 
 in leather breeches, top boots, and a huntsman's cap ; 
 11 vade retro, sathanas. It is a damnable crime to have any 
 intercourse with them, or to receive any protection from 
 them : vade retro, sathanas. ' ' 
 
 " If I don't mistake," said the cook — an archdeacon, by 
 the way — "you yourself received protection from them, 
 and were glad to receive it. ' ' 
 
 * * If I did receive protection from one of their heretic 
 parsons, it was for Christian purposes. My object was not 
 so much to seek protection from him as to work out his sal- 
 vation by withdrawing him from his heresy. But then the 
 fellow was as obstinate as sathanas himself, and had Greek 
 and Hebrew at his fingers' ends. I made several passes at 
 him — tried Irish, and told him it was Italian. ' Well,' said 
 he, smiling, ' / understand Italian too ; ' and to my aston- 
 ishment he addressed me in the best Irish I ever heard 
 spoken. ' Now,' said he, still smiling, ' you perceive that I 
 understand Italian nearly — I will not say so well — as you 
 do.' Now, as I am a sinner, that, I say, was ungenerous 
 treatment. He was perfectly irreclaimable." 
 
 This man was, like Mr. Maguire, what has been termed a 
 hedge-priest — a character which, as we have already said, 
 the poverty of the Catholic people, during the existence of 
 the penal laws, and the consequent want of spiritual instruc- 
 tion, rendered necessary. There were no Catholic colleges 
 in the country, and the result was that the number of foreign 
 priests — by which I mean Irish priests educated in foreign 
 colleges — was utterly inadequate to meet the spiritual neces- 
 sities of the Irish population. Under those circumstances, 
 men of good and virtuous character, who understood some-
 
 IV ILLY REJLLY. 197 
 
 thing of the Latin tongue, were ordained by their respective 
 bishops, for the purpose which we have already mentioned. 
 But what a difference was there between those half-educated 
 men and the class of educated clergymen who now adorn, 
 not only their Church, but the literature of the country ! 
 
 "Well, my dear friend," said the bishop, "let us be 
 thankful for the protection which we have received at the 
 hands of the Protestant clergy and of many of the Protest- 
 ant laity also. We now s'eparate, and I for one am sensible 
 how much this cruel persecution has strengthened the bonds 
 of Christian love among us, and excited our sympathy for 
 our poor persecuted flocks, so many of whom are now with- 
 out a shepherd. I leave you with tears — but they are tears 
 of affection, and not of despair. I shall endeavor to be use- 
 ful wherever I may abide. Let each of you do all the spir- 
 itual good you can — all the earthly good — all good in its 
 most enlarged and purest sense. But we must separate — 
 probably, some of us, forever ; and now may the blessing 
 of the Almighty God — of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 
 rest upon you all, and be with you and abide in your hearts, 
 now and forever ! Amen !" 
 
 Having pronounced these words, he covered his face with 
 his two hands and wept bitterly. There were indeed few 
 dry eyes around him ; they knelt before him, kissed his 
 ring, and prepared to take their departure out of the cav- 
 ern. 
 
 " My lord," said Reilly, who still entertained apprehen- 
 sions of the return of his malady, " if you will permit me I 
 shall share your fate, whatever it may be. The poor people 
 you allude to are not in a condition to attend to your wants. 
 Allow me, then, to attend and accompany you in your re- 
 treat." 
 
 " My dear friend," said the bishop, clasping his hand, 
 " you are heaping coals of fire upon my head. I trust you 
 will forgive me, for I knew not what I did. I shall be glad 
 of your companionship. I fear I still stand in need of 
 such a friend. Be it so, then," he proceeded — " be it so, 
 my dear friend ; only that I should not wish you to involve 
 yourself in unnecessary danger on my account." 
 
 " Danger, my lord !" replied Reilly ; " there is not an 
 individual here against whom personal malignity has direct- 
 ed the vengeance of the law with such a bloodthirsty and
 
 1 9$ WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 vindictive spirit as against myself. Why else am I here ? 
 No, I will accompany your lordship, and share your fate." 
 
 It was so determined, and they left the cavern, each to 
 procure some place of safety for himself. 
 
 In the meantime, Sir Robert Whitecraft, having had an- 
 other interview with Hennessy, was prevailed upon to get a 
 military party together, and the cunning reprobate, in order 
 to excite the baronet's vengeance to a still higher pitch, 
 mentioned a circumstance which he had before forgotten, to 
 wit, that Reilly, his arch-enemy, was also in the cave. 
 
 11 But," said Sir Robert, who, as we have already said, 
 was a poltroon and a coward, " what guarantee can you 
 give me that you are not leading me into an ambuscade ? 
 You know that I am unpopular, and the Papists would be 
 delighted to have my blood ; what guarantee, then, can you 
 give me that you are acting by me in good faith ?" 
 
 11 The guarantee of my own life," replied the other. 
 " Let me be placed between two of your men, and if you 
 see any thing like an ambuscade, let them shoot me dead on 
 the spot." 
 
 " Why," replied the baronet, " that is fair ; but the truth 
 is, I have been put on my guard against you by a person 
 who escorted me home last night. He rendered me some 
 assistance when I fell from my horse, and he slept here." 
 
 " What is his name ?" asked Hennessy. 
 
 11 He told me," replied the baronet, " that his name was 
 Drum." 
 
 11 Could you give me a description, Sir Robert, of his per- 
 son ?" 
 
 Sir Robert did so. 
 
 " I declare to God, Sir Robert, you have had a narrow 
 escape from that man. He is one of the most bigoted 
 priests in the kingdom. He used to disguise himself as a 
 drummer — for his father was in the army, and he himself 
 was a drummer in his boyhood ; and his object in prevent- 
 ing you from bringing a military party to the cavern was 
 merely that he might have an opportunity of giving them 
 notice of your intentions. I now say that if you lose an 
 hour's time they will be gone. 
 
 Sir Robert did not lose an hour's time. The local bar- 
 racks were within a few hundred yards of his house. A party 
 of military were immediately called out, and in a short time
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 199 
 
 they arrived, under the guidance of Hennessy, to the very 
 mouth of the cavern, which he disclosed to them. It is un- 
 necessary to detail the particulars of the search. The sol- 
 diers entered it one by one, but found that the birds had 
 flown. The very fires were burning, but not a living soul in 
 the cave ; it was completely deserted, and nothing remained 
 but some miserable relics of cold provisions, with which, by 
 the aid of fir splices, that served as torches, they regaled 
 themselves as far as they went. 
 
 Sir Robert Whitecraft now felt full confidence in Hen- 
 nessy ; but would have given a trifle to renew his acquaint- 
 ance with Mr. Rowland Drum, by whose ingenuity he was 
 so completely outwitted. As it was, they scoured the coun- 
 try in search of the inmates of the cave, but above all things 
 in search of Reilly, for whose capture Whitecraft would 
 have forgiven every man in the cavern. The search, how- 
 ever, was unsuccessful ; not a man of them was caught that 
 day, and gallant Sir Robert and his myrmidons were obliged 
 to return wearied and disappointed men. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 REILLY IS TAKEN, BUT CONNIVED AT EY THE SHERIFF 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN MASS. 
 
 REILLY and the bishop traversed a wild and remote 
 part of the country, in which there was nothing to be 
 seen but long barren wastes, over which were studded, here 
 and there, a few solitary huts ; upon its extremity, how- 
 ever, there were some houses of a more comfortable descrip- 
 tion, the habitations of middling farmers, who possessed 
 small farms at a moderate rent. As they went along, the 
 prelate addressed Reilly in the following terms : 
 
 11 Mr. Reilly," said he, " I would advise you to get out of 
 this unhappy country as soon as you can." 
 
 " My lord," replied Reilly, who was all candor and truth, 
 and never could conceal his sentiments, at whatever risk, 
 11 I cannot think of leaving the country, let the conse- 
 quences be what they may. I will not trouble your lord-
 
 200 WILLY REILLY 
 
 ship with my motives, because they are at variance with 
 your character and religious feelings ; but they are not at 
 variance with religion or morality. It is enough to say that 
 I wish to prevent a beautiful and innocent girl from being 
 sacrificed. My lord, you know too well that persecution is 
 abroad ; and when I tell you that, through the influence 
 which this admirable creature has over her father — who, by 
 the way, has himself the character of a persecutor — many 
 Catholics have been protected by him, I am sure you will 
 not blame me for the interest which I feel in her fate. In 
 addition to this, my lord, she has been a ministering angel 
 to the Catholic poor in general, and has contributed vast 
 sums, privately, to the relief of such of our priesthood as 
 have been brought to distress by the persecution of the 
 times. Nay, she has so far influenced her father that pro- 
 scribed priests have found refuge and protection in his 
 house." 
 
 " The bishop, on hearing this, stood, and taking off his 
 hat, raised his right hand, and said : " May the blessing of 
 the Almighty God rest upon her, and guard her from the 
 snares of those who would make her unhappy ! But, Reilly, 
 as you say you are determined, if possible, to rescue her 
 from ruin, you know that if you go at large in your usual 
 dress you will unquestionably be taken. I advise you, then, 
 to disguise yourself in such a way as that you will not, if 
 possible, be known." 
 
 " Such, my lord, is my intention — but who is this ? what 
 — eh — yes, 'tis Fergus O'Reilly, a distant and humble rela- 
 tion of mine who is also in disguise. Well, Fergus, where 
 have you been for some time past ?" 
 
 " It would be difficult to tell that, God knows ; I have 
 been everywhere — but," he added in a whisper, "may I 
 speak freely ?' ' 
 
 " As free as the wind that blows, Fergus." 
 
 "Well, then, I tell you that Sir Robert Whitecraft has 
 engaged me to be on the lookout for you, and said that I 
 would be handsomely rewarded if I could succeed in en- 
 abling the scoundrel to apprehend you." 
 
 "But how did that come about, Fergus?" 
 
 " Faith, he met me one day — you see I have got a bag at 
 my back — and taking me for a beggarman, stopped me on the 
 road. ' I say, you, poor man,' says he, ' what's your name?'
 
 WILLY REILLY. 201 
 
 1 Paddy M'Fud,' says I — ' I belong to the M'Fuds of Bally- 
 mackknockem. ' ' You're a beggar, ' says he, ' and travel from 
 place to place about the country.' ' It's true enough, 
 your honor,' I replied, ' I travel about a good deal, of 
 coorse, and it's only that way that I get my bit and sup.' ' Do 
 you know the notorious villain called Willy Reilly ? ' ' Not 
 by sight, your honor, but I have often heard of him. 
 Wasn't he in love with the beautiful Cooleen Bawn, Squire 
 Folliard's daughter ? ' ' That's not the question between 
 us, ' he said, ' but if you enable me to catch Reilly, I will 
 give you twenty pounds.' ' Well, your honor,' says I, ' lave 
 the thing to myself ; if he is to be had it'll go hard but I'll 
 find him.' ' Well, then,' says he, ' if you can tell me where 
 he is I will give you twenty pounds, as I said.' 'Well, 
 sir,' says I, ' I expect to hear from you ; I am not sure he's 
 in die country — indeed they say he is not — but if he is, I 
 think I'll find him for you ; ' and so we parted." 
 
 " Fergus," said Reilly, " I feel that a disguise is neces- 
 sary. Here is money to enable you to purchase one. I do 
 not know where you may be able to find me ; but go and 
 buy me a suit of frieze, rather worn, a dingy caubeen hat, 
 coarse Connemara stockings, and a pair of clouted brogues ; 
 some coarse linen, too; because the fineness of my shirts, 
 should I happen to be apprehended, might betray me. 
 Leave them with Widow Buckley, and I can find them 
 there." 
 
 It was so arranged. Fergus went on his way, as did 
 Reilly and the bishop. The latter conducted him to the 
 house of a middling farmer, whose son the bishop had sent, 
 at his own expense, to a continental college. They were 
 both received with the warmest affection, and, so far as the 
 bishop was concerned, with every expression of the deepest 
 gratitude. The situation was remote, and the tumult of 
 pursuit did not reach them. Reilly privately forced upon 
 the farmer compensation for their support, under a solemn 
 injunction that he should not communicate that circum- 
 stance to the bishop, and neither did he. They were here, 
 then, comparatively safe, but still Reilly dreaded the active 
 vigilance of his deadly enemy, Sir Robert Whitecraft. He 
 felt that a disguise was absolutely necessary, and that, with- 
 out it, he might fall a sacrifice to the diabolical vengeance of 
 his powerful enemy. In the course of about ten days after
 
 202 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 he had commissioned Fergus to procure him the disguise, he 
 resolved to visit widow Buckley, in order to make the neces- 
 sary exchange in his apparel. He accordingly set out — 
 very foolishly we must admit — in open day, to go to the 
 widow's house. The distance was some miles. No appear- 
 ance of danger, or pursuit, was evident, until he came to the 
 sharp angle of the road, where he was met by four powerful 
 constables, who, on looking at him, immediately surrounded 
 him and made him prisoner. Resistance was impossible ; 
 they were well armed, and he was without any weapon with 
 which he could defend himself. 
 
 "We have a warrant for your apprehension, sir," said 
 one of them. 
 
 "Upon what grounds?" replied Reilly. "I am con- 
 scious of no offence against the laws of the land. Do you 
 know who I am ? and is my name in your warrant ?" 
 
 " No, but your appearance answers completely to the de- 
 scription given in the Hue and Cry. Your dress is the same 
 as that of the robber, and you must come with us to the 
 sheriff whom you have robbed. His house is only a quarter 
 of a mile from this." 
 
 They accordingly proceeded to the sheriff's house, whom 
 they found at home. On being informed that they had cap- 
 tured the man who had robbed him, he came downstairs 
 with great alacrity, and in a spirit replete with vengeance 
 against the robber. The sheriff, however, was really a 
 good-natured and conscientious man, and would not lend 
 himself to a dishonorable act, nor had he ever been known 
 to do so. When he appeared, Reilly addressed him : 
 
 " I am here, sir," said he, " under a charge of having 
 robbed you. The charge against me is ridiculous. I am a 
 gentleman, and never was under the necessity of having 
 recourse to such unlawful means of raising money." 
 
 " Well," replied the sheriff, " your dress is precisely the 
 same as the fellow wore when he robbed me. But I feel 
 confident that you are not the man. Your hair is black, his 
 was red, and he had large red whiskers. In the excitement 
 and agitation of the moment I forgot to mark the villain's 
 features distinctly ; but I have since thought over the mat- 
 ter, and I say that I would now know him if I saw him again. 
 This, however," he added, turning to the constables, ** is not 
 the person who robbed and beat me down from my horse."
 
 WILLY REILLY. 203 
 
 " But he may be Willy Reilly, sir, for all that ; and you 
 know the reward that is offered for his apprehension." 
 
 " I know Willy Reilly," replied the Sheriff, " and I can 
 assure you that this gentleman is not Willy Reilly. Go, now, 
 continue your pursuit. The robber lurks somewhere in the 
 neighborhood. You know the reward ; catch him, and you 
 shall have it." 
 
 The constables departed ; and after they had gone the 
 sheriff said, 
 
 " Mr. Reilly, I know you well ; but I would scorn to 
 avail myself of the circumstance which has thus occurred. 
 I am aware of the motive which urges Sir Robert Whitecraft 
 against you — so is the whole country. That penurious and 
 unprincipled villain is thirsting for your blood. Mr. Hast- 
 ings, however, has a rod in pickle for him, and he will be 
 made to feel it in the course of time. The present adminis- 
 tration is certainly an anti-Catholic one ; but I understand 
 it is tottering, and that a more liberal one will come in. 
 This Whitecraft has succeeded in getting some young profli- 
 gate Catholics to become Protestants, who have, conse- 
 quently, ousted their fathers out of their estates and prop- 
 erty ; younger sons, who, by this act of treachery, will get 
 the estates into their own possession. The thing is mon- 
 strous and unnatural. But let that pass ; Whitecraft is on 
 our trail in all directions ; beware of him, I say ; and I 
 think, with great respect to you, Mr. Reilly, it is extremely 
 foolish to go abroad in your usual apparel, and without dis- 
 guise." 
 
 11 Sir," replied Reilly, " I cannot express, as I would 
 wish, my deep gratitude to you for your kindness and for- 
 bearance. That Sir Robert Whitecraft is thirsting for my 
 blood I know. The cause of that vengeance is now noto- 
 rious." 
 
 " You know Mr. Hastings, Mr. Reilly ?" 
 
 11 Intimately, sir." 
 
 11 He took your property in his own name ?" 
 
 11 He did, sir ; he purchased it in his own name. The 
 property was hereditary property, and when my title to it, in 
 point of law, as a Catholic, was questioned, and when one 
 of my family, as a Protestant, put in his claim for it, Mr. 
 Hastings came in as the purchaser, and ousted him. The 
 money was supplied by me. The moment, however, that I
 
 2 04 WILLY REILLY, 
 
 found Whitecraft was after me, I immediately surrendered 
 the whole of it back to him ; so that Sir Robert, in burning 
 what he considered my property, in fact burned Mr. Hast- 
 ings'. 
 
 11 And I have reason to know, Mr. Reilly, that it will be 
 the blackest act of his guilty life. This, however, I mention 
 to you in the strictest confidence. Keep the secret, for if it 
 transpired the scoundrel might escape from the conse- 
 quences of his own cruelty and oppression. In the mean- 
 time, do you take care of yourself — keep out of his way, and, 
 as I said, above all things, procure a disguise. Let the con- 
 sequences be what they may, I don't think the beautiful 
 Cooleen Bawn will ever marry him." 
 
 " But," replied Reilly, " is there no risk of compulsion 
 by her father ?" 
 
 11 Why, I must confess there is," replied the sheriff ; "he 
 is obstinate and headstrong, especially if opposed, and she 
 will find it necessary to oppose him — and she will oppose 
 him. I myself have had a conversation with her on the 
 subject, and she is firm as fate against such a union ; and I 
 will tell you more, Reilly — it was she who principally en- 
 gaged me to protect you as far as I could, and so I shall, 
 you may rest assured of it. I had only to name you a few 
 minutes ago, and your fate was sealed. But, even if she 
 had never spoken to me on the subject, I could not lend 
 myself to the cruel plots of that villain. God knows, in 
 consequence of my official situation, I am put upon tasks 
 that are very painful to me ; levying fines from men who are 
 harmless and inoffensive, who are peaceable members of soci- 
 ety, who teach the people to be moral, well conducted, and 
 obedient to the laws, and who do not themselves violate them. 
 Now, ' ' he added, ' ' be advised by me, and disguise yourself. ' ' 
 
 " Sir, " said Reilly, "your sentiments do you honor ; I 
 am this moment on. my way to put on a disguise, which has 
 been procured for me. I agree with you and other friends 
 that it would be impossible for me to remain in the country 
 in my own natural aspect and dress. Allow me, before I 
 go, to express my sense of your kindness, and believe me I 
 shall never forget it." 
 
 " The disguise, above all things," said the sheriff, smiling 
 and holding out his hand. Reilly seized it with a warm 
 pressure ; they bid each other farewell, and so they parted.
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 205 
 
 Reilly then wound his way to the cottage of Mrs. Buck- 
 ley, but not by the public road. He took across the fields, 
 and, in due time, reached her humble habitation. Here he 
 found the disguise, which his friend Fergus had provided — 
 a half-worn frieze coat, a half-worn caubeen, and a half- 
 worn pair of corduroy breeches, clouted brogues, and Con- 
 nemara stockings, also the worse for the wear, with two or 
 three coarse shirts, in perfect keeping with the other portion 
 of the disguise. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Buckley," said he, " how have you been 
 since I saw you last ?' ' 
 
 " Oh, then, Mr. Reilly," said she, "it's a miracle from 
 God that you did not think of stopping here ! I had 
 several visits from the sogers who came out to look for 
 you." 
 
 11 Well, I suppose so, Mrs Buckley ; but it was one com- 
 fort that they did not find me." 
 
 " God be praised for that !" replied the poor woman, 
 with tears in her eyes; "it would a' broken my heart if 
 you had been catched in my little place." 
 
 11 But, Mrs. Buckley," said Reilly, " were there any plain 
 clothes left for me here ?" 
 
 11 Oh, indeed there was, sir," she replied, "and I have 
 them safe for you ; but, in the meantime, I'll go outside, 
 and have an eye about the country, for somehow they have 
 taken it into their heads that this would be a very likely 
 place to find you." 
 
 While she was out, Reilly changed his dress, and in a few 
 minutes underwent such a metamorphosis that poor Mrs. 
 Buckley, on re-entering the house, felt quite alarmed. 
 
 " Heavenly Father ! my good man, where did you come 
 from? I thought I left Mr. — " here she stopped, afraid 
 to mention Reilly' s name. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, Mrs. Buckley," said Reilly ; " I am 
 only changed in outward appearance ; I am your true friend 
 still; and now accept this for your kindness," placing 
 money in her hand. 
 
 " I can't, Mr. Reilly ; you are under the persecutions, 
 and will want all the money you have to support yourself. 
 Didn't the thieves of the devil burn you out and rob you, 
 and how can you get through this wicked world without 
 money — keep it yourself, for I don't want it."
 
 206 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 11 Come, come, Mrs. Buckley, I have money enough ; you 
 must take this ; I only ask you to conceal these clothes in 
 some place where the hell-hounds of the law can't find them. 
 And now, good-by, Mrs. Buckley ; I shall take care that, 
 whatever may happen me, you shall not be disturbed out of 
 your little cabin and your garden." 
 
 The tears ran down the poor old woman's cheeks, and Reilly 
 left her sobbing and crying behind him. This indeed was 
 an eventful day to him. Strong in the confidence of his dis- 
 guise, he took the public road, and had not gone far when he 
 met a party of Sir Robert Whitecraft's. To fly would have 
 been instant ruin ; he accordingly commenced an old Irish 
 song at the very top of his lungs. Sir Robert Whitecraft was 
 not himself of the party, but scarcely any individual was 
 met by them whom they did not cross-examine. 
 
 " Hallo, my good fellow," said the leader of the party, 
 11 what is that you're singin'?" 
 
 Reilly stared at him like a man who was sorely puzzled ; 
 11 Ha mil bearla agum;* that is, "I have no English." 
 
 '* Here, Connor, you can speak Irish ; sift this able-bodied 
 tyke." 
 
 A conversation in that language then took place between 
 them which reflected everlasting honor upon Connor, who, 
 by the way, was one of Reilly 's tenants, but himself and his 
 progenitors were Protestants for three generations. He was 
 a sharp, keen man, but generous and honorable, and after 
 two or three glances at our hero, at once recognized him. 
 This he could only intimate by a wink, for he knew that 
 there were other persons there who spoke Irish as well as 
 either of them. The dialogue, however, was not long, 
 neither was it kind-hearted Connor's wish that it should be 
 so. He was asked, however, if he knew any thing about 
 Willy Reilly, to which he replied that he did not, only by 
 all accounts he had left the country. This, indeed, was the 
 general opinion. 
 
 " This blockhead," said Connor, "knows nothing about 
 him, only what he has heard ; he's a pig dealer, and is now 
 on his way to the fair of Sligo ; come on." 
 
 They passed onwards, and Reilly resumed his journey and 
 his song. 
 
 On reaching the farmer's house where he and the bishop 
 lodged, the unhappy prelate felt rather annoyed at the ap-
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 207 
 
 pearance of a stranger, and was about to reprove their host 
 for his carelessness in admitting such persons. 
 
 " What do you want here, my good man ?" inquired the 
 farmer. 
 
 " Do you wish to say any thing to me ?" asked the bishop. 
 
 " A few words," replied Reilly; but, on consideration, 
 he changed his purpose of playing off a good-humored joke on 
 his lordship and the farmer. For the melancholy prelate 
 he felt the deepest compassion and respect, and apprehended 
 that any tampering with his feelings might be attended with 
 dangerous consequences to his intellect. He consequently 
 changed his purpose, and added, " My lord, don't you 
 know me ?" 
 
 The bishop looked at him, and it was not without consid- 
 erable scrutiny that he recognized him. 
 
 In the meantime the farmer, who had left the room pre- 
 vious to this explanation, and who looked upon Reilly as an 
 impostor or a spy, returned with a stout oaken cudgel, ex- 
 claiming, " Now, you damned desaver, I will give you a 
 jacketful of sore bones for comin' to pry about here. This 
 gintleman is a doctor ; three of my family are lying ill of 
 faver, and that you may catch it I pray gorra this day ! but 
 if you won't catch that, you'll catch this," and he whirled 
 the cudgel about his head, and most unquestionably it 
 would have descended on Reilly 's cranium were it not for 
 the bishop, who interposed and prevented the meditated 
 violence. 
 
 " Be quiet, Kelly," said he, " be quiet, sir ; this is Mr. 
 Reilly disguised." 
 
 11 Troth, I must look closely at him first," replied Kelly ; 
 " who knows but he's imposin' upon you, Dr. Wilson ?" 
 
 Kelly then looked closely into his face, still holding a firm 
 grip of the cudgel. 
 
 " Why, Kelly," said Reilly, " what the deuce are you at ? 
 Don't you know my voice at least ?" 
 
 ** Well," replied Kelly, " bad luck to the like o' that ever 
 I see. Holy Moses, Mr. Reilly, but you had a narrow es- 
 cape. Devil a man in the barony can handle a cudgel as I 
 can, and it was a miracle, and you may thank his lordship 
 here for it that you hadn't a shirtful of sore bones." 
 
 11 Well, my dear friend," said Reilly, " put up your cud- 
 gel ; I really don't covet a shirtful of sore bones ; but, after
 
 2oS WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 all, perhaps you would have found my fist a match for your 
 cudgel." 
 
 14 Nonsense !" replied Kelly ; " but God be praised that 
 you escaped the welting anyhow ; I would never forgive my- 
 self, and you the friend of his lordship." 
 
 He then left the room, his terrific cudgel under his arm, 
 and Reilly, after his absence, related to the bishop the events 
 of the day, involving, as they did, the two narrow escapes 
 which he had had. The bishop thanked God, and told 
 Reilly to be of good courage, for that he thought the hand of 
 Providence was protecting him. 
 
 The life they led here was, at all events, quiet and peace- 
 able. The bishop was a man of singular, indeed of apostolic, 
 piety. He spent most of the day in meditation and prayer ; 
 fasting beyond the powers of his enfeebled constitution : 
 and indeed it was fortunate that Reilly had accompanied 
 him, for so ascetic were his habits that were it not for his 
 entreaties, and the influence which he had gained over him, 
 it is not at all unlikely that his unfortunate malady might 
 have returned. The neighborhood in which they resided 
 was, as we have said, remote, and exclusively Catholic ; and 
 upon Sundays the bishop celebrated mass upon a little grassy 
 platform — or rather in a little cave, into which it led. This 
 cave was small, barely large enough to contain a table, which 
 served as a temporary altar, the poor shivering congregation 
 kneeling on the platform outside. At this period of our 
 story all the Catholic chapels and places of worship were, 
 as we have said, closed by proclamation, and the poor people 
 were deprived of the means of meeting to worship God. It 
 had soon, however, become known to them that an oppor- 
 tunity of public worship was to be had every Sunday, at the 
 place we have described. Messengers had been sent among 
 them with information to that effect ; and the consequence 
 was that they not only kept the secret, but flocked^ in con- 
 siderable numbers to attend mass. On the Sunday following 
 the adoption of Reilly's disguise, the bishop and he pro- 
 ceeded to the little cave, or rather cleft, where a table had 
 been placed, together with the vestments necessary for the 
 ceremony. They found about two or three hundred persons 
 assembled — most of them of the humblest class. The day 
 was stormy in the extreme. It was a hard frost, and the snow, 
 besides, falling heavily, the wind strong, and raging in hoi-
 
 THE SECRET MA88 INTERRUPTED.
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 209 
 
 low gusts about the place. The position of the table-altar, 
 however, saved the bishop and the chalice, and the other 
 matters necessary for the performance of worship, from the 
 direct fury of the blast, but not altogether ; for occasionally 
 a whirlwind would come up, and toss over the leaves of the 
 missal in such a way, and with such violence, that the 
 bishop, who was now trembling from the cold, was obliged 
 to lose some time in finding out the proper passages. It 
 was a solemn sight to see two or three hundred persons 
 kneeling, and bent in prostrate and heartfelt adoration, in 
 the pious worship of that God who sends and withholds the 
 storm ; bareheaded, too, under the piercing drift of the 
 thick-falling granular snow, and thinking of nothing but their 
 own sins, and that gladsome opportunity of approaching the 
 forbidden altar of God, now doubly dear to them that it 
 was forbidden. As the ceremony was proceeding the bishop 
 was getting on to that portion of the sacred rites where the 
 consecration and elevation of the Host are necessary, and it 
 was observed by all that an extraordinary and sudden lull 
 took place, and that the rage of the storm had altogether 
 ceased. He proceeded, and had consecrated the Host — 
 hoc est corpus meum — when a cry of terror arose from the 
 affrighted congregation. 
 
 " My lord, fly, and save yourself ! Captain Smell priest 
 and his gang are upon us." 
 
 The bishop never once turned round, nor seemed to hear 
 them ; but Reilly did, and saw that the whole congregation 
 had fled, and that there only remained the bishop and him- 
 self. 
 
 " Our day of doom," said he to himself, " is come. 
 Nothing now can save us." 
 
 Still the bishop proceeded undisturbed in the worship of 
 the Almighty ; when, lo ! the military party, headed and led 
 on by the notorious Captain Smellpriest, came thundering 
 up, the captain exclaiming : 
 
 11 You idolatrous Papist, stop that mummery — or you 
 shall have twelve bullets in your heart before half a minute's 
 time." 
 
 The bishop had consecrated the Host, as we have said, 
 but had not yet had time to receive it. 
 
 " Men," said Smellpriest, " you are all primed and 
 Haded. Present."
 
 210 WILLY RELLLY. 
 
 They accordingly did so ; every musket was levelled at 
 him. The bishop now turned round, and, with the calmness 
 of a martyr — a calmness and conduct that were sublime — he 
 said : 
 
 " Sir, I am engaged in the worship of the Eternal God, 
 and if you wish to shed my blood I should rather it were 
 here and now than in any other place. Give me but a 
 few minutes — I do not ask more." 
 
 " Oh," said Smellpriest, " we will give you ten, if you 
 wish it, and the more so because we are sure of you." 
 
 When the bishop turned round again, after having received 
 the Host, his pale face had altogether changed its com- 
 plexion — it burned with an expression which it is difficult to 
 describe. A lofty sense of the sacrifice he was about to 
 make was visible in his kindling and enthusiastic eye ; his 
 feeble frame, that had been, during the ceremony of mass, 
 shivering under the effects of the terrible storm that howled 
 around them, now became firm, and not the slightest mark 
 of fear or terror was visible in his bearing ; calmly and un- 
 dauntedly he turned round, and with a voice full and steady 
 he said : 
 
 "I am willing to die for my religion, but I say to you 
 that the slaughter of an inoffensive man at the foot of 
 God's altar will not smooth the pillow of your deathbed, 
 nor of those who shoot down a minister of God while in 
 the act of worshipping his Creator. My congregation, poor 
 timid creatures, have fled, but as for me, I will not ! I dare 
 not ! Here, now, I spread out my arms — fire !" 
 
 11 I also," said Reilly, " will partake of whatever fate may 
 befall the venerable clergyman who is before you," and he 
 stood up side by side with the bishop. 
 
 The guns were still levelled, the fingers of the men on the 
 triggers, when Smellpriest shouted out, " Ground arms ! 
 
 By ," says he, "here is a new case; this fellow has 
 
 spunk and courage, and curse me, although I give the priests 
 a chase wherever I can, still I am a soldier, and a man of 
 courage, and to shoot down a priest in the worship of God 
 would be cowardly. No, I can't do it — nor I won't ; I like 
 pluck, and this priest has shown it. Had he taken to his 
 
 heels, by , he would have had half a dozen bullets in 
 
 his rear ; but, as I said, I like pluck, and on that account 
 we shall pass him by this time. To the right about. As to
 
 WILLY REILLY. 21 1 
 
 the clerk, by , he has shown pluck too, but be hanged 
 
 to him, what do we care about him? 11 
 
 "We must say a word or two here about Smellpriest. He 
 was, in the true sense of the word, a priest-hunter ; but yet, 
 with all his bigotry, he was a brave man, and could appre- 
 ciate courage wherever he found it. The reader already 
 knows that his range of persecution was by no means either 
 so wide or so comprehensive as that of the coward White- 
 craft. He was a dashing, outspoken fellow, with an equal 
 portion of boisterous folly and mischief ; whereas White- 
 craft was a perfect snake — treacherous, cruel, persevering in 
 his enmity, and unrelenting in his vengeance. Such was 
 the difference in the character of these two worthies. 
 
 After Smellpriest had drawn off his men, the bishop con- 
 cluded the ceremony of the mass ; but when he turned 
 round to announce its conclusion in the words, ite } missa est, 
 there was not a soul before him, the terrified congregation, 
 as we have said, having all betaken themselves to flight. 
 Reilly then assisted him to unrobe, and placed the vestments, 
 the chalice, pix, and every thing connected with the cere- 
 mony, in a pair of saddle-bags, which belonged to the parish 
 priest, whose altar was then closed, as we said, by proclama- 
 tion. 
 
 Reilly and the bishop then proceeded to the farmer's 
 house, Reilly carrying the saddle-bags, and as they went 
 along the following conversation took place between them : 
 
 " My lord," said his companion, " if I might presume to 
 advise you, I think it would be more prudent for you to re- 
 tire to the Continent for a time. This ferocious captain, 
 who, subdued by the sublime tenor of your conduct, spared 
 you on this occasion, may not under other and less impres- 
 sive circumstances, exercise a similar forbearance." 
 
 " But, my dear Reilly," replied the bishop, in a tone of 
 deep melancholy, " I am not in circumstances to go to the 
 Continent ; I am poor ; most of my available money I have 
 distributed among the unhappy people, until I am now 
 nearly as poor as themselves ; but, independently of that, I 
 do not think it would be right to abandon the charge which 
 God has entrusted to my keeping. The shepherd should 
 not desert his flock, especially in the moment of danger, 
 when the wolves are abroad." 
 
 11 But, my lord," replied Reilly, " under the present cir-
 
 212 WILLY RELLLY. 
 
 cumstances of the country your residence here can be of no 
 service to them. The chapels are all closed, and public 
 worship forbidden by law. This cannot, and, I hope, will 
 not, last long ; but in the meantime, think if it be not 
 wiser in you to go for a time into what I may call a volun- 
 tary exile, than be forced into banishment by a cruel edict 
 of the law, as you will be if you should be discovered." 
 
 " There is great truth in what you say, my dear Reilly, 
 and on thinking over the circumstances of the country, I am 
 indeed of opinion that your advice is good ; but, unfortu- 
 nately, my present poverty prevents me from acting on it." 
 
 "But that shall not be, my lord; I have the means — 
 amply, too — of enabling your lordship to withdraw to the 
 Continent, where you can remain quite safe until better times 
 return, as I hope in God they will soon." 
 
 " And yourself, Reilly ? why not accompany me ? You, 
 it is said, are outlawed ; why then remain in a country 
 where your danger is still greater than mine ?" 
 
 " My lord," replied Reilly, " do not press me on that 
 subject." 
 
 "I do not wish to do so, Reilly ; but here are the cir- 
 cumstances : you and the beautiful daughter of that old 
 squire are attached — in other words, you love each other 
 passionately. Now, you know, marriage is impossible, un- 
 less you should abandon the creed of your fathers." 
 
 11 I think, my lord," replied Reilly, in a very serious and 
 somewhat offended tone, " that my conduct this day, and 
 within the last half hour, was not that of a man likely to 
 abandon the creed of his fathers." 
 
 14 Certainly not — most certainly not," replied the bishop. 
 11 I would have died this day for my religion, and so would 
 you." 
 
 11 And so would I certainly, my lord, any day, sooner 
 than renounce it for the love of woman. So far let your 
 lordship's mind be at rest. But in the meantime, let me 
 impress upon your lordship's consideration the absolute 
 necessity of retiring to the Continent for a time. Your 
 lordship's charity has made you poor ; but, thank God, I 
 am not poor — but in a position to place £200 in your hands 
 to enable you to bear the expenses of your voyage, and to 
 maintain your ecclesiastical rank and position for a time, 
 when you get there."
 
 WILLY REILLY. 213 
 
 " Oh," replied the bishop, " if I were once there, very- 
 little money would be necessary ; I could almost immediately 
 get a professorship of divinity, especially in the College of 
 Louvain, where I held a professorship for several years." 
 
 It was arranged that the bishop should go, at least until 
 the times should change, and in the course of a week, Reilly 
 having furnished him with the necessary funds, he departed 
 and reached the Continent in safety. 
 
 Their separation was extremely affecting. The bishop 
 wept bitterly, not only in consequence of his parting with 
 Reilly, but still more because he was forced to separate 
 himself from his flock. Reilly was deeply affected, nor 
 could he restrain his tears. The bishop put his hand on 
 his head and blessed him. " I feel," said he, " as if it were 
 a prophetic impulse, that God will bring you out of the trib- 
 ulations that encompass you. Forget not his word nor his 
 law ; love and adhere to your religion ; be guided by its 
 precepts, let them sink deeply into your heart. Take care, 
 also, that the love of woman shall not seduce you from your 
 allegiance to our Church. And now, may the Almighty 
 God bless and protect you, and rescue you from the hands 
 and the snares of your enemies !" And so they parted. 
 
 No stronger proof could exist, so far as the Coolcen Baton 
 was concerned, than her extraordinary power of conciliating 
 love and attachment from all who approached her, or were 
 engaged in attending upon her person. The singular soft- 
 ness of her sweet and mellow voice was in itself an exponent 
 of the remarkable suavity and benignity of her disposition. 
 In fact, she carried a charm about her — an atmosphere of 
 kindness and benevolence that no human being who came 
 within its influence could resist. Her smile was a perfect 
 fascination, which, in addition to her elegance of form — her 
 grace and harmony of motion — her extensive charity — her 
 noble liberality of sentiment — and, above all, her dazzling 
 beauty, constituted a character which encircled her with ad- 
 miration and something almost bordering on worship. 
 
 At this time a scheme came into the fertile brain of 
 Whitecraft, worthy of being concocted only in the infernal 
 pit itself. This was to prevail on the squire to remove her 
 faithful, attached, and confidential maid, Ellen Connor, 
 from about her person, under the plea that as, unfortunately, 
 Miss Folliard had been seduced into an affection for Reilly,
 
 214 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 it was not only probable that her attendant had originated 
 and encouraged her passion, but that it was also likely that, 
 as Reilly was a Catholic, Connor, the confidant, being her- 
 self of that persuasion, might so work upon the feelings and 
 principles of his daughter as to induce her, for the sake of 
 the more easily bringing about their marriage, to abandon 
 her own religion, and embrace that of her lover. The old 
 man became instantly alarmed, and, with his usual fiery im- 
 petuosity, lost not a moment in dismissing her altogether 
 from his family. 
 
 When this faithful girl found that she was about to be sep- 
 arated from her fair and affectionate young mistress, no lan- 
 guage could depict the violence of her grief, nor could that 
 mistress herself refuse the tribute of her tears to her sense 
 of the loss which she knew she must sustain by her absence 
 at a crisis when she stood so much in need of her friendship 
 and attachment. 
 
 " Oh ! it is not for myself, my dear mistress, that I feel 
 this grief," exclaimed Connor, weeping bitterly as she spoke, 
 " but for you. Here you will be alone," she proceeded, 
 " without one being on whom you can depend, or to whom 
 you can open your heart — for many a time you eased that 
 poor heart by telling me of your love for him, and by 
 dwellin' upon his accomplishments and beauty — and, in- 
 deed, it's no wonder you should, for where, oh ! where is 
 his aiquil to be found ? Like yourself, every one that comes 
 near him must love him ; and, like you, again, isn't he 
 charity itself to the poor, no matter what their creed may 
 be — oh, no ! it's he that is neither the bigot nor the oppres- 
 sor, although God he knows what he himself is sufferin* 
 from both. God's curse on that blasted Sir Robert White- 
 craft ! I declare to mercy, I think, if I was a man, that I'd 
 shoot him, like a mad dog, and free the country of him at 
 wanst." 
 
 The Cooleen was herself in tears, occasioned by such a 
 glowing picture of her lover, as well as by the loss of this 
 faithful and devoted girl. Yet she could not repress a smile 
 at the indignation expressed by Ellen against the man whom 
 she looked upon with such detestation and abhorrence. 
 
 11 My dear Ellen," said she, drying her tears, " we must 
 only have patience. Every thing is in the hands of God, 
 and in him let us trust. Do not weep so. It is true that,
 
 WILLY REILLY. 215 
 
 without your society, I shall feel as if I were in a desert, or 
 rather, I should say, in a dungeon ; for, indeed, I fear that I 
 am about to become a prisoner in my father's house, and 
 entangled more and more every day in the meshes of that 
 detestable villain. In the meantime, we must, as I said, 
 have courage and patience, and trust to a change of circum- 
 stances for better times." 
 
 " May the Lord in heaven grant them soon and sudden, 
 for both your sakes," ejaculated Ellen. " I pray the Sav- 
 iour that he may !" 
 
 11 But, Ellen," said the Coolecn, " didn't you hint to me, 
 once or twice, that you yourself have, or had, a lover named 
 Reilly ?" 
 
 11 I did," she replied, " not that I have, but that I had — 
 and, what is more, an humble and distant relation of his." 
 
 " You say you had. What do you mean by that, Ellen ? 
 Have you, too, experienced your crosses and calamities ?" 
 
 " Indeed, ma'am, I have had my share ; and I know too 
 well what it is to have the heart within as full of sorrow, and 
 all but broken.'' 
 
 11 Why, my poor girl, and have you too experienced dis- 
 appointment and affliction ?" 
 
 " God, ma'am, has given me my share ; but, in my case, 
 the affliction was greater than the disappointment, although 
 that too came soon enough upon me." 
 
 11 Why, did not the affliction, in your case, proceed from 
 the disappointment ?" 
 
 " Not exactly, miss, but indeed partly it did. It's but a 
 short story, my dear mistress, and I'll tell it to you. Fergus 
 is his name — Fergus O'Reilly. His father, for doin' some- 
 thing or other contrary to the laws — harborin' some outlaw, 
 I believe, that was a relation of his own, and who was found 
 by the army in his house — well, his father, a very ould man, 
 was taken prisoner, and put into jail, where he died before 
 they could try him ; and well it was he did so, for, by all 
 accounts, they'd have transported or hanged the poor ould 
 man, who was then past seventy. Now, over and above that, 
 they'd have done the same thing with his son Fergus, but 
 that he disappeared and but few knows what became of him. " 
 
 " Why, did he go without having had an interview with 
 you ?" asked the Cooleen. 
 
 " Indeed he did, miss, and small blame to him ; for the
 
 2i6 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 truth is, he had little time for leave takin' — it was as much 
 as he could do to make his escape, which, thank God, he 
 did. But, indeed, I oughtn't to thank God for it, I doubt, 
 because it would have been better, and ten times more cred- 
 itable to himself, if he had been transported, or hanged it- 
 self — for that, ma'am, is many a good man's case, as every- 
 one knows." 
 
 " I agree with you, Ellen. There is, indeed, a most essen- 
 tial difference between flagitious crimes, such as theft, rob- 
 bery, murder, and other dreadful outrages of that character, 
 and those which may be termed offences arising from politi- 
 cal opinions, which are often honestly entertained by indi- 
 viduals who, in all the relations of life, are sometimes the 
 most exemplary members of society. But proceed, Ellen — 
 what was the result ?" 
 
 Poor Ellen's eyes filled with tears, and she could scarcely 
 summon composure enough to reply : 
 
 " Worse than transportation or even death, my dear mis- 
 tress ; oh ! far worse — guilt and crime. Yes : he that 
 had gained my affections, and gave me his, joined the Red 
 Rapparee and his gang, and became — a robber. I was 
 goin' to say an outlaw, but he was that before he joined 
 them, because he wouldn't submit to the laws — that is, 
 wouldn't submit to be transported, or maybe hanged — or 
 you know, ma'am, how little a thing it is that will either 
 hang or transport any one of our unfortunate creed now." 
 
 " Alas ! my dear Ellen, you forget that I am a living wit- 
 ness of it, and an afflicted one ; but proceed. Have you 
 ever seen your lover since ?" 
 
 " I did, ma'am, but at that time he mentioned nothing 
 about his havin' joined the Rapparees. He came, he said, 
 to bid me farewell, and to tell me that he wasn't worthy of 
 me. ' The stain that's upon me,' said he, ' draws a gulf 
 between you and me that neither of us can ever pass.' He 
 could scarcely speak, but he dashed away the tears that 
 came to his eyes — and — and — so he took his departure. 
 Now, my dear young mistress, you see how well I can un- 
 derstand your case, and the good reason I have to feel for 
 you, as I do, and ever will, until God in his mercy may set 
 you both free from what you're sufferin'." 
 
 11 But, are you certain, Ellen, that he actually has joined 
 the Rapparees ?"
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 217 
 
 " Too sure, ma'am — too sure ; my father had it in private 
 from his own lips, for, as the poor boy said, he hadn't the 
 courage himself to tell me." 
 
 "But, Ellen," asked Miss Folliard, "where had you an 
 opportunity of seeing and becoming acquainted with this 
 young man ? You surely could not have known him, or 
 conceived an attachment for him, previous to your coming 
 to reside with us ?" 
 
 " Oh, no, ma'am," replied Ellen ; " it was at my father's 
 I became acquainted with him, principally whenever I got 
 lave to spend a Sunday at home. And now, my dear mis- 
 tress," she proceeded, sobbing, " I must go — your poor, 
 faithful Ellen will never let you, nor the thought of your 
 sorrows, out of her heart. All she can do now is to give you 
 her prayers and her tears. Farewell ! my darlin' mistress 
 — may the blessing of God guard and prosper you both, and 
 bring you to the happiness you deserve." She wept bit- 
 terly as she concluded. 
 
 " Ellen," replied her mistress, and she paused — " Ellen," 
 said she again — she would, indeed, have spoken, but, after 
 a silent struggle, she covered her eyes with her handkerchief, 
 and was fairly carried away by her emotions — " Ellen," 
 said she, taking her hand, and recovering herself, " be of 
 courage ; let neither of us despair — a brighter light may 
 shine on our path yet. Perhaps I may have it in my 
 power to befriend you, hereafter. Farewell, Ellen ; and if 
 I can prevail on my father to bring you back, I will." And 
 so they parted. 
 
 Connor's father was a tenant of the squire's, and held 
 rather a comfortable farm of about eighteen or twenty acres. 
 Ellen herself had, when very young, been, by some accident 
 or other, brought within the notice of Mrs. Folliard, who, 
 having been struck by her vivacity, neatness of figure, and 
 good looks, begged permission from her parents to take the 
 little girl under her care, and train her up to wait upon her 
 daughter. She had now been eight years in the squire's 
 family — that is, since her fourteenth — and was only two 
 years older than the Cooleen Bawn, who was now, and had 
 been for the last three years, her only mistress. She had 
 consequently grown, as it were, into all her habits, and we 
 may justly say that there was not an individual in existence 
 who had a better opportunity of knowing and appreciating
 
 21S WILLY A' LILLY. 
 
 her good qualities and virtues ; and, what was much to her 
 honor, she never for a moment obtruded her own private 
 sorrows upon the ear or heart of her mistress, who, she saw, 
 had a sufficient number of her own to bear. 
 
 It was late in the evening when she took farewell of her 
 mistress, and twilight had come on ere she had got within half 
 mile of her father's house. On crossing a stile which led, 
 by a pathway, to the little hamlet in which her father lived, 
 she was both surprised and startled by perceiving Fergus 
 Reilly approach her. He was then out of his disguise, and 
 dressed in his own clothes, for he could not prevail upon 
 himself to approach her father's house, or appear before 
 any of the family, in the tattered garb of a mendicant. On 
 this occasion he came to tell them that he had abandoned 
 the gang of the Red Rapparee, and come to the resolution 
 of seeking his pardon from the Government, having been 
 informed that it offered protection to all who would come 
 in and submit to the laws, provided they had not been guilty 
 of shedding human blood. This intelligence, however, was 
 communicated to the family, as a means of preparing them 
 for still more important information upon the subject of his 
 own liberty — a matter with which the reader will soon be- 
 come acquainted, as he will with the fact of his having left 
 off his disguise only for a brief period. In the meantime, 
 he felt perfectly conscious of the risk he ran of a failure in 
 the accomplishment of his own project, by throwing off his 
 disguise, and was then hastening on his way to the cottage 
 of widow Buckley, where he had left his mendicant apparel 
 for the time being. 
 
 When Ellen saw him she felt a tumult in her bosom 
 which almost overcame her. Her heart palpitated almost 
 audibly, and her knees became feeble under her. There 
 was something so terrible associated with the idea of a Rap- 
 paree that she took it for granted that some frightful trans- 
 formation of person and character must have taken place in 
 him, and that she would now meet a man thoroughly im- 
 bued with all the frightful and savage vices which were so 
 frequently, and too often so generally, attributed to that 
 fierce and formidable class. Still, the recollection of their 
 former affection, and her knowledge of the oppression which 
 had come upon himself and his family, induced her to hope 
 that the principles of humanity could not have been alto-
 
 WILLY REILLY. 219 
 
 gether effaced from his heart. Full of doubt and anxiety, 
 therefore, she paused at the stile, against which she felt it 
 necessary to lean for support, not without a touch of inter- 
 est and somewhat of curiosity, to control the vague appre- 
 hensions which she could not help feeling. We need 
 scarcely inform the reader that the meeting on both sides 
 was accidental and unexpected. 
 
 " Heavenly Father !" exclaimed Ellen, in a voice trem- 
 bling with agitation, " is this Fergus O'Reilly that I see be- 
 fore me ? Fergus, ruined and undone !" She then looked 
 cautiously about her, and added, " Fergus, the Rapparee /" 
 
 " God bless me!" he exclaimed in return, " and may I 
 ask, is this Ellen Connor on my path ?" 
 
 " Well, I think I may say so, in one sense. Sure 
 enough, I am Ellen Connor ; but, unfortunately, not the 
 Ellen Connor that you wanst knew ; neither, unfortunately 
 again, are you the Fergus O'Reilly that I wanst knew. 
 We are both changed, Fergus — I into sorrow, and you into 
 crime." 
 
 " Ellen," said he, nearly as much agitated as herself, " I 
 stand before you simply as Fergus O'Reilly, but not Fergus 
 the Rapparee." 
 
 11 You will not deny your own words to my father," she 
 replied. 
 
 " No, Ellen, I will not — they were true t/ie/i, but, thank 
 God, they are not true now." 
 
 " How is that, Fergus ?" 
 
 11 Simply because I was a Rapparee when I spoke to your 
 father ; but I have left them, once and for ever." 
 
 " How long have you left them ?" 
 
 11 Ever since that night. If it were not for Reilly and 
 those that were out with him duck-shooting, the red villain 
 would have murdhered the squire and Andy Cummiskey, as 
 sure as there is life in my body. After all, it is owin' to Mr. 
 Reilly that I left him and his cursed crew. And now, 
 Ellen, that I have met you, let me spake to you about ould 
 times. In the first place, I am heart sorry for the step I 
 took ; but you know it was oppression and persecution that 
 drove me to it." 
 
 11 Fergus," she replied, " that's no excuse. Persecution 
 may come upon us, but that's no reason why we should 
 allow it to drive us into evil and crime. Don't you know
 
 220 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 that it's such conduct that justifies the persecutors in their 
 own eyes and in the eyes of the world. What will become 
 of you now ? If you're caught, you must die a shameful 
 death." 
 
 11 Devil a fear of it, my darlin' Ellen. I could tell you 
 something, if I thought myself at liberty to do so — some- 
 thing mavourneen, that 'ud give you a light heart." 
 
 "Indeed, Fergus, I don't wish to hear any of your 
 secrets. It's my opinion they would not be fit for me to 
 hear. But in the mane time," she added — prompted by the 
 undying principle of female curiosity, and, let us add, a 
 better and more generous feeling — " in the mane time, Fer- 
 gus, if it's any thing about yourself, and that it would give 
 me a light heart, as you say it would, and that there is noth- 
 ing wrong and dishonorable in it, I would, for your sake, be 
 glad to hear it." 
 
 " Well then, Ellen, I will tell it ; but it must, for rea- 
 sons that there's no use in mentionin' to you, be a secret 
 between us, for some time — not a long time, I hope. I am, 
 thank God, free as the air of heaven, and may walk abroad, 
 openly, in the face of day, if I like, without any one darin' 
 to ask me a question." 
 
 14 But, Fergus," said Ellen, " I don't undherstand this. 
 You were a robber — a Rapparee — and now you are a free 
 man. But what did you do to deserve this at the hands of 
 the Government ?" 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, my darlin' Ellen — nothing unbe- 
 comin' an honest man." 
 
 " I hope," she proceeded — her cheeks mantling with in- 
 dignation and scorn — " I hope, Fergus, you wouldn't think 
 of stoopin' to treachery against the unfortunate, ay, or even 
 against the guilty. I hope you wouldn't sell yourself to the 
 Government, and get your liberty, afther all, only as a bribe 
 for villany, instead of a free gift." 
 
 11 See, now," he returned, " what I have brought on my- 
 self by tellin' you any thing at all about it — a regular ould 
 house on my shouldhers. No, darlin'," he proceeded, 
 " you ought to know me better." 
 
 " Oh, Fergus," she replied quickly, " I thought I knew 
 you wanst. ' ' 
 
 11 Is that generous, Ellen ?" he said, in a tone of deep and 
 melancholy feeling, " afther statin' my sorrow for that step ?"
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 221 
 
 " Well," she replied, moved by what she saw he suffered 
 in consequence of her words, " if I have given you pain, 
 Fergus, forgive me — you know it's not in my nature to give 
 pain to any one, but, above all persons in the world, to 
 you." 
 
 "Well, darlin'," said he, "you will know all in time; 
 but there is a good deal to be done yet. All I can say, and 
 all I will say, is, that if God spares me life, I will take away 
 one of the blackest enemies that Willy Reilly and the Coolecn 
 Bawn has in existence. He would do any thing that the vil- 
 lain of perdition he's a slave to would bid him. Now, I'll 
 say no more ; and I'm sure, as the friend of your beautiful 
 mistress, the fair Cooleen Bawn, you'll thank me for what I 
 have promised to do against the Red Rapparee." 
 
 11 I will pry no further into your affairs or intentions, Fer- 
 gus ; but, if you can take danger out of the way of the Coo- 
 leen Bawn or Reilly, I will forgive you a great deal — every 
 thing, indeed, but treachery or dishonor. But, Fergus, I 
 have something to mention that will take a start out of you. 
 I have been discharged by the squire from his family, and — 
 mavrone, oh ! — I can now be of no service to the Cooleen 
 Bawn. ' ' 
 
 " Discharged !" replied Fergus with astonishment ; " why, 
 how did that come ? But I suppose I needn't ask — some of 
 the mad old Squire's tantrums, I suppose ? And what did 
 the Cooleen Bawn herself say ?" 
 
 11 Why, she cried bitterly when I was lavin' her ; indeed 
 if I had been her sister she couldn't feel more ; and, as 
 might be expected from her, she promised to befriend me 
 as long as she had it in her power ; but, poor thing, if mat- 
 ters go against her, as I'm af eared they will — if she's forced 
 to marry that villain, it's little for any thing that's either 
 good or generous ever she'll have in her power ; but marry 
 him she never will. I heard her say more than wanst that 
 she'd take her own life first ; and indeed I'm sartain she 
 will, too, if she's forced to it. Either that, or she'll lose 
 her senses ; for, indeed, Fergus, the darlin' girl was near 
 losin' them wanst or twic't as it is — may God pity and re- 
 lieve her." 
 
 "Amen," replied Fergus. "And you're now on your 
 way home, I suppose ?" 
 
 " I am," said Ellen, " and every thing belongin' to me is
 
 222 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 to be sent to my father's ; but indeed, Fergus, I don't much 
 care now what becomes of me. My happiness in this world 
 is bound up in hers ; and if she's to be sunk in grief and 
 sorrow, I can never be otherwise — we'll have the one fate, 
 Fergus, and God grant it may be a happy one, although I 
 see no likelihood of it." 
 
 "Come, come, Ellen," replied Fergus, "you think too 
 much of it. The one fate ! No, you won't, unless it is a 
 happy one. I am now free, as I said ; and at present I see 
 nothing to stand between your happiness and mine. We 
 loved one another every bit as well as Reilly and she does — 
 ay, and do still, I hope ; and if they can't be happy, that's 
 no raison why you and I shouldn't. Happy ! There's 
 nothing to prevent us from bein' so. I am free, as I said ; 
 and all we have to do is to lave this unfortunate country and 
 go to some other, where there's neither oppression nor per- 
 secution. If you consent to this, Ellen, I can get the means 
 of bringing us away, and of settlin' comfortably in America." 
 
 " And I to leave the Cooleen Bawn in the uncertain state 
 she's in? No, never, Fergus — never." 
 
 11 Why ? of what use can you be to her now, and you sep- 
 arated from her — ay, and without the power of doin' any 
 thing to sarve her ?" 
 
 " Fergus," said she, resolutely, " it's useless at the pres- 
 ent time to speak to me on this subject. I'm glad you've 
 got yourself from among these cruel and unconscionable 
 Rapparees — I'm glad you're free ; but I tell you that if you 
 had the wealth of Squire Folliard — ay, or of Whitecraft him- 
 self, which they say is still greater, I wouldn't become your 
 wife so long as she's in the state she's in." 
 
 11 That's strong language, Ellen, and I am sorry to hear it 
 from you. My God ! can you think of nobody's happiness 
 but the Cooleen Bawiis? As for me, it's my opinion I like 
 Reilly as well every bit as you do her ; but, for all that, not 
 even the state he's in, nor the danger that surrounds him, 
 would prevent me from marrvin' a wife — from bindin' your 
 heart and mine together for life, my darlin' Ellen." 
 
 " Ah ! Fergus, you're a man — not a woman — and can't 
 undherstand what true attachment is. You men never can. 
 You're a selfish set — at least the most of you are — with 
 some exceptions, I grant." 
 
 "And, upon my soul, Ellen," replied Fergus, with a
 
 WILLY REILLY. 223 
 
 good-humored smile, " I'm one of the choicest and natest 
 of the exceptions. I prefer everybody's happiness to my 
 own — poor Sir Robert Whitecraft's, for instance. Now, 
 don't you call that generosity ?" 
 
 She gave a mournful smile, and replied, " Fergus, I 
 can't join in your mirth now as I used to do. Many a 
 pleasant conversation we've had ; but then our hearts were 
 light, and free from care. No, Fergus, you must lave all 
 thoughts of me aside, for I will have nothing of either love 
 or courtship till I know her fate. Who can say but I may 
 be brought back ? She said she'd try what she could do 
 with her father to effect it. You know how whimsical the 
 old Squire is ; and who knows whether she may not stand 
 in need of me again ? But, Fergus, there's one thing 
 strikes me as odd, and, indeed, that doesn't rise you much 
 in my good opinion. But first, let me ask you, what friend 
 it is who'd give you the means of going to another coun- 
 try ?" 
 
 11 Why, who else but Reilly ?" he replied. 
 
 " And could you," she returned, with something like 
 contempt stamped upon her pretty features — " could you be 
 mane and ungrateful enough to leave him now in the trouble 
 and sorrow that he's in, and think only of yourself ?" 
 
 " No, indeed, my dear Ellen ; but I was only layin' the 
 plan whenever we might be able to put it in practice. 
 I'm not exactly a boy of that kidney — to desart my friend 
 in the day of his trouble — devil a bit of it, my darlin'." 
 
 " Well, I am glad to hear you speak as you do," she 
 said, with a smile ; " and now, to reward your constancy to 
 him, I tell you that whenever they're settled, or, at all 
 events, out of their troubles, if you think me worth your 
 while, I won't have any objection to become your wife ; 
 and — there — what are you about, Fergus ? See this, now — 
 you've almost broken the tortoise-shell crooked-comb that 
 she made me a present of." 
 
 " Why, blood alive, Ellen, sure it was only sealin' the 
 bargain I was. ' ' 
 
 11 But remember it is a bargain, and one I'll stick to. 
 Now leave me ; it's gettin' quite dark ; or, if you like, you 
 may see me across the fields." 
 
 Such, in fact, was the indomitable attachment of this 
 faithful girl to her lovely and affectionate mistress that,
 
 224 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 with a generosity as unselfish as it was rare, and almost 
 heroic, she never for a moment thought of putting her own 
 happiness or prospects in life in competition with those of 
 the Cooleen Bawn. The latter, it is true, was conscious of 
 this unparalleled attachment, and appreciated it at its true 
 value. How nobly this admirable girl fulfilled her generous 
 purpose of abiding by the fate and fortunes of her unhappy 
 mistress will be seen as the narrative goes along. 
 
 Ellen's appearance in her father's house surprised the 
 family not a little. The expression of sorrow which shaded 
 her very handsome features, and a paleness which was un- 
 usual to her, alarmed them considerably — not so much from 
 any feeling connected with herself, as from an apprehension 
 that some new distress or calamity had befallen the Cooleen 
 Bawn, to whom they all felt almost as deeply attached as 
 she did herself. After the first affectionate salutations were 
 over, she said, with a languid smile : 
 
 " I suppose you all wonder to see me here at this hour ; 
 or, indeed, to see me here at all." 
 
 " I hope, Ellen," said her father, " that nothing unpleas- 
 ant has happened to her." 
 
 " May the Lord forbid," said her mother, " and may the 
 Lord take the darlin' creature out of all her troubles. But 
 has there, Ellen — has anything happened to her ?" 
 
 " Nothing more than usual," replied their daughter, 
 " barring that I have been sent away from her — I am no 
 longer her own maid now." 
 
 " Chierna /" exclaimed her mother ; " and what is that 
 for, alanna V ' 
 
 "Well, indeed, mother, I can't exactly say," replied 
 Ellen, " but I suppose it is because they knew I loved her 
 too much to be a spy upon her. I have raison, however, to 
 suspect that the villain is at the bottom of it, and that the 
 girl who came in my place will act more like a jailer than a 
 maid to her. Of course they're all afraid that she'll run 
 away with Reilly. ' ' 
 
 " And do you think she will, Ellen ?" asked her father. 
 
 " Don't ask me any such questions," she replied. " It's 
 no matter what I think — and, besides, it's not my business 
 to mention my thoughts to any one — but one thing I know, 
 it'll go hard if she ever leaves her father, who, I really 
 think, would break his heart if she did."
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 225 
 
 11 Oh !" observed the father, with a smile, " divil a one 
 o' you girls, Ellen, ever thinks much of father or mother 
 when you have made up your minds to run away wid your 
 bouchaleens — sorra a taste. ' ' 
 
 " Arra, Brian, will you have sinse, " said his wife ; " why 
 wouldn't they think o' them ?" 
 
 " Did you do it ?" he asked, winking at the rest, " when 
 you took a brave start wid myself across Crockaniska, one 
 summer Sunday night, long ago. Be me sowl, you proved 
 yourself as supple as a two-year-old — cleared drain and 
 ditch like a bird — and had me, when we reached my uncle's, 
 that the eyes wor startin' out o' my head." 
 
 " Bad scran to him, the ould slingpoker ! Do you hear 
 him," she exclaimed, laughing — " never mind him, children ! 
 — troth, he went at sich a snail's pace that one 'ud think it 
 was to confession he was goin', and that he did nothing but 
 think of his sins as he went along." 
 
 " That was bekaise I knew that I had the penance before 
 me," he replied, laughing also. 
 
 "Any how," replied his wife, "our case was not like 
 their' s. We were both Catholics, and knew that we'd have 
 the consent of our friends, besides ; we only made a run- 
 away because it was the custom of the counthry, glory be to 
 God !" 
 
 "Ay, ay," rejoined her husband; "but, faith, it was 
 you that proved yourself the active girl that night, at any 
 rate. However, I hope the Lord will grant her grace to go 
 wid him, at all events, for, upon my sowl, it would be a 
 great boast for the Catholics — bekaise we know there is one 
 thing sure, and that is, that the divil a long she'd be wid 
 him till he'd have left her fit to face Europe as a Christian 
 and a Catholic, bekaise every wife ought to go wid her hus- 
 band, barrin' he's a Prodestant." 
 
 Poor Ellen paid little attention to this conversation. She 
 felt deeply depressed, and, after many severe struggles to 
 restrain herself, at last burst into tears. 
 
 " Come, darlin'," said her father, " don't let this affair 
 cast you down so much ; all will yet turn out for the bet- 
 ther, I hope. Cheer up, avillish ; maybe that, down-hearted 
 as you are, I have good news for you. Your ould sweet- 
 heart was here this evenin', and hopes soon to have his par- 
 don — he's a dacent boy, and has good blood in his veins ;
 
 226 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 and as for his joinin' O'Donnel, it wasn't a bad heart set 
 him to do it, but the oppression that dricv him, as it did 
 many others, to take the steps he took — oppression on the 
 one side, and bitterness of heart on the other." 
 
 11 I saw him awhile ago," she replied, " and he tould me 
 a good deal about himself. But, indeed, father, it's not of 
 him I'm thinkin', but on the darlin' girl that's on the brink 
 of destruction, and what I know she's sufferin'." 
 
 " I wondher where Reilly is," said her mother. " My 
 goodness ! sure he ought to make a push, and take her off 
 at wanst. I dunna is he in the country at all ? What do 
 you think, Ellen ?" 
 
 "Indeed, mother," she replied, "very few, I believe, 
 knows any thing about him. All I'm afraid of is, that, 
 wherever he may be, he'll hardly escape discovery." 
 
 "Well," said her father, "I'll tell you what we'll do. 
 Let us kneel down and offer up ten pathers, ten aves, and a 
 creed, that the Lord may protect them both from their ene- 
 mies, and grant them a happy marriage, in spite of laws, 
 parliaments, magistrates, spies, persecutors, and priest-hunt- 
 ers, and, as our hands are in, let us offer up a few that God 
 may confound that villain, Whitecraft, and bring him snugly 
 to the gallows." 
 
 This was immediately complied with, in a spirit of ear- 
 nestness surpassing probably what they might have felt had 
 they been praying for their own salvation. The prayers 
 having been concluded, and supper prepared, in due time 
 the family retired to rest for the night. 
 
 When Fergus Reilly took his leave of Ellen, he directed 
 his steps to the cottage of Mrs. Buckley, where, for certain 
 purposes connected with his designs on the Red Rapparee, 
 he had been in the habit of meeting the sagacious fool, Tom 
 Steeple. It was there, besides, that he had left his disguise, 
 which the unaccomplished progress of his projects rendered 
 it necessary that he should once more resume. This, in 
 fact, was the place of their rendezvous, where they generally 
 met at night. These meetings, however, were not always 
 very regular, for poor Tom, notwithstanding his singular 
 and anomalous cunning, was sometimes led away by his 
 gastric appetite to hunt for a bully dinner, or a bully sup- 
 per, or a mug of strong beer, as the case might be, and after 
 a gorge he was frequently so completely overtaken by lazi-
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 227 
 
 ness and a consequent tendency to sleep, that he retired to 
 the barn, or some other outhouse, where he stretched his 
 limbs on a shake-down of hay or straw, and lapped himself 
 into a state of luxury which many an epicure of rank and 
 wealth might envy. 
 
 On reaching the widow's cottage, Fergus felt somewhat 
 disappointed that Tom was not there, nor had he been seen 
 that day in any part of the neighborhood. Fergus, how- 
 ever, whilst the widow was keeping watch outside, contrived 
 to get on his old disguise once more, after which he pro- 
 ceeded in the direction of his place of refuge for the night. 
 On crossing the fields, however, towards the wild and lonely 
 road, which was at no great distance from the cottage, he 
 met Tom approaching it, at his usual sling-trot pace. 
 
 " Is that Tom ?" said he— 4 ' tall Tom ?" 
 
 11 Hicco, hicco !" replied Tom, quite gratified with the 
 compliment. " You be tall, too — not as tall as Tom 
 dough. Tom got bully dinner to-day, and bully sleep in de 
 barn, and bully supper, but wasn't sleepy den — hicco, 
 hicco." 
 
 11 Well, Tom, what news about what you know ?" 
 
 1 ' In toder house, ' ' replied Tom ; ' * him sleeps in Peg Fini- 
 gan's sometimes, and sometimes in toder again — dat is, Mary 
 Mahon's. ' Him's afeared o' something — hard him say to, 
 sure, to ould Peg." 
 
 11 Well, Tom, if you will keep your eye on him, so as that 
 you can let us know where to find him, we'll engage to give 
 you a bully dinner every day, and a bully supper every night 
 of your life, and a swig of stout ale to wash it down, with 
 plenty of straw to sleep on, and a winnow-cloth and lots of 
 sacks to keep you as warm and cosey as a winter hob. You 
 know where to find me every evenin' after dusk, Tom, and 
 when you come with good news, you'll be a made man ; 
 and, listen, Tom, it'll make you a foot taller, and who 
 knows, man alive, but we may show you for a giant, now." 
 
 11 Hicco, hicco !" said Tom ; "dat great — nevermind ; me 
 catch him for you. A giant ! — oh, gorramarcy ! — a giant ! 
 — hicco ! — gorramarcy !" and with these words he darted 
 off in some different direction, whilst Fergus went to his 
 usual place of rest for the night. 
 
 It would seem by the Red Rapparee's movements at this 
 time as if he entertained some vague suspicions of awakened
 
 228 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 justice, notwithstanding the assurances of safety previously 
 communicated to him by Sir Robert Whitecraft. Indeed, it 
 is not impossible that even the other individuals who had 
 distinguished themselves under that zealous baronet might, 
 in their conversations with each other, have enabled the 
 Rapparee to get occasional glimpses of the new state of 
 things which had just taken place, and that, inconsequence, 
 he shifted about a good deal, taking care never to sleep two 
 nights in succession under the same roof. Be this as it 
 may, the eye of Tom Steeple was on him, without the least 
 possible suspicion on his part that he was nnder his surveil- 
 lance. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 REILLY TAKES SERVICE WITH SQUIRE FOLLIARD. 
 
 REILLY led a melancholy life after the departure of the 
 pious bishop. A week, however, had elapsed, and he 
 felt as if it had been half a year. His anxiety, however, 
 either to see or hear from his Cooleen Bawn completely 
 overcame him, and he resolved, at all events, to write to her ; 
 in the meantime, how was he to do this ? There was no 
 letter-paper in the farmer's house, nor any to be procured 
 within miles, and, under those circumstances, he resolved to 
 pay a visit to Mr. Brown. After some trouble he was ad- 
 mitted to the presence of that gentleman, who could scarcely 
 satisfy himself of his identity ; but, at length, he felt as- 
 sured, and asked him into the study. 
 
 " My dear Reilly, " said he, "I think you are infatuated. 
 I thought you had been out of the country long before this. 
 Why, in heaven's name, do you remain in Ireland, when 
 you know the difficulty of escape ? I have had, since I saw 
 you last, two or three domiciliary visits from Whitecraft and 
 his men, who searched my whole house and premises in a 
 spirit of insolence that was most indelicate and offensive. 
 Hastings and I have sent a memorial to the Lord Lieuten- 
 ant, signed by some of the most respectable Protestant 
 gentry in the country, in which we stated his wanton 
 tyranny as well as his oppression of his Majesty's subjects
 
 WILLY RELLLY. 229 
 
 —harmless and loyal men, and whom he pursues with unsa- 
 lable vengeance, merely because they are Roman Catholics. 
 I certainly do not expect that our memorial will be attended 
 to by this Administration. There is a report, however, 
 that the present Ministry will soon go out, and- be succeeded 
 by one more liberal." 
 
 "Well," replied Reilly, "since I saw you last I have 
 had some narrow escapes ; but I think it would be difficult 
 to know me in my present disguise." 
 
 " I grant that," said Mr. Brown, " but then is there 
 nothing to be apprehended from treachery ?" 
 
 " I think not," replied the other. " There is only the 
 farmer and his family, with whom the bishop and I har- 
 bored, who are aware of my disguise, and to that number I 
 must now add yourself." 
 
 "Well," replied Mr. Brown, smiling, "I do not think 
 you have much to apprehend from me." 
 
 " No," said Reilly, " you have given me too many sub- 
 stantial proofs of your confidence for that. But I wish to 
 write a letter ; and I have neither pen, ink, nor paper ; will 
 you be good enough to lend me the use of your study for a 
 few minutes, and your writing materials ?" 
 
 The excellent clergyman immediately conducted him to 
 the study, ^nd placed the materials before him with his own 
 hands, after which he left the room. Reilly then sat down, 
 and penned the following letter to his dear Cooleen Bawn : 
 
 " I am now thoroughly disguised, indeed so effectually 
 that my nearest and dearest friends could not know me ; nay, 
 I question whether even you yourself would, except by the 
 keen intuition of affection, which is said to penetrate all dis- 
 guises, unless those of falsehood and hypocrisy. These, 
 however, are disguises I have never worn, nor ever shall 
 wear — either to you or any human being. I had intended 
 to go to the Continent until this storm of persecution might 
 blow over ; but on reflection 1 changed my purpose, for I 
 could not leave you to run the risk of being ensnared in the 
 subtle and treacherous policy of that villain. It is my in- 
 tention to visit your father's house and to see you if I can. 
 You need not, for the sake of my safety, object to this, be- 
 cause no one can know me. The description of my dress, 
 though somewhat undignified, I must give you. In the first 
 place, then, I am, to all outward appearance, as rude-looking
 
 230 WILLY REILLY, 
 
 a country lout as ever you looked upon. My disguise con- 
 sists, first, of a pair of brogues embroidered with clouts, or 
 what is vulgarly denominated patches, out of the point of 
 one of which — that of the right foot — nearly half my toe 
 visibly projects. The stockings are coarse Connemaras, 
 with sufficient air-holes, both in feet and legs, to admit the 
 pure atmosphere, and strengthen the muscular system. My 
 small-clothes are corduroys, bought from a hard-working 
 laborer, with a large patch upon each knee. A tailor, how- 
 ever, has promised to get some buttons for them and sew 
 them on. The waistcoat is altogether indescribable ; be- 
 cause, as its materials seem to have been rescued, that is, 
 stolen, from all the scarecrows in the country, I am unable 
 to come at the first fabric. The coat itself is also beauti- 
 fully variegated, its patches consisting of all the colors of 
 the rainbow, with two or three dozen that never appeared in 
 that beautiful phenomenon. But what shall I say of the 
 pendiment, or caubeen, which is a perfect gem of its kind ? 
 The villain who wore it, I have been told by the person 
 who acted as factor for me in its purchase, was one of the 
 most quarrelsome rascals in Ireland, and seldom went with- 
 out a black eye or a broken pate. This, I suppose, ac- 
 counts for the droop in the leaf, which covers the left eye 
 so completely, as well as for the ventilator, which so admi- 
 rably refreshes the head, and allows the rain to come in so 
 abundantly to cool it. I cannot help reflecting, however, 
 on the fate of those who have nothing better to wear, and 
 of the hard condition which dooms them to it. And now, 
 my beloved Coolee?i Bawn, whilst I have thus endeavored to 
 make you smile, I assure you I have exaggerated very little. 
 This dress, you know, is precisely that of a wretched Con- 
 naught-man looking for employment. The woman who 
 will, through our confidant, Lanigan, deliver this to you, is 
 a poor faithful creature, a pensioner of mine, who may be 
 trusted. Appoint through her a day and hour when, as a 
 man seeking for labor, I will stand at the hall-door. I am 
 quite satisfied that neither your father, nor the villain, will 
 know me from Adam. The woman who is to bring this will 
 call on the second day after its delivery, and I shall be 
 guided by whatever message you may send me. On one 
 thing, however, I am determined, which is, that if it should 
 cost me my life, I will prevent the meditated marriage be-
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 231 
 
 tween you and him. Sooner than such an event should take 
 place, I would put a pistol to his head and blow his guilty 
 soul into that perdition which awaits it. Don't write ; let 
 your message be verbal, and destroy this." 
 
 On going to widow Buckley's, he learned — after some 
 trouble in identifying himself — that she had several visits 
 from Sir Robert and his men, at all hours, both by night 
 and day. He therefore hastily gave her the necessary in- 
 structions how to act, and, above all things, to ask to see 
 Lanigan, and, if possible, to bring some eggs or chickens 
 for sale, which fact, he said, would give a color to her ap- 
 pearance there, and prevent the possibility of any suspicion. 
 Having placed the letter in her keeping, together with some 
 silver to enable her to purchase either the eggs or the chick- 
 ens, in case she had them not herself, he then returned to 
 the farmer's, where he remained quietly and without dis- 
 turbance of any kind until the third day, when widow 
 Buckley made her appearance. He brought her out to the 
 garden, because in discussing matters connected with his 
 Cooleen Baton he did not wish that even the farmer's family 
 should be auditors — although we may say here that not 
 only were the loves of Willy Reilly and Cooleen Baivn 
 known to the farmer and his family, but also to the whole 
 country, and, indeed, through the medium of ballads, to the 
 greater portion of the kingdom. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Buckley," said he, ** did you see her ?" 
 
 " Oh, bad scran to you, Mr. Reilly ! you're the very sarra 
 among the girls when you could persuade that lovely crea- 
 ture to fall in love with you — and you a Catholic, an' her a 
 Protestant ! May I never, if I think there's her aquil out 
 o' heaven ! Devil an angel I think in it could hould a 
 candle to her for beauty and figure. She only wants the 
 wings, sir — for they say that all the angels have wings ; 
 and upon my conscience if she had them I know the man 
 she'd fly to." 
 
 11 But what happened, Mrs. Buckley ?" 
 
 " Why, I sould some chickens and eggs to the cook, who 
 at wanst knew me, because I had often sould him chickens 
 and eggs before. He came up to the hall-door, and — ' Well, 
 Mrs. Buckley,' says he, 'what's the news?' ' Be dhe 
 husthj says I, ' before I sell you the chickens, let me ax is 
 the Cooleen Bawn at home ? ' ' She is,' says he, lookin' me
 
 232 WILLY REILLY, 
 
 sharp and straight in the face ; ' do you want her ?' ' I 
 would like to see her,' says I, ' for a minute or two.' ' Ay,' 
 says he, back agin to me, ' you have a message — and you 
 know besides that she never buys chickens ; that's my busi- 
 ness.' ' But,' says I, back agin, ' I was tould by him that 
 you were faithful, and could be depinded on.' ' Ay,' says 
 he; 'but I thought he had left the counthry.' 'Troth, 
 then,' says I, ' he's to the fore still, and won't lave the 
 counthry till he sees her wanst more, at all events.' ' Have 
 you a letther ? ' * BethershinJ says I, 'could you let me 
 see her ; for he tould me to say to her that she is not to indite 
 letthers to him, for fraid of discovery.' ' Well,' says he, ' as 
 the masther's at home, I'll have some difficulty in spakin' 
 to her. Devil a move she gives but he watches ; and we got 
 a new servant the other day, and devil a thing she is but a 
 spy from Sir Robert Whitecraft, and some people say that 
 her masther and she forgot the Gospel between them. In- 
 deed I believe that's pretty well known ; and isn't he a 
 horrid villain to send such a vagabone to attend and be 
 about the very woman that he expects to be his own wife ? ' " 
 
 " Don't be so particular in your descriptions, Mrs. Buck- 
 ley," said Reilly. " Did you see the Cooleen Baiunf 
 
 " Look at that," she replied, opening her hand, and 
 showing him a golden guinea — " don't you know by that 
 that I seen her ? but you must let me go on my own way. 
 ' Well,' says Lanigan, the cook, ' I must go and see what I 
 can do.' He then went upstairs, and contrived to give her 
 a hint, and that was enough. ' The Lord bless us, Mr. 
 Reilly, what won't love do ? This girl — as Lanigan tould 
 me — that the villain Whitecraft had sent as a spy upon her 
 actions, was desired to go to her wardrobe, to pick out from 
 among her beautiful dresses one that she had promised her 
 as a present some days before. The cook had this from 
 the girl herself, who was the sarra for dress ; but, anyhow, 
 while the she spy was tumbling about Cooleen Bawn s dresses, 
 the darlin' herself whipped downstairs, and coming to me 
 says, ' The cook tells me you have a message for me.' Jist 
 at this moment, and after she had slipped the letter into her 
 bosom, her father turns a corner round the garden, and 
 seeing his daughter, which was a very unusual thing, in con- 
 versation with a person like myself, he took the alarm at 
 once. ' How, Helen ? who is this you are speaking to ? No
 
 WILLY REILLY. 233 
 
 go-between, I hope ? Who are you, you blasted old she 
 whelp ?' ' I am no more a she whelp than you are.' ' Then 
 maybe you are a he one in disguise. What brought you 
 here ? ' ' Here ! I came to sell my eggs and my chickens, as I 
 done for years.' ' Your eggs and your chickens! curse 
 you, you old Jezebel, did you ever lay the eggs or hatch the 
 chickens ? And if you did, why not produce the old cock 
 himself, in proof of the truth of what you say ? I'll have 
 you searched, though, in spite of your eggs and chickens. 
 Here,' he said to one of the footmen, who was passing 
 through the hall — ' here, Jones, send up Langian, till we see 
 whether he knows this old faggot, who has the assurance to 
 tell me that she lays eggs and hatches chickens.' When 
 Lanigan came up again, he looked at me as at an ould ac- 
 quaintance, which, in point of fact, we were. ' Why, your 
 honor,' said he, ' this is a poor, honest creature that has been 
 selling us eggs and chickens for many years.' ' She 
 wouldn't be a go-between, Langian — eh ? What's your 
 name, you old faggot — eh ? ' ' My name is Scrahag, your 
 honor, ' says I, ' one of the Scrahags of Ballycumpiatee — an 
 honest and dacint family, sir ; but if your honor would buy 
 the eggs, at any rate, and hatch them yourself,' says I to 
 him" (for she had a large stock of Irish humor), " ' you 
 know, sir, you could have the chickens at first cost.' ' Ha, 
 ha, ha,' and the squire laughed till he nearly split his sides ; 
 
 ' by I'm hit ' — God pardon me for repeatin' his oaths, 
 
 1 Here, Lanigan, bring her down to the kitchen, and give 
 her a fog meal.' 'I understand you, sir,' said Lanigan, 
 smiling at him. ' Yes, Lanigan give her a cargo of the best 
 in the pantry. She's a shrewd and comical old blade,' said 
 he ; ' give her a kegful of beef or mutton, or both, and a 
 good swill of ale or porter, or whatever she prefers. Curse 
 me, but I give the old whelp credit for the hit she gave me. 
 Pay her, besides, whatever she asks for her eggs and chick- 
 ens. Here, you bitter old randletree, there are three thir- 
 teens for you ; and if you will go down to the kitchen with 
 the cook, he will give you a regular skinful. ' The cook, 
 knowing that the Cooleen Bawn wished to send some mes- 
 sage back to you, sir, brought me down, and gave me not 
 only plenty to ait and drink, but stuffed the praskeen that I 
 had carried the eggs and chickens in with as much cold meat 
 and bread as it could contain."
 
 234 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 11 Well, but did you not see her afterwards ? and did she 
 send no message ?" 
 
 11 Only two or three words ; the day afther to-morrow, at 
 two o'clock, come to look for labor, and she will contrive to 
 see you." 
 
 This was enough, and Reilly did not allow his ambassa- 
 dress to leave him without substantial marks of his bounty 
 also. 
 
 When the old squire went to his study, he desired the 
 gardener to be sent for, and when that individual entered, 
 he found his master in a towering passion. 
 
 "What is the reason, Malcomson," said he, "that the 
 garden is in such a shameful state ? I declare to God it is 
 scandalous." 
 
 " Ou, your honor," replied Malcomson, who was a Scotch- 
 man, " e'en because you will not allow me an under-ger- 
 dener. No one man could manage your gerden, and it 
 canna be managed without some clever chiel, what under- 
 stands the sceence." 
 
 "The what?" 
 
 " The sceence, your honor." 
 
 "Why, confound you, sir, what science is necessary in 
 gardening ?" 
 
 ' ' I tell your honor that the management of a gerden re- 
 quires baith skeel and knowledge, and feelosophy. " 
 
 " Why, confound you, sir, again, what kind of doctrine 
 is this ?" 
 
 " It's vara true doctrine, sir. You have large and spa- 
 cious green-hooses, and I wad want some one to assist me 
 wha understands buttany." 
 
 " Buttony — buttony — why, confound you, sirra, send for 
 a tailor, then, for he understands buttony." 
 
 " I see your honor is detarmined to indulge in a jocular 
 spirit the day. The truth is, your honor, I hae no men to 
 assist me but common laborers, who are athegether ignorant 
 of gerdening ; now, if I had a man who could direct the 
 operations' — " 
 
 " Operations ! curse your Scotch impudence, do you think 
 yourself a general ?" 
 
 " Na, na, sir ; but a better man ; and I tell ye that I 
 winna remain in your service unless I get an assistant ; and 
 I say that, if it werena for the aid of Miss Folliard, I wouldna
 
 WILLY REILLY. 235 
 
 been able to keep the green-hoose e'en in its present state. 
 She has trailed the passion-flower wi' her ain hands until 
 it is flourishing. Then she has a beautiful little plot of for- 
 get-me-nots ; but, above a', it wad do your honor's heart 
 gude to see the beautiful bed she has of sweet-william and 
 love-lies-bleeding. ' ' 
 
 11 Ay, ay ! love-lies-bleeding ; no doubt but she'll take 
 care of that. Well, go and get an under-gardener wherever 
 you can, and let my garden be, at all events, such as a 
 stranger can walk through, and such as becomes my name 
 and property. Engage such a person, give him' whatever 
 you consider fair wages, and the house-steward will pay him 
 weekly. These are matters I can't trouble myself with now 
 — I have other things to think of." 
 
 On the day mentioned in Cooleen Bawris message, Reilly 
 hazarded a visit to the squire's house, and after giving a 
 single knock, begged to see the cook. The porter having 
 looked at him with the usual contempt which menials of his 
 class bestow upon poor persons, went down to the kitchen 
 with a good deal of reluctance, and told the cook, with a 
 grin, that one of his relations wanted to see him. 
 
 11 Well," replied Lanigan, who had been made aware of 
 the intended visit, " it's wonderful, in these hard times, the 
 number x>i respectable but reduced families that's goin' 
 about. What kind of a gentleman is he, John ? because I 
 am very busy now. To be sure there is a great deal of cold 
 vittles left, that would be lost and destroyed if we didn't 
 give them to the poor ; and you know the masther, who is a 
 charitable man, desired us to do so. I'll go up and see 
 what the poor devil wants." 
 
 He accordingly went up to the hall-door, and found Reilly 
 there. It was to no purpose that he had been already ap- 
 prised of his disguise —it was so complete that he did not 
 know him — his beard was half an inch long ; and, besides, 
 Reilly, knowing the risk he ran in this daring adventure, 
 had discolored his complexion with some wash that gave it 
 the tinge of a mulatto. The cook was thunderstruck. 
 
 " Well, my good fellow," said he, not in the slightest de- 
 gree recognizing him, " what do you want with me ?" 
 
 " Lanigan," replied Reilly, " don't you know me ?" 
 
 11 Know you ! how the devil should I know you ? — I never 
 saw you before. What do you want with me ?"
 
 236 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 " Lanigan," whispered the other, " did you never hear of 
 Willy Reilly ?" 
 
 " Yes, I did ; have you any message from him ?" 
 
 " I am the man myself," said Reilly, " but you don't 
 know me, I am so completely disguised. Don't you know 
 my voice ?" 
 
 11 Merciful Father !" said the cook," I'm in a doldrum ; 
 can I be sure that you don't come from Sir Robert White- 
 craft, the notorious blackguard ?" 
 
 11 Lanigan, / am Willy Reilly ; my voice ought to tell you 
 so ; but I wish to see and speak with my dear Cooleen 
 Bawn.** 
 
 "Oh, my God, sir !" replied Lanigan, "but this love 
 makes strange transmigrations. She won't know you, sir." 
 
 " Make your mind easy on that point," replied Reilly ; 
 " only let her know that 1 am here.' 
 
 " Come down to the kitchen then, sir, and I shall put you 
 into the servants' hall, which branches off it. It is entered, 
 besides, by a different door from that of the kitchen, and 
 while you stay there — and you can pass into it without going 
 through the kitchen — I will try to let her know where you 
 are. She has at present a maid who was sent by Sir Robert 
 Whitecraft, and she is nothing else than a spy ; but it'll go 
 hard, or I'll baffle her." 
 
 He accordingly placed Reilly in the servants' hall, and on 
 his way to the drawing-room met Miss Folliard going to her 
 own apartment, which commanded a view of the front of the 
 house. He instantly communicated to her the fact of Reilly's 
 presence in the servants' hall; "but," added Lanigan, 
 " you won't know him — his own mother, if she was livin', 
 wouldn't know a bone in his body." 
 
 " Oh !" she replied, whilst her eyes flashed fearfully, in 
 fact, in a manner that startled the cook — " oh ! if he is there 
 I shall soon know him. He has a voice, I think — he has a 
 voice ! Has he not, Lanigan ?" 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," replied Lanigan, " he has a voice, and a 
 heart too." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, yes," she said, " I must go to him ; they want 
 to marry me to that monster — to that bigot and persecutor, 
 on this very day month ; but, Lanigan, it shall never be — 
 death a thousand times sooner than such a union. If they 
 attempt to bind us, death shall cut the link asunder — that I
 
 WILLY RELLLY. 237 
 
 promise you, Lanigan. But I must go to him — I must go 
 to him." 
 
 She ran down the stairs as she spoke, and Lanigan, having 
 looked after her, seemed deeply concerned. 
 
 11 My God !" he exclaimed, "what will become of that 
 sweet girl if she is forced to marry that wealthy scoundrel ? 
 I declare to my God I hardly think she is this moment in 
 her proper senses. There's a fire in her eyes, and some- 
 thing in her manner, that I never observed before. At all 
 events, I have locked the door that opens from the kitchen 
 into the servants' hall, so that they cannot be interrupted 
 from that quarter." 
 
 When the Cooleen Bawn entered, she shrunk back instinct- 
 ively. The disguise was so complete that she could not impose 
 even on her imagination or her senses. The complexion 
 was different, in fact, quite sallow ; the beard long, and the 
 costume such as we have described it. There was, in fact, 
 something extremely ludicrous in the meeting. Here was 
 an elegant and beautiful young woman of fashion, almost 
 ready, as it were, to throw herself in the arms of a common 
 pauper, with a beard upon him better than half an inch 
 long. As it was, she stopped suddenly and retreated a step 
 or two, saying, as she did so : 
 
 " This must be some mistake. Who are you ?" 
 
 " Helen !" 
 
 11 Reilly ! oh, that voice has set all right. But, my God, 
 who could know you in this disguise ?" 
 
 They approached, and Reilly, seizing her hand, said, " I 
 will shake hands with you ; but until this disguise is off I 
 would consider it sacrilege to approach nearer to your per- 
 son." 
 
 11 No disguise can ever shut you out from my heart, dear 
 Reilly ; but what is to be done ? I have discovered, by one 
 of my maids, who overheard my father say, in a short solil- 
 oquy — ' Well, thank God, she'll be Sir Robert's wife within 
 a month, and then my mind will be easy at last.' Oh ! I'm 
 glad you did not leave this country. But, as I said, what is 
 to be done ? What will become of us ?" 
 
 " Under our peculiar circumstances," replied Reilly, " the 
 question cannot, for the present at least, be answered. As 
 for leaving the country, I might easily have done it, but I 
 could not think of leaving you to the snares and windings
 
 238 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 of that villain. I declare solemnly I would rather die than 
 witness a union between you and him." 
 
 11 But what, think you, should I feel ? You would be 
 only a spectator of the sacrifice, whereas I should be the 
 victim." 
 
 11 Do not be cast down, my love ; whilst I have life, and 
 a strong arm, it shall never be. Before I go I shall make 
 arrangements with Lanigan when and where to see you 
 again." 
 
 11 It will be a matter of some difficulty," she replied, " for 
 I am now under the strictest surveillance. I am told, and I 
 feel it, that Whitecraft has placed a spy upon all my mo- 
 tions." 
 
 " How is that ?" inquired Reilly. " Are you not under 
 the protection of your father, who, when occasion is neces- 
 sary, has both pride and spirit ?" 
 
 11 But my poor credulous father is, notwithstanding, easily 
 imposd on. I know not exactly the particulars," replied 
 the lovely girl, " but I can easily suspect them. My father 
 it was, certainly, who discharged my last maid, Ellen Con- 
 nor, because, he said, he did not like her, and because, he 
 added, he would put a better and a more trustworthy one in 
 her place. I cannot move that she is not either with me or 
 after me ; nay, I cannot write a note that she does not im- 
 mediately acquaint papa, who is certain to stroll into my 
 apartment and ask to see the contents of it, adding, ' Helen, 
 when a young lady of rank and property forms a clandestine 
 and disgraceful attachment it is time that her father should 
 be on the lookout ; so I will just take the liberty of throw- 
 ing my eye over this little billet-doux. ' I told him often 
 that he was at liberty to inspect every line I should write, but 
 that I thought that very few parents would express such want 
 of confidence in their daughters, if, like me, the latter had 
 deserved such confidence at their hands as I did at his." 
 
 11 What is the name of your present maid ?" asked Reilly, 
 musing. 
 
 " Oh," replied Miss Folliard, " I have three maids alto- 
 gether, but she has been installed as ow?i maid. Her name 
 is Eliza Herbert." 
 
 " A native of England, is she not ? Eliza Herbert !" he 
 exclaimed ; " in the lowermost depths of perdition there is 
 not such a villain. This Eliza Herbert is neither more nor
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 239 
 
 less than one of his — but I will not pain your pure and deli- 
 cate mind by mentioning at further length what she is and 
 was to him. The clergyman of the parish, Mr. Brown, 
 knows the whole circumstances. See him at church, and 
 get him to communicate them to your father. The fact is, 
 this villain, who is at once cunning and parsimonious, had 
 a double motive, each equally base and diabolical, in send- 
 ing her here. In the first place, he wished, by getting her a 
 good place, to make your father the unconscious means of 
 rewarding her profligacy ; and in the second of keeping her 
 as a spy upon you." 
 
 A blush, resulting from her natural sense of delicacy, as 
 well as from the deepest indignation at a man who did not 
 scruple to place the woman whom he looked upon as almost 
 immediately to become his wife, in the society of such a 
 wretch — such a blush, we say, overspread her whole neck 
 and face, and for about two minutes she shed bitter tears. 
 But she felt the necessity of terminating their interview, 
 from an apprehension that Jvliss Herbert, as she was called, 
 on not finding her in the room, might institute a search, 
 and in this she was not mistaken. 
 
 She had scarcely concluded when the shrill voice of Miss 
 Herbert was heard, as she rushed rapidly down the stairs, 
 screaming, " Oh, la ! oh, dear me ! oh, my goodness ! 
 Where, where — oh, bless me, did any one see Miss Folliard ?" 
 
 Lanigan, however, had prepared for any thing like a sur- 
 prise. He planted himself, as a sentinel, at the foot of the 
 stairs, and the moment he heard the alarm of Miss Herbert 
 on her way down, he met her half way up, after having given 
 a loud significant cough. 
 
 " Oh, cook, have you seen Miss Folliard? I can't find 
 her in the house !" 
 
 11 Is her father in his study, Miss Herbert ? because I want 
 to see him ; I'm afeared there's a screw loose. I did see 
 Miss Folliard ; she went out a few minutes ago — indeed she 
 rather stole out towards the garden, and, I tell you the truth, 
 she had a condemned look of her own. Try the garden, 
 and if you don't find her there, go to the back gate, which 
 you'll be apt to find open." 
 
 " Oh, I will, I will ; thank yon, cook. I'm certain it's 
 an elopement." 
 
 " Indeed, I wouldn't be surprised to find," replied Lani-
 
 2^o WILLY REILLY. 
 
 gan, " that she is with Reilly this moment ; any way you 
 haven't a minute to lose." 
 
 She started towards the garden, which she ran over and 
 over ; and there we shall leave her, executing the fool's er- 
 rand upon which Lanigan had sent her. " Now," said he, 
 going in, " the coast's clear ; I have sent that impertinent 
 jade out to the garden, and as the back gate is open — the 
 gardener's men are wheeling out the rubbish — and they are 
 now at dinner — I say, as the back gate is open, it's ten to 
 one but she'll scour the country. Now, Miss Folliard, go 
 immediately to your room ; as for this poor man, I will take 
 care of him." 
 
 " Most sincerely do I thank you, Lanigan ; he will ar- 
 range with you when and where to see me again. Farewell, 
 Reilly — farewell ; rely upon my constancy ;" and so they 
 parted, Reilly to the kitchen, and the Coolccn Baw?i to her 
 own room. 
 
 " Come into the pantry, poor man," said good-natured 
 Lanigan, addressing our hero, " till I give you something to 
 cat and drink." 
 
 " Many thanks to you, sir," replied he ; " troth and whaix, 
 I didn't taste a morshel for the last fwhour — hugh — ugh — 
 and twenty hours ; and sure, sir, it's this cough that's killin' 
 me by inches. ' 
 
 A thought struck Lanigan, who had been also spoken to 
 by the gardener, about half an hour before, to know if he 
 could tell him where he might have any chance of finding an 
 assistant. At all events they went into the pantry, when 
 Lanigan, after having pulled to the door, to prevent their 
 conversation from being overheard, disclosed a project, 
 which had just entered his head, of procuring Reilly em- 
 ployment in the garden. Here it was arranged between 
 them that the latter, who was both a good botanist and 
 florist, should be recommended to the gardener as an assist- 
 ant. To be sure, his dress and appearance were both de- 
 cidedly against him ; but still they relied upon the knowl- 
 edge which Reilly confidently assured the cook that he pos- 
 sessed. After leaving the pantry with Lanigan, whom our 
 hero thanked in a thorough brogue, the former called after 
 him, as he was going away : 
 
 " Come here again, my good man." 
 
 " What is it, shir ? may God bless you anyhow, for your
 
 WILLY REILLY. 241 
 
 charity to the — hugh — hugh — ugh — to the poor man. Oh, 
 then, but it's no wondher for you all to be fat and rosy 
 upon sich beautiful vittles as you gave to me, shir. What 
 is it, achora ? and may the Lord mark you wid grace !" 
 
 " Would you take employment from the master, his honor 
 Mr. Folliard, if you got it ?" 
 
 11 Arrah now, shir, you gave me my skinful of what was 
 gud ; but don't be makin' fwhun o' me after. Would I 
 take employment, achora ? — ay, but where would I get it ?" 
 
 " Could you work in a garden ? Do you know any thing 
 about plants or flowers ?" 
 
 " Oh thin, that I may never sup sarra (sorrow), but that's 
 just what I'm fwhit fwhor. " 
 
 " I'm afeared this scoundrel is but an imposthor afther 
 all," whispered Lanigan to the other servants; "but in 
 ordher to make sure, we'll try him. I say — what's this 
 your name is ?" 
 
 " Solvesther M'Bethershin, shir." 
 
 " Well, now, would you have any objection to come with 
 me to the garden and see the gardener ? But hould, here 
 he is. Mr. Malcomson," continued Lanigan, " here is a 
 poor man, who says he understands plants and flowers, and 
 weeds of that kind." 
 
 " Speak wi' reverence, Mr. Lanigan, o' the art o' ger- 
 dening. Dinna ye ken that the founder o' the hail human 
 race was a gerdener ? Hout awa, mon ; speak o' it wi' re- 
 speck." 
 
 "Upon my conscience," replied Lanigan, " whether he 
 was a good gardener or not is more than I know ; but one 
 thing I do know, that he didn't hould his situation long, 
 and mismanaged his orchard disgracefully ; and, indeed, 
 like many more of his tribe, he got his walkin' papers in 
 double quick — was dismissed without a characther — ay, and 
 his wife, like many another gardener's wife, got a habit of 
 stalin' the apples. However, I wish, Mr. Malcomson, that 
 you, who do undherstand gardenin', would thry this fellow, 
 because I want to know whether he's an imposthor or not." 
 
 " Weel," replied Malcomson, " I dinna care if I do. 
 We'll soon find that out. Come wi' me and Maisther Lani- 
 gan here, and we'll see what you ken about that sceentific 
 profession." 
 
 They accordingly went to the garden, and it is unneccs-
 
 242 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 sary to say that Reilly not only bore the examination well, 
 but proved himself by far the better botanist of the two. 
 He tempered his answers, however, in such a way as not to 
 allow the gardener's vanity to be hurt, in which case he 
 feared that he might have little chance of being engaged. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MORE OF WHITECRAFT'S PLOTS AND PRANKS. 
 
 OX the Sunday following, Miss Folliard, as was her 
 usual custom, attended divine service at her parish 
 church, accompanied by the virtuous Miss Herbert, who 
 scarcely ever let her for a moment out of her sight, and, in 
 fact, added grievously to the misery of her life. After ser- 
 vice had been concluded, she waited until Mr. Brown had 
 descended from the pulpit, when she accosted him, and ex- 
 pressed a wish to have some private conversation with him 
 in the vestry-room. To this room they were about to pro- 
 ceed, when Miss Herbert advanced with an evident inten- 
 tion of accompanying them. 
 
 "Mr. -Brown," said the Cooleen Bawm, looking at him 
 significantly, " I wish that our interview should be pri- 
 vate." 
 
 "Certainly, my dear Miss Folliard, and so it shall be. 
 Pray, who is this lady ?" 
 
 "lam forced, sir, to call her my maid." 
 
 Mr. Brown was startled a good deal, not only at the 
 words, but the tone in which they were uttered. 
 
 "Madam," said he, "you will please to remain here 
 until your mistress shall return to you, or, if you wish, you 
 can amuse yourself by reading the inscriptions on the tomb- 
 stones." 
 
 "Oh, but I have been ordered," replied Miss Herbert, 
 " by her father and another gentleman, not to let her out of 
 my sight." 
 
 Mr. Brown, understanding that something was wrong, 
 now looked at her more closely, after which, with a wither- 
 ing frown, he said,
 
 WILLY REILLY. 243 
 
 " I think I know you, madam, and I am very sorry to hear 
 that you are an attendant upon this amiable lady. Remain 
 where you are, and don't attempt to intrude yourself as an 
 ear-witness to any communication Miss Folliard may have 
 to make to me. ' ' 
 
 The profligate creature and unprincipled spy bridled, 
 looked disdain and bitterness at the amiable clergyman, who, 
 accompanied by our heroine, retired to the vestry. It is 
 unnecessary to detail their conversation, which was sus- 
 tained by the Coolcen Bawn with bitter tears. It is enough 
 to say that the good and pious minister, though not aware 
 until then that Miss Herbert had, by the scoundrel baronet, 
 been intruded into Squire Folliard' s family, was yet ac- 
 quainted, from peculiar sources, with the nature of the im- 
 moral relation in which she stood to that hypocrite. He 
 felt shocked beyond belief, and assured the weeping girl 
 that he would call the next day and disclose the treacherous 
 design to her father, who, he said, could not possibly have 
 been aware of the wretch's character when he admitted her 
 into his family. They then parted, and our heroine was 
 obliged to take this vile creature into the carriage with her 
 home. On their return, Miss Herbert began to display at 
 once the malignity of her disposition, and the volubility of 
 her tongue, in a fierce attack upon, what she termed, the 
 ungentlemanly conduct of Mr. Brown. To all she said, 
 however, Helen uttered not one syllable of reply. She 
 neither looked at her nor noticed her, but sat in profound 
 silence, not, however, without a distracted mind and break- 
 ing heart. 
 
 On the next day the squire took a fancy to look at the 
 state of his garden, and, having got his hat and cane, he 
 sallied out to observe how matters were going on, now that 
 Mr. Malcomson had got an assistant, whom, by the way, he 
 had not yet seen. 
 
 " Now, Malcomson," said he, " as you have found an 
 assistant, I hope you will soon bring my garden into decent 
 trim. What kind of a chap is he, and how did you come 
 by him ?" 
 
 " Saul, your honor," replied Malcomson, "he's a divilish 
 clever chiel, and vara weel acquent wi' our noble profes- 
 sion." 
 
 " Confound yourself and your noble profession ! I think
 
 244 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 every Scotch gardener of you believes himself a gentleman, 
 simply because he can nail a few stripes of old blanket 
 against a wall. How did you come by this fellow, I say ?" 
 
 11 Ou, just through Lanigan, the cook, your honor." 
 
 " Did Lanigan know him ?" 
 
 " Hout, no, your honor — it was an act o' charity like." 
 
 " Ay, ay, Lanigan's a kind-hearted old fool, and that's 
 just like him ; but, in the meantime, let me see this chap." 
 
 11 There he is, your honor, trimming, and taking care of 
 that bed of ' love-lies-bleeding.' " 
 
 11 Ay, ay ; I dare say my daughter set him to that task." 
 
 " Na, na, sir. The young leddy hasna seen him yet, nor 
 hasna been in the gerden for the last week." 
 
 "Why, confound it, Malcomson, that fellow's more like 
 a beggarman than a gardener. ' ' 
 
 " Saul, but he's a capital hand for a' that. Your honor's 
 no' to tak the beuk by the cover. To be sure he's awfully 
 vulgar, but, ma faith, he has a richt gude knowledgeable ap- 
 prehension o' buttany and gerdening in generhal." 
 
 The squire then approached our under-gardener, and ac- 
 costed him, 
 
 " Well, my good fellow, so you understand gardening ?" 
 
 " A little, your haner," replied the other, respectfully 
 touching his hat, or caubeen rather. 
 
 " Are you a native of this neighborhood ?" 
 
 " Xo, your haner. I'm fwaither up — from Westport, 
 your haner." 
 
 " Who were you engaged with last ?" 
 
 " I wasn't engaged, shir — it was only job-work I was 
 able to do — the health wasn't gud wid me." 
 
 " Have you no better clothes than these ?" 
 
 " You see all that I have on me, shir." 
 
 " Well, come, I'll give you the price of a suit rather than 
 see such a scarecrow in my garden." 
 
 " I couldn't take it, shir." 
 
 " The devil you couldn't ! Why not, man ?" 
 
 " Bekaise, shir, I'm under pinance. " 
 
 " Well, why don't you shave ?" 
 
 " I can't, shir, for de same raison." 
 
 " Pooh, pooh ! what the devil did you do that they put 
 such a penance on you." 
 
 11 Why, I runned away wit' a young woman, shir."
 
 WILLY REILLY. 245 
 
 " Upon my soul you're a devilish likely fellow to run 
 away with a young woman, and a capital taste she must have 
 had to go with you ; but perhaps you took her away by 
 violence, eh ?" 
 
 " No, shir ; she was willin' enough to come ; but her 
 fadher wouldn't consint, and so we made off wit' our- 
 selves." 
 
 This was a topic on which the squire, for obvious reasons, 
 did not like to press him. It was in fact a sore subject, 
 and, accordingly, he changed it. 
 
 " I suppose you have been about the country a good 
 deal?" 
 
 " I have, indeed, your haner." 
 
 " Did you ever happen to hear of, or to meet with, a per- 
 son called Reilly ?" 
 
 11 Often, shir ; met many o' dem." 
 
 " Oh, but I mean the scoundrel called Willy Reilly." 
 
 11 Is dat him dat left de country, shir ?" 
 
 " Why, how do you know that he has left the country ?" 
 
 " I don't know myself, shir ; but dat de people does be 
 sayin' it. Dey say dat himself and wan of our bishops 
 went to France togeder. " 
 
 The squire seemed to breathe more freely as he said, in a 
 low soliloquy, " I'm devilish glad of it ; for, after all, it 
 would go against my heart to hang the fellow. Well," he 
 said aloud, " so he's gone to France ?" 
 
 " So de people does be sayin', shir." 
 
 " Well, tell me — do you know a gentleman called Sir 
 Robert Whitecraft ?" 
 
 " Is dat him, shir, dat keeps de misses privately ?" 
 
 11 How do you know that he keeps misses privately ?" 
 
 11 Fwhy, shir, dey say his last one was a Miss Herbert, 
 and dat she had a young one by him, and dat she was an 
 Englishwoman. It isn't ginerally known, I believe, shir, but 
 dey do be sayin' dat she was brought to bed in de cottage 
 of some bad woman named Mary Mahon, dat does be on de 
 lookout to get sweethearts for him." 
 
 '* There's five thirteens for you, and I wish to God, my 
 good fellow, that you would allow yourself to be put in bet- 
 ter feathers." 
 
 "Oh, I expect my pinance will be out before a mont', 
 shir ; but, until den, I couldn't take any money."
 
 246 WILLY RELLLY. 
 
 " Malcomson," said he to the gardener, " I think that 
 fellow's a half fool. I offered him a crown, and also said I 
 would get him a suit of clothes, and he would not take 
 either ; but talked about some silly penance he was under- 
 going." 
 
 11 Saul, then, your honor, he may be a fule in ither 
 things, but de'il a ane of him's a fule in the sceence o' but- 
 tany. As to that penance, it's just some Papistrical non- 
 sense he has gotten into his head — de'il hae't mair ; but sure 
 they're a' full o't — a' o' the same graft, an' a bad one I fear 
 it is." 
 
 " Well, I believe so, Malcomson, I believe so. How- 
 ever, if the unfortunate fool is clever, give him good 
 wages." 
 
 " Saul, your honor, I'll do him justice ; only I think 
 that, anent that penance he speaks o', the hail Papish 
 population, bad as we think them, are suffering penance 
 eneuch, one way or tither. It disna' beseem a Protestant — 
 that is, a prelatic Government — to persecute ony portion o' 
 Christian people on account o' their religion. We have felt 
 and kenned that in Scotland sairly. I'm no freend to per- 
 secution, in ony shape. But, as to this chiel, I ken naeth- 
 ing aboot him, but that he is a gude buttanist. Hout, your 
 honor, to be sure I'll gi'e him a fair wage for his skeel and 
 labor." 
 
 Malcomson, who was what we have often met, a pedant 
 gardener, saw, however, that the squire's mind was dis- 
 turbed. In the short conversation which they had, he 
 spoke abruptly, and with a flushed countenance ; but he 
 was too shrewd to ask him why he seemed so. It was not, 
 he knew, his business to do so ; and as the squire left the 
 garden, to pass into the house, he looked after him, and ex- 
 claimed to himself, " my certie, there's a bee in that man's 
 bonnet." 
 
 On going to the drawing-room, the squire found Mr. 
 Brown there, and Helen in tears. 
 
 " How !" he exclaimed, " what is this ? Helen crying ! 
 Why, what's the matter, my child ? Brown, have you 
 been scolding her, or reading her a homily to teach her 
 repentance. Confound me, but I know it would teach her 
 patience, at all events. What is the matter ?" 
 
 11 My dear Miss Folliard," said the clergyman, " if you
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 247 
 
 will have the goodness to withdraw, I will explain this 
 shocking business to your father." 
 
 " Shocking business ! Why, in God's name, Brown, 
 what has happened ? And why is my daughter in tears, 1 
 ask again ?" 
 
 Helen now left the drawing-room, and Mr. Brown replied : 
 
 " Sir, a circumstance which, for baseness and diabolical 
 iniquity, is unparalleled in civilized society. I could not 
 pollute your daughter's ears by reciting it in her presence, 
 and besides she is already aware of it." 
 
 11 Ay, but what is it ? Confound you, don't keep me on 
 tenter hooks." 
 
 " I shall not do so long, my dear friend. Who do you 
 imagine your daughter's maid — I mean that female attend- 
 ant upon your pure-minded and virtuous child — is ?" 
 
 V Faith, go ask Sir Robert Whitecraft. It was he who 
 recommended her ; for, on hearing that the maid she had, 
 Ellen Connor, was a Papist, he said he felt uneasy lest she 
 might prevail on my daughter to turn Catholic, and marry 
 Reilly." 
 
 " But do you not know who the young woman that is 
 about your daughter's person is ? You are, however, a 
 father who loves your child, and I need not ask such a 
 question. Then, sir, I will tell you who she is. Sir, she is 
 one of Sir Robert Whitecraft's cast-off mistresses — a profli- 
 gate wanton, who has had a child by him." 
 
 The fiery old squire had been walking to and fro the 
 room, in a state of considerable agitation before — his mind 
 already charged with the same intelligence, as he had heard 
 it from the gardener (Reilly). He now threw himself into a 
 chair, and putting his hands before his face, muttered out 
 between his fingers — " D — n seize the villain ! It is true, 
 then. Well, never mind, I'll demand satisfaction for this 
 insult ; I am not too old to pull a trigger, or give a thrust 
 yet ; but then the cowardly hypocrite won't fight. When 
 he has a set of military at his back, and a parcel of unarmed 
 peasants before him, or an unfortunate priest or two, why, 
 he's a dare devil — Hector was nothing to him ; no, con- 
 found me, nor mad Tom Simpson, that wears a sword on 
 each side, and a double case of pistols, to frighten the bail- 
 iffs. The scoundrel of hell ! — to impose on me, and insult 
 my child !"
 
 248 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 " Mr. Folliard," observed the clergyman calmly, " I can 
 indeed scarcely blame your indignation ; it is natural ; but, 
 at the same time, it is useless and unavailable. Be cool, 
 and restrain your temper. Of course, you could not think 
 of bestowing your daughter, in marriage, upon this man." 
 
 " I tell you what, Brown — I tell you what, my dear friend 
 — let the devil, Satan, Beelzebub, or whatever you call him 
 from the pulpit — I say, let him come here any time he 
 pleases, in his holiday hoofs and horns, tail and all, and he 
 shall have her sooner than Whitecraft." 
 
 Mr. Brown could not help smiling, whilst he said : 
 " Of course, you will instantly dismiss this abandonee' 
 creature." 
 
 He started up, and exclaimed, " Cog's 'ounds, what an 
 I about?" He instantly rang the bell, and a footman at- 
 tended. " John, desire that wench Herbert to come here." 
 11 Do you mean Miss Herbert, sir ?" 
 " I do — Miss Herbert — egad, you've hit it ; be quick, 
 sirra." 
 
 John bowed and withdrew, and in a few minutes Miss 
 Herbert entered. 
 
 " Miss Herbert," said the Squire, " leave this house as 
 fast as the devil can drive you ; and he has driven you to 
 some purpose before now ; ay, and, I dare say, will again. 
 I say, then, as fast as he can drive you, pack up your lug- 
 gage, and begone about your business. I'll just give you 
 ten minutes to disappear." 
 
 " What's all this about, master ?" 
 
 " Master ! — why, curse your brazen impudence, how dare 
 you call me master ? Begone, you jade of perdition." 
 
 11 No more a jade of perdition, sir, than you are ; nor I 
 shan't begone till I gets a quarter's wages — I tell you that." 
 " You shall get whatever' s coming to you ; not another 
 penny. The house-steward will pay you — begone, I say !" 
 " No, sir, I shan't begone till I gets a quarter's salary in 
 full, You broke your agreement with me, wich is wat no 
 man as is a gentleman would do ; and you are puttin' me 
 away, too, without no cause. ' ' 
 
 " Cause, you vagabond ! you'll find the cause squalling, I 
 suppose, in Mary Marion' s cottage, somewhere near Sir 
 Robert Whitecraft's ; and when you see him, tell him I 
 have a crow to pluck with him. Off, I say."
 
 WILLY REILLY. 249 
 
 " Oh, I suppose you mean the love-child I had by nim — 
 ha, ha ! is that all ? But I never had a hankerin' after a 
 rebel and a Papist, which is far worser ; and I now tell you 
 you're no gentlemen, you nasty old Hirish squire. You 
 brought me here, and Sir Robert sent me here, to watch 
 your daughter. Now, what kind of a young lady must she 
 be as requires watching ? / was never watched ; because as 
 how I was well conducted, and nothing could ever be laid to 
 my charge but a love-child." 
 
 11 By the great Boyne, " he exclaimed, running to the win- 
 dow and throwing up the sash — " yes, by the great Boyne, 
 there is Tom Steeple, and if he doesn't bring you and the 
 pump acquainted, I'm rather mistaken. Here, Tom, I 
 have a job for you. Do you wish to earn a bully dinner, 
 my boy ?" 
 
 Miss Herbert, on hearing Tom's name mentioned, disap- 
 peared like lightning, and set about packing her things im- 
 mediately. The steward, by his master's desire, paid her 
 exactly what was due to her, which she received without 
 making a single observation. In truth, she entertained such 
 a terror of Tom Steeple, who had been pointed out to her 
 as a wild Irishman, not long caught in the mountains, that 
 she stole out by the back way, and came, by making a cir- 
 cuit, out upon the road that led to Sir Robert Whitecraft's 
 house, which she passed without entering, but went directly 
 to Mary Mahon's, who had provided a nurse for her illegiti- 
 mate child in the neighborhood. She had not been there 
 long when she sent her trusty friend, Mary, to acquaint Sir 
 Robert with what had happened. He was from home, en- 
 gaged in an expedition of which we feel called upon to give 
 some account to the reader. 
 
 At this period, when the persecution ran high against the 
 Catholics, but with peculiar bitterness against their priest- 
 hood, it is but justice to a great number of the Protestant 
 magistracy and gentry — nay, and many of the nobility be- 
 sides — to state that their conduct was both liberal and gen- 
 erous to the unfortunate victims of those cruel laws. It is a 
 well known fact that many Protestant justices of the peace 
 were imprisoned for refusing to execute such oppressive 
 edicts as had gone abroad through the country. Many of 
 them resigned their commissions, and many more were de- 
 prived of them. Amongst the latter were several liberal
 
 250 WILLY KELLLY. 
 
 noblemen — Protestants — who had sufficient courage to de- 
 nounce the spirit in which the country was governed and 
 depopulated at the same time. One of the latter — a noble- 
 man of the highest rank and acquirements, and of the most 
 amiable disposition, a warm friend to civil freedom, and a 
 firm antagonist to persecution and oppression of every hue 
 — this nobleman, we say, married a French lady of rank and 
 fortune, who was a Catholic, and with whom he lived in the 
 tenderest love, and the utmost domestic felicity. The lady 
 being a Catholic, as we said, brought over with her, from 
 France, a learned, pious, and venerable ecclesiastic, as her 
 domestic chaplain and confessor. This man had been pro- 
 fessor of divinity for several years in the college of Lou- 
 vain ; but having lost his health, he accepted a small living 
 
 near the chateau of , the residence of Marquis De , 
 
 in whose establishment he was domesticated as chaplain. 
 
 In shoit, he accompanied Lord and his lady to Ireland, 
 
 where he acted in the same capacity, but so far only as the 
 lady was concerned ; for, as we have already said, her hus- 
 band, though a liberal man, was a firm but not a bigoted 
 Protestant. This harmless old man, as was very natural, 
 kept up a correspondence with several Irish and French 
 clergymen, his friends, who, as he had done, held professor- 
 ships in the same college. Many of the Irish clergymen, 
 knowing the dearth of religious instruction which, in conse- 
 quence of the severe state of the laws, then existed in Ire- 
 land, were naturally anxious to know the condition of the 
 country, and whether or not any relaxation in their severity 
 had taken place, with a hope that they might be able with 
 safety to return to the mission here, and bestow spiritual aid 
 and consolation to the suffering and necessarily neglected 
 folds of their own persuasion. On this harmless and pious 
 old man the eye of Hennessy rested. In point of fact he set 
 him for Sir Robert Whitecraft, to whom he represented him 
 as a spy from France, and an active agent of the Catholic 
 priesthood, both here and on the Continent ; in fact, an in- 
 cendiary, who, feeling himself sheltered by the protection of 
 the nobleman in question and his countess, was looked upon 
 as a safe man with whom to hold correspondence. The 
 Abbe, as they termed him, was in the habit, by his lord- 
 ship's desire, and that of his lady, of attending the Catholic 
 sick of his large estates, administering to them religious in-
 
 WILLY REILLY. 251 
 
 struction, and the ordinance of their Church, at a time when 
 they could obtain them from no other source. He also 
 acted as their almoner, and distributed relief to the sick, the 
 poor, and the distressed, and thus passed his pious, harm- 
 less, and inoffensive, but useful life. Now all these circum- 
 stances were noted by Hennessy, who had been on the look- 
 out, to make a present of this good old man to his new 
 patron, Sir Robert. At length having discovered— by what 
 means it is impossible to conjecture— that the Abbe was 
 to go on the day in question to relieve a poor sick 
 
 family, at about a distance of two miles from Castle , 
 
 the intelligence was communicated by Hennessy to Sir Rob- 
 ert, who immediately set out for the place, attended by a 
 party of his myrmidons, conducted to it by the Red Rap- 
 paree, who, as we have said, was now one of Whitecraft's 
 band. There is often a stupid infatuation in villany which 
 amounts to what they call in Scotland fey— that is, when a 
 man goes on doggedly to commit some act of wickedness, or 
 rush upon some impracticable enterprise, the danger and 
 folly of which must be evident to every person but himself, 
 and that it will end in the loss of his life. Sir Robert, how- 
 ever, had run a long and prosperous career of persecution — 
 a career by which he enriched himself by the spoils he had 
 torn, and the property he had wrested from his victims, 
 generally under the sanction of Government, but very fre- 
 quently under no other sanction than his own. At all 
 events the party, consisting of about thirty men, remained in 
 a deep and narrow lane, surrounded by high whitethorn 
 hedges, which prevented the horsemen— for they were all 
 dragoons— from being noticed by the country people. Alas, 
 for the poor Abbe' / they had not remained there more than 
 twenty minutes when he was seen approaching them, read- 
 ing his breviary as he came along. They did not move, 
 however, nor seem to notice him, until he had got into the 
 midst of them, when they formed a circle round him, and 
 the loud voice of Whitecraft commanded him to stand. The 
 poor old priest closed his breviary, and looked around him ; 
 but he felt no alarm, because he was conscious of no offence,' 
 and imagined himself safe under the protection of a distin- 
 guished Protestant nobleman. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said he, calmly and meekly, but without 
 fear, M what is the cause of this conduct towards an inoffen-
 
 252 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 sive old man ? It is true I am a Catholic priest, but I am 
 under the protection of the Marquis of . He is a Pro- 
 testant nobleman, and I am sure the very mention of his 
 name will satisfy you, that I cannot be the object either of 
 your suspicion or your enmity." 
 
 " But, my dear sir," replied Sir Robert, " the nobleman 
 you mention is a suspected man himself, and I have report- 
 ed him as such to the Government. He is married to a 
 Popish wife, and you are a seminary priest and harbored by 
 her and her husband." 
 
 "But what is your object in stopping and surrounding 
 me," asked the priest, "as if I were some public delin- 
 quent who had violated the laws ? Allow me, sir, to pass, 
 and prevent me at your peril ; and permit me, before I pro- 
 ceed, to ask your name ?" and the old man's eyes flashed 
 with an indignant sense of the treatment he was receiving. 
 
 " Did you ever hear of Sir Robert Whitecraft ?" 
 
 11 The priest-hunter, the persecutor, the robber, the mur- 
 derer ? I did, with disgust, with horror, with execration. 
 If you are he, I say to you that I am, as you see, an old 
 man, and a priest, and have but one life ; take it, you will 
 anticipate my death only by a short period ; but I look by 
 the light of an innocent conscience into the future, and I 
 now tell you that a woful and a terrible retribution is hang- 
 ing over your head. ' ' 
 
 11 In the meantime," said Sir Robert, very calmly, as he 
 dismounted from his horse, which he desired one of the men 
 to hold, " I have a warrant from Government to arrest you, 
 and send you back again to your own country without delay. 
 You are here as a spy, an incendiary, and must go on yolir 
 travels forthwith. In this, I am acting as your friend and 
 protector, and so is Government, who do not wish to be 
 severe upon you, as you are not a natural subject. See, sir, 
 here is another warrant for your arrest and imprisonment. 
 The fact is, it was left to my own discretion, either to im- 
 prison you, or send you out of the country. Now, sir, 
 from a principle of lenity, I am determined on the latter 
 course." 
 
 11 But." replied the priest, after casting his eye over both 
 documents, " as I am conscious of no offence, either against 
 your laws or your Government, I decline to fly like a crimi- 
 nal, and I will not ; put me in prison, if you wish, but I
 
 WILLY REILLY. 253 
 
 certainly shall not criminate myself, knowing as I do that I 
 am innocent. In the meantime, I request that you will ac- 
 company me to the castle of my patron, that I may acquaint 
 him with the charges against me, and the cause of my being 
 forced to leave his family for a time." 
 
 " No, sir," replied Whitecraft, " I cannot do so, unless I 
 betray the trust which Government reposes in me. I can- 
 not permit you to hold any intercourse whatever with your 
 patron, as you call him, who is justly suspected of being a 
 Papist at heart. Sir, you have been going abroad through 
 the country, under pretence of administering consolation to 
 the sick, and bestowing alms upon the poor ; but the fact is, 
 you have been stirring them up to sedition, if not to open 
 rebellion. You must, therefore, come along with us, this 
 instant. You proceed with us to Sligo, from whence we 
 shall ship you off in a vessel bound for France, which vessel 
 is commanded by a friend of mine, who will treat you 
 kindly, for my sake. What shall we do for a horse for 
 him ?" he asked, looking at his men for information on that 
 point. 
 
 11 That, your honor, we'll provide in a crack," replied the 
 Red Rapparee, looking up the road ; " here comes Sterling, 
 the gauger, very well mounted, and, by all the stills he ever 
 seized, he must walk home upon shank's mare, if it was 
 only to give him exercise and improve his appetite." 
 
 We need not detail this open robbery on the king's offi- 
 cer, and on the king's highway besides. It is enough to say 
 that the Rapparee, confident of protection and impunity, 
 with the connivance, although not by the express orders of 
 the baronet, deprived the man of his horse, and, in a few 
 minutes, the poor old priest was placed upon the saddle, 
 and the whole cavalcade proceeded on their way to Sligo, 
 the priest in the centre of them. Fortunately for Sir Rob- 
 ert's project, they reached the quay just as the vessel 
 alluded to was about to sail ; and as there was, at that 
 period, no novelty in seeing a priest shipped out of the 
 country, the loungers about the place, whatever they might 
 have thought in their hearts, seemed to take no particular 
 notice of the transaction. 
 
 _ " Your honor," said the Red Rapparee, approaching and 
 giving a military salute to his patron, " will you allow me to 
 remain in town for an hour or two ? I have a scheme in my
 
 2 54 WILL Y RE ILL Y. 
 
 head that may come to something. I will tell your honor 
 what it is when I get home." 
 
 44 Very well, O'Donnel," replied Sir Robert; "but I'd 
 advise you not to ride late, if you can avoid it. You know 
 that every man in your uniform is a mark for the vindictive 
 resentment of these Popish rebels." 
 
 44 Ah ! maybe I don't know that, your honor ; but you 
 may take my word for it that I will lose little time." 
 
 He then rode down a by-street, very coolly, taking the 
 gauger's horse along with him. The reader may remember 
 the fable of the cat that had been transformed into a lady, 
 and the unfortunate mouse. The Rapparee, whose original 
 propensities were strong as ever, could not, for the soul of 
 him, resist the temptation of selling the horse and pocketing 
 the amount. He did so, and very deliberately proceeded 
 home to his barracks, but took care to avoid any private 
 communication with his patron for some days, lest he 
 might question him as to what he had done with the animal. 
 
 In the meantime, this monstrous outrage upon an un- 
 offending priest, who was a natural subject of France, per- 
 petrated, as it was, in the open face of day, and witnessed 
 by so many, could not, as the reader may expect, be long 
 
 concealed. It soon reached the ears of the Marquis of 
 
 and his lady, who were deeply distressed at the disappear- 
 ance of their aged and revered friend. The Marquis, on 
 satisfying himself of the truth of the report, did not, as might 
 have been expected, wait upon Sir Robert Whitecraft ; but 
 without loss of time set sail for London, to wait upon the 
 French Ambassador, to whom he detailed the whole circum- 
 stances of the outrage. And here we shall not further pro- 
 ceed with an account of those circumstances, as they will 
 necessarily intermingle with that portion of the narrative 
 which is to follow.
 
 CAPTAIN SMELLPRLEST AND THE BISIlop
 
 WILLY K LILLY. 255 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 SIR ROBERT INGENIOUSLY EXTRICATES HIMSELF OUT OF A 
 GREAT DIFFICULTY. 
 
 ON the day after the outrage we have described, the in- 
 dignant old squire's carriage stopped at the hall-door 
 of Sir Robert Whitecraft, whom he found at home. As yet, 
 the latter gentleman had heard nothing of the contumelious 
 dismissal of Miss Herbert ; but the old squire was not igno- 
 rant of the felonious abduction of the priest. At any other 
 time, that is to say, in some of his peculiar stretches of loy- 
 alty, the act might have been a feather in the cap of the 
 loyal baronet ; but, at present, he looked both at him and 
 his exploits through the medium of the insult he had offered 
 to his daughter. Accordingly, when he entered the baro- 
 net's library, where he found him literally sunk in papers, 
 anonymous letters, warrants, reports to Government, and a 
 vast variety of other documents, the worthy Sir Robert rose, 
 and in the most cordial manner, and with the most extraor- 
 dinary suavity of aspect, held out his hand, saying : 
 
 11 How much obliged am I, Mr. Folliard, at the kindness 
 of this visit, especially from one who keeps at home so much 
 as you do." 
 
 The squire instantly repulsed him, and replied : 
 
 ' ' No, sir ; I am an honest, and, I trust, an honorable man. 
 My hand, therefore, shall never touch that of a villain." 
 
 11 A villain ! — why, Mr. Folliard, these are hard and harsh 
 words, and they surprise me, indeed, as proceeding from 
 your lips. May I beg, my friend, that you will explain your- 
 self ?" 
 
 " I will, sir. How durst you take the liberty of sending 
 one of your cast-off strumpets to attend personally upon my 
 pure and virtuous daughter ? For that insult I come this 
 day to demand that satisfaction which is due to the outraged 
 feelings of my daughter — to my own also, as her father 
 and natural protector, and also as an Irish gentleman, who 
 will brook no insult either to his family or himself. I say, 
 then, name your time and place, and your weapon — sword 
 or pistol, I don't care which, I am ready."
 
 ^5 6 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 " But, my good sir, there is some mystery here ; I cer- 
 tainly engaged a female of that name to attend on Miss Fol- 
 liard, but most assuredly she was a well-conducted person." 
 
 " What ! Madam Herbert well conducted ! Do you imag- 
 ine, sir, that I am a fool ? Did she not admit that you de 
 bauched her ?" 
 
 11 It could not be, Mr. Folliard ; I know nothing whatso- 
 ever about her, except that she was daughter to one of my 
 tenants, who is besides a sergeant of dragoons." 
 
 " Ah, yes, sir," replied the squire sarcastically ; " and I 
 tell you it was not for killing and eating the enemy that he 
 was promoted to his sergeantship. But I see your man- 
 oeuvre, Sir Robert ; you wish to shift the conversation, and 
 sleep in a whole skin. I say now, I have provided myself 
 with a friend, and I ask, will you fight ?" 
 
 " And why not have sent your friend, Mr. Folliard, as is 
 usual upon such occasions ?" 
 
 11 Because he is knocked up, after a fit of drink, and I 
 cannot be just so cool, under such an insult, as to command 
 patience to wait. My friend, however, will attend us on the 
 ground ; but, I ask. again, will you fight ?" 
 
 " Most assuredly not, sir ; I am an enemy to duelling on 
 principle ; but in your case I could not think of it, even if 
 I were not. What ! raise my hand against the life of 
 Helen's father ! — no, sir, I'd sooner die than do so. Be- 
 sides, Mr. Folliard, I am, so to speak, not my own property, 
 but that of my King, my Government, and my country ; 
 and under these circumstances not at liberty to dispose of 
 my life, unless in their quarrel." 
 
 11 I see," replied the squire bitterly ; " it is certainly an 
 admirable description of loyalty that enables a man, who is 
 base enough to insult the very woman who was about to be- 
 come his wife, and to involve her own father in the insult, 
 to ensconce himself, like a coward, behind his loyalty, and 
 refuse to give the satisfaction of a man, or a gentleman." 
 
 " But, Mr. Folliard, will you hear me ? there must, as I 
 said, be some mystery here ; I certainly did recommend a 
 young female named Herbert to you, but I was utterly igno- 
 rant of what you mention." 
 
 _ Flere the footman entered, and whispered something to 
 Sir Robert, who apologized to the squire for leaving him 
 two or three minutes. " Here is the last paper," said he,
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. * 257 
 
 " and I trust that before you go I will be able to remove 
 clearly and fully the prejudices which you entertain against 
 me, and which originate, so far as I am concerned, in a mys- 
 tery which I am unable to penetrate." 
 
 He then followed the servant, who conducted him to 
 Hennessy, whom he found in the back parlor. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Hennessy," said he, impatiently, "what is 
 the matter now ?' ' 
 
 "Why," replied the other, "I have one as good as 
 bagged, Sir Robert." 
 
 " One what?" 
 
 " Why, a priest, sir." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Hennessy, I am particularly engaged now ; 
 but as to Reilly, can you not come upon his trail ? I would 
 rather have him than a dozen priests ; however, remain here 
 for about twenty minutes, or say half an hour, and I will 
 talk with you at more length. For the present I am most 
 particularly engaged." 
 
 " Very well, Sir Robert, I shall await your leisure ; but, 
 as to Reilly, I have every reason to think that he has left the 
 country." 
 
 Sir Robert, on going into the hall, saw the porter open 
 the door, and Miss Herbert presented herself. 
 
 " Oh," said he, " is this you ? I am glad you came ; fol- 
 low me into the front parlor." 
 
 She accordingly did so ; and after he had shut the door 
 he addressed her as follows : 
 
 " Now, tell me how the devil you were discovered ; or 
 were you accessory yourself to the discovery, by your egre- 
 gious folly and vanity ?" 
 
 " Oh, la, Sir Robert, do you think I am a fool ?" 
 
 " I fear you are little short of it," he replied ; " at all 
 events, you have succeeded in knocking up my marrage with 
 Miss Folliard. How did it happen that they found you 
 out?" 
 
 She then detailed to him the circumstances exactly as the 
 reader is acquainted with them. 
 
 He paused for some time, and then said, " There is some 
 mystery at the bottom of this which I must fathom. Have 
 you any reason to know how the family became acquainted 
 with your history ?" 
 
 " No, sir ; not in the least."
 
 258 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 " Do you think Miss Folliard meets any person pri- 
 vately ?" 
 
 " Not, sir, while I was with her." 
 
 11 Did she ever attempt to go out by herself ?" 
 
 11 Not, sir, while I was with her." 
 
 " Very well, then, I'll tell you what you must do ; her 
 father is above with me now, in a perfect hurricane of indig- 
 nation. Now you must say that the girl Herbert, whom I 
 recommended to the squire, was a friend of yours ; that she 
 gave you the letter of recommendation which I gave her to 
 Mr. Folliard ; that having married her sweetheart and left 
 the country with him, you were tempted to present yourself 
 in her stead, and to assume her name. I will call you up 
 by and by ; but what name will you take ?" 
 
 " My mother's name, sir, was Wilson." 
 
 11 Very good ; what was her Christian name ?" 
 
 11 Catherine, sir." 
 
 " And you must say that I knew nothing whatsoever of 
 the imposture you were guilty of. I shall make it worth 
 your while ; and if you don't get well through with it, and 
 enable me to bamboozle the old fellow, I have done with 
 you. I shall send for you by and by." 
 
 He then rejoined the squire, who was walking impatiently 
 about the room. 
 
 " Mr. Folliard," said he, "I have to apologize to you 
 for this seeming neglect ; I had most important business to 
 transact, and I merely went downstairs to tell the gentleman 
 that I could not possibly attend to it now, and to request 
 him to come in a couple of hours hence ; pray excuse me, 
 for no business could be so important as that in which I am 
 now engaged with you." 
 
 " Yes, but in the name of an outraged father, I demand 
 again to know whether you will give me satisfaction or not ?" 
 
 11 I have already answered you, my dear sir, and if you 
 will reflect upon the reasons I have given you, I am certain 
 you will admit that I have the laws both of God and man on 
 my side, and I feel it my duty to regulate my conduct by 
 both. As to the charge you bring against me, about the 
 girl Herbert, I am both ignorant and innocent of it." 
 
 " Why, sir, how can you say so ? how have you the face 
 to say so ? did you not give her a letter of recommendation 
 to me, pledging yourself for her moral character and fidelity?' '
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 259 
 
 " I grant it, but still I pledge you my honor that I looked 
 upon her as an extremely proper person to be about your 
 daughter ; you know, sir, that you as well as I have had — 
 and have still — apprehensions as to Reilly's conduct and in- 
 fluence over her ; and 1 did fear, and so did you, that the 
 maid who then attended her, and to whom I was told she 
 was attached with such unusual affection, might have availed 
 herself of her position, and either attempted to seduce 
 her from her faith, or connive at private meetings with 
 Reilly." 
 
 " Sir Robert, I know your plausibility — and, upon my 
 soul, I pay it a high compliment when I say it is equal to 
 your cowardice." 
 
 11 Mr. Folliard, I can bear all this with patience, especially 
 from you — What's this ?" he exclaimed, addressing the foot- 
 man, who rushed into the room in a state of considerable 
 excitement. 
 
 " Why, Sir Robert, there is a young woman below, who is 
 crying and lamenting, and saying she must see Mr. Fol- 
 liard." 
 
 " Damnation, sir," exclaimed Sir Robert, " what is this ? 
 why am I interrupted in such a manner ? I cannot have a 
 gentleman ten minutes in my study, engaged upon private 
 and important business, but in bolts some of you, to inter- 
 rupt and disturb us. What does the girl want with vie V % 
 
 " It is not you she wants, sir," replied the footman, " but 
 his honor, Mr. Folliard." 
 
 11 Well, tell her to wait until he is disengaged." 
 
 "No," replied Mr. Folliard, "send her up at once; 
 what the devil can this be ? but you shall witness it." 
 
 The baronet smiled knowingly. " Well," said he, " Mr. 
 Folliard, upon my honor, I thought you had sown your wild 
 oats many a year ago ; and, by the way, according to all ac- 
 counts — hem — but no matter ; this, to be sure, will be rather 
 a late crop." 
 
 11 No, sir, I sowed my wild oats in the right season, when 
 I was hot, young, and impetuous ; but long before your age, 
 sir, that field had been allowed to lie barren." 
 
 He had scarcely concluded when Miss Herbert, acting 
 upon a plan of her own, which, were not the baronet a man 
 of the most imperturbable coolness, might have staggered, 
 if not altogether confounded him, entered the room.
 
 260 WILLY R £ ILLY. 
 
 " Oli, sir !" she exclaimed, with a flood of tears, kneeling 
 before Mr. Folliard, " can you forgive and pardon me ?" 
 
 " It is not against you, foolish girl, that my resentment 
 is or shall be directed, but against the man who employed 
 you — and there he sits." 
 
 " Oh, sir !" she exclaimed, again turning to that worthy 
 gentleman, who seemed filled with astonishment. 
 
 " In God's name !" said he, interrupting his accomplice, 
 11 what can this mean ? Who are you, my good girl ?" 
 
 11 My name's Catherine Wilson, sir." 
 
 11 Catherine Wilson !" exclaimed the squire — " why, con- 
 found your brazen face, are you not the person who styled 
 yourself Miss Herbert, and who lived, thank God, but for a 
 short time only, in my family ?" 
 
 " I lived in your family, sir, but I am not the Miss Her- 
 bert that Sir Robert Whitecraft recommended to you." 
 
 " I certainly know nothing about you, my good girl," re- 
 plied Sir Robert, " nor do I recollect having ever seen you 
 before ; but proceed with what you have to say, and let us 
 hear it at once." 
 
 " Yes, sir ; but perhaps you are not the gentleman as is 
 known to be Sir Robert Whitecraft — him as hunts the 
 priests. Oh, la, I'll surely be sent to jail. Gentlemen, if 
 you promise not to send me to jail, I'll tell you every thing. ' ' 
 
 11 Well, then, proceed," said the squire ; " I will not send 
 you to jail, provided you tell the truth." 
 
 " Nor I, my good girl," added Sir Robert, "but upon 
 the same conditions." 
 
 '* Well, then, gentlemen, I was acquainted with Miss 
 Herbert — she is Hirish, but I'm English. This gentleman 
 gave her a letter to you, Mr. Folliard, to get her as maid to 
 Miss Helen — she told me — oh, my goodness, I shall surely 
 be sent to jail." 
 
 11 Go on, girl,"' said the baronet somewhat sternly, by 
 which tone of voice he intimated to her that she was pursu- 
 ing the right course, and she was quick enough to under- 
 stand as much. 
 
 " Well," she proceeded, " after Miss Herbert had got the 
 letter, she told her sweetheart, who wouldn't by no means 
 allow her to take service, because as why, he wanted to marry 
 her ; well, she consented, and they did get married, and 
 both of them left the country because her father wasn't
 
 WILLY REILLY. 261 
 
 consenting. As the letter was of no use to her then, I 
 asked her for it, and offered myself in her name to you, sir, 
 and that was the way I came into your family for a short 
 time." 
 
 The baronet rose up, in well-feigned agitation, and ex- 
 claimed, " Unfortunate girl ! whoever you may be, you 
 know not the serious mischief and unhappiness that your 
 imposture was nearly entailing upon me." 
 
 11 But did you not say that you bore an illegitimate child 
 to this gentleman ?" asked the squire. 
 
 " Oh, la ! no, sir ; you know I denied that ; I never bore 
 an illegitimate child ; I bore a love-child, but not to him ; 
 and there is no harm in that, sure." 
 
 " Well, she certainly has exculpated you, Sir Robert." 
 
 " Gentlemen, will you excuse and pardon me ? and will 
 you promise not to send me to jail ?" 
 
 " Go about your business," said Sir Robert, " you unfor- 
 tunate girl, and be guilty of no such impostures in fu- 
 ture. Your conduct has nearly been the means of putting 
 enmity between two families of rank ; or rather of alienating 
 one of them from the confidence and good will of the other. 
 Go." 
 
 She then courtesied to each, shedding, at the same time, 
 what seemed to be bitter tears of remorse — and took her de- 
 parture, each of them looking after her, and then at the 
 other, with surprise and wonder. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Folliard," said Sir Robert solemnly, " I 
 have one question to ask you, and it is this : could I possi- 
 bly, or by any earthly natural means, have been apprised of 
 the honor of your visit to me this day ? I ask you in a seri- 
 ous — yes, and in a solemn spirit ; because the happiness of 
 my future life depends on your reply." 
 
 " Why, no," replied the credulous squire, " hang it, no, 
 man — no, Sir Robert ; I'll do you that justice ; I never 
 mentioned my intention of coming to call you out, to any 
 individual but one, and that on my way hither ; he was un- 
 well, too, after a hard night's drinking ; but he said he 
 would shake himself up, and be ready to attend me as soon 
 as the place of meeting should be settled on. In point of 
 fact, I did not intend to see you to-day, but to send him 
 with the message ; but, as I said, he was knocked up for .1 
 time, and you know my natural impatience. No, certain y
 
 262 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 not, it was in every sense impossible that you could have 
 expected me : yes, if the devil was in it, I will do you that 
 justice." 
 
 " Well, I have another question to ask, my dear friend, 
 equally important with, if not more so than, the other. Do 
 you hold me free from all blame in what has happened 
 through the imposture of that wretched girl ?" 
 
 11 Why, after what has occurred just now, I certainly must, 
 Sir Robert. As you had no anticipation of my visit, you 
 certainly could not, nor had you time to get up a scene." 
 
 " Well, now, Mr. Folliard, you have taken a load off my 
 heart ; and I will candidly confess to you that I have had 
 my frailties like other men, sown my wild oats like other 
 men ; but, unlike those who are not ashamed to boast of such 
 exploits, I did not think it necessary to trumpet my own 
 feelings. I do not say, my dear friend, that I have always 
 been a saint." 
 
 11 Why, now, that's manly and candid, Sir Robert, and I 
 like you the better for it. Yes, I do exonerate you from 
 blame in this. There certainly was sincerity in that wench's 
 tears, and be hanged to her ; for, as you properly said, she 
 was devilish near putting between our families, and knocking 
 up our intimacy. It is a delightful thing to think that I 
 shall be able to disabuse poor Helen's mind upon the sub- 
 ject ; for, I give you my honor, it caused her the greatest 
 distress, and excited her mind to a high pitch of indignation 
 against you ; but I shall set all to rights." 
 
 "And now that the matter is settled, Mr. Folliard, we 
 must have lunch. I will give you a glass of Burgundy, 
 which, I am sure, you will like." 
 
 11 With all my heart," replied the placable and hearty old 
 squire ; " after the agitation of the day a good glass of Bur- 
 gundy will serve me certainly. ' ' 
 
 Lunch was accordingly ordered, and the squire, after 
 taking half a dozen bumpers of excellent wine, got into fine 
 spirits, shook hands as cordially as ever with the baronet, 
 and drove home completely relieved from the suspicions 
 which he had entertained. 
 
 ^ The squire, on his return home, immediately called for 
 his daughter, but for some time to no purpose. The old 
 man began to get alarmed, and had not only Helen's room 
 searched, but every room in the house. At length a ser-
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 263 
 
 vant informed him that she was tending and arranging the 
 green-house flowers in the garden. 
 
 " Oh, ay !" said he, after he had dismissed the servants, 
 " Thank God — thank God ! I will go out to the dear girl ; 
 for she is a dear girl, and it is a sin to suspect her. I wish 
 to heaven that that scoundrel Reilly would turn Protestant, 
 and he should have her with all the veins of my heart. 
 Upon my soul, putting religion out of the question, one 
 would think that, in other respects, they were made for each 
 other. But it's all this cursed pride of his that prevents 
 him ; as if it signified what any person's religion is, pro- 
 vided he's an honest man, and a loyal subject." 
 
 He thus proceeded with his sololoquy until he reached 
 the garden, where he found Reilly and her arranging the 
 plants and flowers in a superb green-house. 
 
 "Well, Helen, my love, how is the green-house doing? 
 Eh ! why, what is this ?" 
 
 At this exclamation the lovers started, but the old fellow 
 was admiring the improvement, which even he couldn't but 
 notice. 
 
 " Why, what is this ?" he proceeded ; " by the light of 
 day, Helen, you have made this a little paradise of flowers." 
 
 " It was not I, papa," she replied ; "all that I have been 
 able to contribute to the order and beauty of the place has 
 been very slight indeed. It is all the result of this poor 
 man's taste and skill. He's an admirable botanist." 
 
 " By the great Boyne, my girl, I think he could lick Mal- 
 comson himself, as a botanist." 
 
 " Shir," observed Reilly, " the young lady is underwal- 
 uin' herself ; sure, miss, it was yourself directed me what to 
 do, and how to do it." 
 
 " Look at that old chap, Helen," said her father, who 
 felt in great good humor ; first, because he found that Helen 
 was safe ; and again, because Sir Robert, as the unsuspect- 
 ing old man thought, had cleared up the circumstances of 
 Miss Herbert's imposture ; " I say, Helen, look at that old 
 chap : isn't he a nice bit of goods to run away with a pretty 
 girl ? and what a beautiful taste she must have had to go 
 with him ! Upon my soul, it beats cockfighting — confound 
 me, but it does." 
 
 Helen's face became crimson as he spoke ; and yet, such 
 was the ludicrous appearance which Reilly made, when put
 
 264 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 in connection with the false scent on which her father was 
 proceeding at such a rate, and the act of gallantry imputed 
 to him, that a strong feeling of humor overcame her, and 
 she burst into a loud ringing laugh, which she could not, 
 for some time, restrain ; in this she was heartily joined 
 by her father, who laughed till the tears came down his 
 cheeks. 
 
 " And yet, Helen — ha — ha — ha, he's a stalwart old rogue 
 still, and must have been a devil of a tyke when he was 
 young." 
 
 After another fit of laughter from both father and daugh- 
 ter, the squire said : 
 
 11 Now, Helen, my iove, go in. I have good news for 
 you, which I will acquaint you with by and by." 
 
 When she left the garden, her father addressed Reilly as 
 follows : 
 
 " Now, my good fellow, will you tell me how you came to 
 know about Miss Herbert having been seduced by Sir Rob- 
 ert Whitecraft ?" 
 
 " Fwhy, shir, from common report, shir." 
 
 " Is that all ? But don't you think," he replied, " that 
 common report is a common liar, as it mostly has been, and 
 is, in this case. That's all I have to say upon the subject. 
 I have traced the affair, and find it to be a falsehood from 
 beginning to ending. I have. And now, go on as you're 
 doing, and I will make Malcomson raise your wages." 
 
 11 Thank you, shir," and he touched his nondescript with 
 an air of great thankfulness and humility. 
 
 " Helen, my darling," said her father, on entering her 
 own sitting-room, " I said I had good news for you." 
 
 Helen looked at him with a doubtful face, and simply 
 said, " I hope it is good, papa." 
 
 " Why, my child, I won't enter into particulars ; it is 
 enough to say that I discovered from an accidental meeting 
 with that wretched girl we had here that she was not Miss 
 Herbert, as she called herself, at all, but another, named 
 Catherine Wilson, who, having got from Herbert the letter of 
 recommendaton which I read to you, had the effrontery to 
 pass herself for her ; but the other report was false. The 
 girl Wilson, apprehensive that either I or Sir Robert might 
 send her to jail, having seen my carriage stop at Sir Rob- 
 ert's house, came, with tears in her eyes, to beg that if we
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 265 
 
 would not punish her she would tell us the truth, and she 
 did so." 
 
 Helen mused for some time, and seemed to decide in- 
 stantly upon the course of action she should pursue, or, 
 rather, the course which she had previously proposed to her- 
 self. She saw clearly, and had long known, that in the tac- 
 tics and stratagems of life her blunt but honest father was 
 no match at all for the deep hypocrisy and deceitful plausi- 
 bility of Sir Robert Whitecraft. The consequence was, 
 that she allowed her father to take his own way, without 
 either remonstrance or contradiction. She knew very well 
 that on this occasion, as on every other where their wits and 
 wishes came in opposition, Sir Robert was always able to 
 out-general and overreach him ; she therefore resolved to 
 agitate herself as little as possible, and to allow matters to 
 flow on tranquilly, until the crisis — the moment for action 
 came. 
 
 " Papa," she replied, " this intelligence must make your 
 mind very easy ; I hope, however, you will restore poor 
 faithful Connor to me. I never had such an affectionate 
 and kind creature ; and, besides, not one of them could dress 
 me with such skill and taste as she could. Will you allow 
 me to have her back, sir? " 
 
 " I will, Helen ; but take care she doesn't make a Papist 
 of you." 
 
 " Indeed, papa, that is a strange whim : why, the poor 
 girl never opened her lips to me on the subject of religion 
 during her life ; nor, if I saw that she attempted it, would 1 
 permit her. I am no theologian, papa, and detest polemics, 
 because I have always heard that those who are most ad- 
 dicted to polemical controversy have least religion." 
 
 11 Well, my love, you shall have back poor Connor ; and 
 now I must go and look over some papers in my study. 
 Good-by, my love ; and observe, Helen, don't stay out 
 too late in the garden, lest the chill of the air might injure 
 your health." 
 
 " But you know /never do, and never did, papa." 
 
 " Well, good-by again, my love." 
 
 He then left her, and withdrew to his study to sign some 
 papers, and transact some business, which he had allowed 
 to run into arrear. When he had been there better than an 
 hour, he rang the bell, and desired that Malcomson, the
 
 266 WILLY R LILLY. 
 
 gardener, should be sent to him, and that self-sufficient and 
 pedantic person made his appearance accordingly. 
 
 " Well, Malcomson," said he, " how do you like the 
 bearded fellow in the garden ?' ' 
 
 44 Ou, yer honor, weel eneugh ; he does ken something o' 
 the sceence o' buttany, an' 'am thinkin' he must hae been a 
 gude spell in Scotland, for I canna guess whare else he could 
 hae become acquent wi' it. ' ' 
 
 11 I see, Malcomson, you'll still persist in your confounded 
 pedantry about your science. Now, what the devil has sci- 
 ence to do with botany or gardening ?" 
 
 11 Weel, your honor, it wadna just become me to dispute 
 wi' ye upon that or any ither subjeck ; but for a' that, it 
 required profoond sceence, and vera extensive learnin' to 
 classify an' arrange a' the plants o' the yearth, an' to gie 
 them names, by whilk they can be known throughout a' the 
 nations o' the warld." 
 
 11 Well, well — I suppose I must let you have your way." 
 
 "Why, your honor," replied Malcomson, '"am sure it 
 mair becomes me to let you hae yours ; but regerding this 
 ould carl, I winna say but he has been weel indoctrinated in 
 the sceence." 
 
 " Ahem ! well, well, go on." 
 
 " An' it's no easy to guess whare he could hae gotten it. 
 Indeed, 'am of opinion that he's no without a hantle o' book 
 fair ; for, to do him justice, de'il a question I spier at him, 
 anent the learned names o' the rare plants, that he hasna at 
 his ringer ends, and gies to me off-hand. Naebody but a 
 man that has gotten book lair could do yon." 
 
 11 Book lair, what is that ?" 
 
 11 Ou, just a correck knowledge o' the learned names of 
 the plants. I dinna say, and I winna say, but he's a velli- 
 able assistant to me, an' I shouldna wish to pairt wi' him. 
 If he'd only shave off yon beard, an' let himsel' be decently 
 happed in good claiths, why he might pass in ony gentleman's 
 gerden for a skeelful buttanist." 
 
 11 Is he as good a kitchen gardener as he is in the green- 
 house, and among the flowers ?' ' 
 
 " Weel, your honor, guid troth, 'am sairly puzzled there ; 
 hoot, no, sir ; de'il a thing almost he kens about the kitchen 
 gerden — a' his strength lies among the flowers and in the 
 green-house."
 
 WILLY REILLY. 267 
 
 11 Well, well, that's where we principally want him. I 
 sent for you, Malcomson, to desire you'd raise his wages — 
 the laborer is worthy of his hire ; and a good laborer of good 
 hire. Let him have four shillings a week additional." 
 
 " Troth, your honor, 'am no sayin' but he weel deserves 
 it ; but, Lord haud a care o' us, he's a queer one, yon." 
 
 " Why, what do you mean ?" 
 
 11 Why, de'il heat he seems to care about siller any mair 
 than if it was sklate stains. On Saturday last, when he was 
 paid his weekly wages by the steward, he met a puir sickly- 
 lookin' auld wife, wi' a string o' sickly-looking weans at the 
 body's heels ; she didna ask him for charity, for, in troth, 
 he appeared, binna it wearna for the weans, as great an ob- 
 jeck as hersel'; noo, what wad yer honor think? he gaes 
 ower and gies till her a hale crown o' siller out o' his ain 
 wage. W 7 as every onything heard like yon." 
 
 "Well, but I know the cause of it, Malcomson. He's 
 under a penance, and can neither shave nor change his dress 
 till his silly penance is out ; and I suppose it was to wash 
 off a part of it that he gave this foolish charity to the poor 
 woman and her children. Come, although I condemn the 
 folly of it, I don't like him the worse for it." 
 
 " Hout awa', your honor, what is it but rank Papistry, 
 and a dependence upon filthy works. The doited auld 
 carl, to throw aff his siller that gate ; but that's Papistry a' 
 ower — substituting works for grace and faith — a' Papistry, 
 a' Papistry ! Well, your honor, I sal be conform to your 
 wushes — it's my duty, that." 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 AWFUL CONDUCT OF SQUIRE FOLLIARD — FERGUS REILLY 
 BEGINS TO CONTRAVENE THE RED RAPPAREE. 
 
 AFTER Malcomson quitted him, the squire, with his 
 golden-headed cane, went to saunter about through his 
 beautiful grounds and his noble demesne, proud, certainly, 
 of his property, nor insensible to the beautiful scenery which 
 it presented from so many points of observation. He had
 
 268 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 not been long here when a poor-looking peasant, dressed in 
 shabby frieze, approached him at as fast a pace as he could 
 accomplish ; and the squire, after looking at him, exclaimed, 
 in an angry tone : 
 
 " Well, you rascal, what the devil brings you here ?" 
 
 The man stood for a little, and seemed so much exhausted 
 and out of breath that he could not speak. 
 
 " I say, you unfortunate old vagrant," repeated the 
 squire, " what brought you here ?" 
 
 " It is a case of either life or death, sir," replied the poor 
 peasant. 
 
 " Why," said the squire, " what crime did you commit ? 
 Or, perhaps, you broke prison, and are flying from the 
 officers of justice ; eh ! is that it ? And you come to ask a 
 magistrate to protect you !" 
 
 "I am flying from the agents of persecution, sir, and 
 know not where to hide my head in order to avoid them." 
 
 The hard-pressed but amiable priest — for such he was — 
 adopted this language of truth, because he knew the squire's 
 character, and felt that it would serve him more effectually 
 than if he had attempted to conceal his profession. " I am a 
 Catholic priest, sir, and felt from bitter experience that this 
 disguise was necessary to the preservation of my life. I 
 throw myself upon your honor and generosity, for although 
 hasty, sir, you are reported to have a good and kind heart." 
 
 " You are disposed to place confidence in me, then ?" 
 
 11 I am, sir ; my being before you now, and putting myself 
 in your power, is a proof of it." 
 
 " Who are pursuing you ? Sir Robert Whitecraft — eh ?" 
 
 11 No, sir, Captain Smellpriest and his gang." 
 
 " Ay, out of the frying pan into the fire ; although I don't 
 know that, either. They say Smellpriest can do a generous 
 thing sometimes — but the other, when priest-hunting, never. 
 What's your name ?" 
 
 " I'll tell you, without hesitation, sir — Macguire ; I'm of 
 the Macguires of Fermanagh." 
 
 " Ay ! ay ! why, then, you have good blood in your 
 veins. But what offence were you guilty of that you — but I 
 need not ask ; it is enough, in the present state of the laws, 
 that you are a Catholic priest. In the meantime, are you 
 aware that I myself transported a Catholic priest, and that 
 he would have swung only for my daughter, who went to
 
 IV ILLY RE ILLY. 269 
 
 the viceroy, and, with much difficulty, got his sentence com- 
 muted to transportation for life ; I myself had already tried 
 it, and failed ; but she succeeded, God bless her !" 
 
 "Yes, God bless her!" replied the priest, "she suc- 
 ceeded, and her fame has gone far and near, in conse- 
 quence ; yes, may God of his mercy bless and guard her 
 from all evil !" and as the poor hunted priest spoke, the 
 tears came to his eyes. This symptom of respect and affec- 
 tion, prompted by the generous and heroic conduct of the 
 far-famed Cooleen Bawn, touched her father, and saved the 
 priest. 
 
 " Well," said he, after musing for a while, " so you say 
 Smellpriest is after you ?" 
 
 " He is, sir ; they saw me at a distance, across the coun- 
 try, scrambling over the park wall, and indeed I was near 
 falling into their hands by the difficulty I had in getting 
 over it." 
 
 " Well, come, " replied the squire, " since you have had 
 the courage to place confidence in me, I won't abuse it ; 
 come along, I will both conceal and protect you. I presume 
 there is little time to be lost, for those priest hounds will be 
 apt to ride round to the entrance gate, which I will desire 
 the porter to close and lock, and then leave the lodge." 
 
 On their way home he did so, and ordered the porter up 
 to the house. The magnificent avenue was a serpentine 
 one, and our friends had barely time to get out of sight of 
 the lodge, by a turn in it, when they heard the voices of the 
 pursuers, hallooing for the porter, and thundering at the 
 gate. 
 
 11 Ay, thunder away, only don't injure my gate, Smell- 
 priest, or I'll make you replace it ; bawl yourselves hoarse — 
 you are on the wrong side for once !" 
 
 When they were approaching the hall-door, which gener- 
 ally lay open — 
 
 " Confound me," said the squire, " if I know what to do 
 with you ; I trust in God I won't get into odium by this. 
 At all events, let us steal upstairs as quietly as we can, and, 
 if possible, without any one seeing us." 
 
 To the necessity of this the priest assented, and they had 
 reached the first landing of the staircase when out popped 
 right in their teeth two housemaids each with brush in hand. 
 Now it instantly occurred to the squire that in this unlucky
 
 270 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 crisis bribery was the safest resource. He accordingly ad- 
 dressed them : 
 
 11 Come here, you jades, don't say a word about this 
 man's presence here — don't breathe it ; here's five shillings 
 apiece for you, and let one of you go and bring me up, se- 
 cretly, the key of the green-room in the garret ; it has not 
 been opened for some time. Be quick now ; or stay, desire 
 Lanigan to fetch it, and refreshment also ; there's cold veni- 
 son and roast beef, and a bottle of wine ; tell Lanigan I'm 
 going to lunch, and to lay the table in my study. Lanigan 
 can be depended on," he added, after the chambermaid 
 had gone, " for when I concealed another priest here once, 
 he was entrusted with the secret, and was faithful." 
 
 Now it so happened that one of those maids, who was a 
 very bitter Protestant, at once recognized Father Maguire, 
 notwithstanding his disguise. She had been a servant for 
 four or five years in the house of a wealthy farmer who lived 
 adjoining him, and with whom he had been in the habit of 
 frequently dining when no danger was to be apprehended 
 from the operation of the laws. Indeed, she and Malcom- 
 son, the gardener, were the only two individuals in the 
 squire's establishment who were not Catholics. Malcomson 
 was a manoeuvrer, and, as is pretty usual with individuals 
 of his class and country, he looked upon " Papistry" as an 
 abomination that ought to be removed from the land. Still, 
 he was cautious and shrewd, and seldom or never permitted 
 those opinions to interfere with or obstruct his own interests. 
 Be this as it may, the secret was not long kept. Esther Wil- 
 son impeached her master's loyalty, and she herself was in- 
 dignantly assailed for her treachery by Molly Finigan, who 
 hoped in her soul that her master and young mistress would 
 both die in the true Church yet. 
 
 The whole kitchen was in abuzz ; in fact, a regular scene 
 ensued. Every one spoke, except Lanigan, who, from former 
 experience, understood the case perfectly ; but, as for Mal- 
 comson, whose zeal on this occasion certainly got the better 
 of his discretion, he seemed thunderstruck. 
 
 11 Eh, sirs ! did ony one ever hear the like o' this? — to 
 hide a rebel priest frae the offended laws ! But it canna be 
 that this puir man is athegether right in his head. Lord 
 ha'e a care o' us ! the man surely must be demented, or he 
 wouldna venture to bring such a person into his ain house —
 
 WILL Y RE ILL V. 271 
 
 into the vara house. I think, Maisther Lanigan, it wad 
 be just a precious bit o' service to religion and our laws, to 
 gang and tell the next magistrate. Gude guide us ! what 
 an example he is settin' to his loyal neighbors, and his hail 
 connections ! That ever we suld see the like o' this waefu' 
 backsliding at his years ! Lord ha'e a care o' us, I say 
 aince mair." 
 
 " Oh, but there's more to come," said one of them, for, 
 in the turmoil produced by this shocking intelligence, they 
 had forgotten to deliver the message to Lanigan. 
 
 11 Mr. Lanigan," said Esther, and her breath was checked 
 by a hysteric hiccup, " Mr. Lanigan, you are to bring up 
 the key of the green-room, and plenty of venison, roast 
 beef, and a bottle of wine ! There !" 
 
 " Saul, Maisther Lanigan, I winna stay langer under this 
 roof ; it's nae cannie ; I'll e'en gang out, and ha'e some 
 nonsense clavers wi' yon queer auld carl i' the gerden. The 
 Lord ha'e a care o' us ! — what will the warld come to next !" 
 
 He accordingly repaired to the garden, where the first 
 thing he did was to give a fearful account to Reilly of their 
 master's political profligacy. The latter felt surprised, but 
 not at all at Malcomson's narrative. The fact was, he knew 
 the exact circumstances of the case, because he knew the 
 squire's character, which was sometimes good, and some- 
 times the reverse — just according to the humor he might be 
 in : and in reply observed to Malcomson, that — 
 
 " As his honor done a great dale o' good to the poor o' 
 the counthry, I think it wouldn't be daicent in us, Misther 
 Malcomson, to go for to publish this generous act to the 
 poor priesht ; if he is wrong, let us lave him to Gad, shir." 
 
 " Ou ay, weel I dinna but you're richt ; the mair that we 
 won't hae to answer for his transgressions ; sae e'en let 
 every herring hang by its ain tail." 
 
 In the meantime, Lanigan, who undetstood the affair well 
 enough, addressed the audience in the kitchen to the follow- 
 ing effect : 
 
 11 Now," said he, " what a devil of a hubbub you all 
 make about nothing! Pray, young lady," addressing 
 Esther Wilson, who alone had divulged the circumstance, 
 11 did his honor desire you to keep what you seen saicret ?" 
 
 11 He did, cook, he did," replied Esther ; " and gave us 
 money not to speak about it, which is a proof of his guilt."
 
 272 WILLY KELLLY. 
 
 " And the first thing you did was to blaze it to the whole 
 kitchen ! I'll tell you what it is now — if he ever hears that 
 you breathed a syllable of it to mortal man, you won't be 
 under his roof two hours." 
 
 11 Oh, but, surely, cook — " 
 
 11 Oh, but, surely, madam," replied Lanigan, " you talk of 
 what you don't understand ; his honor knows very well 
 what he's about, and has authority for it." 
 
 This sobered her to some purpose ; and Lanigan pro- 
 ceeded to execute his master's orders. 
 
 It is true Miss Esther and Malcomson were now silent, 
 for their own sakes ; but it did not remove their indigna- 
 tion ; so far from that, Lanigan himself came in for a share 
 of it, and was secretly looked upon in the light of the squire's 
 confidant in the transaction. 
 
 "Whilst matters were in this position, the Red Rapparee 
 began gradually to lose the confidence of his unscrupulous 
 employer. He had promised that worthy gentleman to be- 
 tray his former gang, and deliver them up to justice, in 
 requital for the protection which he received from him. 
 This he would certainly have done, were it not for Fergus, 
 who, happening to meet one of them a day or two after the 
 Rapparee had taken service with Whitecraft upon the afore- 
 said condition, informed the robber of that fact, and advised 
 him, if he wished to provide for his own safety and that of 
 his companions, to desire them forthwith to leave the coun- 
 try, and, if possible, the kingdom. They accordingly took 
 the hint ; some of them retired to distant and remote places, 
 and others went beyond seas for their security. The prom- 
 ise, therefore, which the Rapparee had made to the baronet 
 as a proof of gratitude for his protection, he now found him- 
 self incapable of fulfilling, in consequence of the dispersion 
 and disappearance of his band. "When he stated this fact to 
 Sir Robert, he gained little credit from him ; and the conse- 
 quence was that his patron felt disposed to think that he was 
 not a man to be depended on. Still, what he had advanced 
 in his own defence might be true ; and although his confi- 
 dence in him was shaken, he resolved to maintain him yet in 
 his service, and that for two reasons — one of which was, 
 that by having him under his eye, and within his grasp, he 
 could pounce upon him at any moment ; the other was, 
 that, as he knew, from the previous shifts and necessities of
 
 WILLY REILLY. 273 
 
 his own lawless life, all those dens and recesses and cav- 
 erns to which the Catholic priesthood, and a good number 
 of the people, were obliged to fly and conceal themselves, 
 he must necessarily be a useful guide to him as a priest- 
 hunter. It is true he assured him that he had procured his 
 pardon from Government, principally, he said, in conse- 
 quence of his own influence, and because, in all his rob- 
 beries, it had not been known that he ever took away human 
 life. In general, however, this was the policy of the Rap- 
 parees, unless when they identified themselves with political 
 contests and outrages, and on those occasions they were sav- 
 age and cruel as fiends. In simple robbery on the king's 
 highway, or in burglaries in houses, they seldom, almost 
 never, committed murder, unless when resisted, and in de- 
 fence of their lives. On the contrary, they were quite gal- 
 lant to females, whom they treated with a kind of rude 
 courtesy, not unfrequently returning the lady of the house 
 her gold watch — but this only on occasions when they had 
 secured a large booty of plate and money. The Threshers 
 of 1805-6 and '7, so far as cruelty goes, were a thousand 
 times worse ; for they spared neither man nor woman in 
 their infamous and nocturnal visits ; and it is enough to say, 
 besides, that their cowardice was equal to their cruelty. It 
 has been proved, at special commissions held about those 
 periods, that four or five men, with red coats on them, have 
 made between two or three hundred of the miscreants run 
 for their lives, and they tolerably well armed. Whether Sir 
 Robert's account of the Rapparee's pardon was true or false 
 will appear in due time ; for the truth is, that Whitecraft 
 was one of those men who, in consequence of his staunch 
 loyalty and burning zeal in carrying out the inhuman meas- 
 ures of the then Government, was permitted with impunity 
 to run into a licentiousness of action, as a useful public 
 man, which no modern government would, or dare, permit. 
 At the period of which we. write, there was no press, so to 
 speak, in Ireland, and consequently no opportunity of at 
 once bringing the acts of the Irish Government, or of public 
 men, to the test of public opinion. Such men, therefore, 
 as Whitecraft, looked upon themselves as invested with ir- 
 responsible power ; and almost in every instance their con- 
 duct was approved of, recognized, and, in general, rewarded 
 by the Government of the day. The Beresford family en-
 
 274 WILLY RELLLY. 
 
 joyed something like this unenviable privilege, during the 
 rebellion of '98, and for some time afterwards. We have 
 alluded to Mrs. Oxley, the sheriff's fat wife ; whether for- 
 tunately or unfortunately for the poor sheriff, who had some 
 generous touches of character about him, it so happened 
 that at this period of our narrative she popped off one day, 
 in a fit of apoplexy, and he found himself a widower. Now, 
 our acquaintance, Fergus Reilly, who was as deeply disugised 
 as our hero, had made his mind up, if possible, to bring the 
 Rapparee into trouble. This man had led his patron to 
 several places where it w r as likely that the persecuted priests 
 might be found ; and, for this reason, Fergus knew that he 
 was serious in his object to betray them. This unnatural 
 treachery of the robber envenomed his heart against him, 
 and he resolved to run a risk in watching his motions. lie 
 had no earthly doubt that it was he who robbed the sheriff. 
 He knew, from furtive observations, as well as from general 
 report, that a discreditable intimacy existed between him 
 and Mary Mahon. This woman's little house was very con- 
 venient to that of Whitecraft, to whom she was very useful 
 in a certain capacity. She had now given up her trade of 
 fortune-telling — a trade which, at that period, in conse- 
 quence of the ignorance of the people, w r as very general in 
 Ireland. She was now more beneficially employed. Fer- 
 gus, therefore, confident in his disguise, resolved upon a 
 bold and hazardous stroke. He began to apprehend that 
 if ever Tom Steeple, fool though he was, kept too much 
 about the haunts and resorts of the Rapparee, that cunning 
 scoundrel, who was an adept in all the various schemes and 
 forms of detection, might take the alarm, and, aided prob- 
 ably by Whitecraft, make his escape out of the country. At 
 best, the fool could only assure him of his whereabouts ; 
 but he felt it necessary, in addition to this, to procure, if 
 the matter w r ere possible, such evidence of his guilt as might 
 render his conviction of the robbery of the sheriff complete 
 and certain. One evening a wretched-looking old man, re- 
 peating his prayers, with beads in hand, entered her cottage, 
 which consisted of two rooms and a kitchen ; and after hav- 
 ing presented himself, and put on his hat — for we need 
 scarcely say that no Catholic ever prays covered — he asked 
 lodging in Irish, for the night, and at this time it was dusk. 
 " Well, good man," she replied, " you can have lodgings
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 275 
 
 here for this night. God forbid I'd put a poor wandherer 
 out, an' it nearly dark." 
 
 Fergus stared at her as if he did not understand what she 
 said ; she, however, could speak Irish right well, and asked 
 him in that language if he could speak no English — " Wuil 
 Bcarlha agud?" (Have you English ?) 
 
 " Ha ncil foccal vaun Bearlha again." (I haven't one 
 word of English.) 
 
 '* Well," said she, proceeding with the following short con- 
 versation in Irish, " you can sleep here, and I will bring you 
 in awap o' straw from the garden, when I have it to feed my 
 cow, which his honor Sir Robert gives me grass for ; he 
 would be a very kind man if he was a little more generous — 
 ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 " Ay, but doesn't he hunt an' hang an' transport our 
 priests ?" 
 
 11 Why, indeed, I believe he doesn't like a bone in a 
 priest's body ; but then he's of a different religion — and it 
 isn't for you or me to construe him after our own way." 
 
 " Well, well," said Fergus, " it isn't him I'm thinking of ; 
 but if I had a mouthful or two of something to ait I'd go to 
 sleep — for dear knows I'm tired and hungry." 
 
 " Why, then, of coorse you'll have something to ait, poor 
 man, and while you're eatin' it I'll fetch in a good bunch of 
 straw, and make a comfortable shake-down for you." 
 
 " God mark you to grace, avourneen !" 
 
 She then furnished him with plenty of oaten bread and 
 mixed milk, and while he was helping himself she brought 
 in a large bunch of straw, which she shook out and settled 
 for him. 
 
 " I see," said she, " that you have your own blankets." 
 
 " I have, acushla. Cheerna, but this is darlin' bread ! 
 Arra was this baked upon a griddle or against the muddhia 
 arra si ?'* 
 
 " A griddle ! Why, then, is it the likes o' me would 
 have a griddle ? that indeed ! No ; but, any how, sure a 
 griddle only scalds the bread ; but you'll find that this is 
 
 * The muddhia artan was a forked branch, cut from a tree, and 
 shaped exactly like a letter A — with a small stick behind to support it. 
 A piece of hoop iron was nailed to it at the bottom, on which the 
 cake rested — not horizontally, but opposite the fire. When one side 
 was done the other was turned, and thus it was baked.
 
 276 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 not too much done ; bekaise you know the ould proverb, ' a 
 raw dad makes a fat lad. ' ' ' 
 
 11 Troth," replied Fergus, " it's good bread, and fills the 
 boast* of a man's body ; but now that I've made a good 
 supper, I'll throw myself on the straw, for I feel as if my 
 eyelids had a millstone apiece upon them. I never sthrip 
 at night, but just throws my blanket over me, an' sleeps like 
 a top. Glory be to God ! Oh, then, there's nothing like 
 the health ma'am : may God spare it to us ! Amin, this 
 night !" 
 
 He accordingly threw himself on the shake-down, and in 
 a short time, as was evident by his snoring, fell into a pro- 
 found sleep. 
 
 This was an experiuient, though a hazardous one, as we 
 have said ; but so far it was successful. In the course of 
 half an hour the Red Rapparee came in, dressed in his uni- 
 form. On looking about him he exclaimed, with an oath, 
 
 "Who the hell is here?" 
 
 "Why," replied Mary Mahon, " a poor ould man that 
 axed for charity an' lodgin' for the night." 
 
 " And why did you give it to him ?" 
 
 " Bekaise my charity to him may take away some of my 
 sins." 
 
 " Some of your devils !" replied the savage, " and I 
 think you have enough of them about you. Didn't you 
 know I was to come here to-night, as I do almost every 
 night, for an hour or two ?" 
 
 " You was drinkin'," she replied, " and you're drunk." 
 
 " I am drunk, and I will be drunk as often as I can. 
 It's a good man's case. Why did you give a lodgin' to this 
 ould vagabone ?" 
 
 " I tould you the raison," she replied ; " but you needn't 
 :are about him, for there's not a word of English in his 
 cheek." 
 
 " Faith, but he may have something in his purse, for all 
 that. Is he ould?" 
 
 " A poor ould man." 
 
 " So much the betther ; be the livin' I'll try whether he 
 
 * Boast — a figurative term, Taken from a braggadocio or boaster ; it 
 applies to any thing that is hollow or deceitful : for instance, when 
 some potatoes that grow unusually large are cut in two, an empty 
 space is found in the centre, and that potato is termed boast, or empty.
 
 WILLY REILLY. 277 
 
 has any ould coins about him. Many a time — no, I don't 
 say ma7iy a time — but twic't I did it, and found it well worth 
 my while, too. Some of these ould scamers die wid a purse 
 o' goolden guineas under their head, and won't confess it 
 till the last moment. Who knows what this ould lad may 
 have about him? I'll thry anyhow," said the drunken 
 ruffian ; "It's not aisy to give up an ould custom, Molly — 
 the sheriff, my darlin', for that. I aised him of his fines, 
 and was near strikin' a double blow — I secured his pocket- 
 book, and made a good attempt to hang Willy Reilly for the 
 robbery into the bargain. Now, hang it, Molly, didn't I 
 look a gentleman in his clothes, shoes, silver buckles, and 
 all ; wasn't it well we secured them before the house was 
 burned ? Here," he added, " take a sneeshin of this," pull- 
 ing at the same time a pint bottle of whiskey out of his 
 pocket ; " it'll rise your spirits, an' I'll see what cash this 
 ould codger has about him ; an', by the way, how the devil 
 do we know that he doesn't understand every word we say. 
 Suppose, now — (hiccup) — that he heard me say I robbed the 
 sheriff, wouldn't I be in a nice pickle ? But, tell me, can you 
 get no trace of Reilly V 
 
 11 Devil a trace ; they say he has left the country." 
 
 " If I had what that scoundrel has promised me for findin' 
 him out or securin' him — here's — here's to you — I say, if I 
 had, you and I would" — Here he pointed with his thumb 
 over his shoulder, as much as to say they would try another 
 climate. 
 
 " And now," he proceeded, " for a search on the shake- 
 down. Who knows but the ould fellow has the yellow boys 
 (guineas) about him?" — and he was proceeding to search 
 Fergus, when Mary flew at him like a tigress. 
 
 " Stop, you cowardly robber !" she exclaimed ; " would 
 you bring down the curse and the vengeance of God upon 
 both of us. We have enough and too much to answer for, 
 let alone to rob the ould an/' the poor." 
 
 " Be aisy now," said he, " I'll make the search ; sure 
 I'm undher the scoundrel Whitecraft's protection." 
 
 11 Yes, you are, and you're undher my protection too ; 
 and I tell you, if you lay a hand upon him it'll be worse for 
 you." 
 
 11 What — what do you mane ?" 
 
 " It's no matther what I mane : find it out."
 
 278 WILLY A LILLY. 
 
 " How do I know but he has heard us ?" 
 
 We must now observe that Fergus's style of sleeping was 
 admirably adapted for his purpose. It was not accompanied 
 by a loud and unbroken snore ; on the contrary, after it 
 had risen to the highest and most disagreeable intonations, 
 it stopped short, with a loud and indescribable backsnort in 
 his nose, and then, after a lull of some length, during which 
 he groaned and muttered to himself, he again resumed his 
 sternutations in a manner so natural as would have imposed 
 upon Satan himself, if he had been present, as there is 
 little doubt he was, though not exactly visible to the eyes of 
 his two precious agents. 
 
 11 Listen to that," replied the woman ; " do you think, 
 now, he's not. asleep ? and even if he was sitting at the fire 
 beside us, devil a syllable we said he could understand. I 
 spoke to him in English when he came in, but he didn't 
 know a word I said." 
 
 " Well, then, let the ould fellow sleep away ; I won't 
 touch him." 
 
 " Why, now, that's a good boy ; go home to your bar- 
 racks, and take a good sleep yourself." 
 
 " Ay, yes, certainly ; but have you Reilly's clothes safe — 
 shoes, silver buckles, and all ?" 
 
 " Ay, as safe as the head on your shoulders ; and, upon 
 my soul, a great dale safer, if you rob any more sheriffs." 
 
 " Where are they, then ?" 
 
 " Why, they're in my flat box, behind the bed, where no- 
 body could see them." 
 
 " Very well, Molly, that will do ; I may want them wanst 
 more," he replied, pointing again with his thumb over his 
 shoulder towards Whitecraft's residence ; " so good-night ; 
 be a good girl, and take care of yourself." 
 
 11 No," she replied, " but do you be a good boy, and take 
 care of yourself. ' ' And so they parted for the night. 
 
 The next day Fergus, possessed of very important evi- 
 dence against the Rapparee, was travelling along the public 
 road, not more than half a mile from the residence of Sir 
 Robert Whitecraft, when whom should he meet but the iden- 
 tical sheriff, on horseback, that the Rapparee had robbed. 
 He put his hand to his hat, and asked him for charity. 
 
 " Help a poor ould man, for the love and honor of 
 God."
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 279 
 
 " Why don't you go work — why don't you go work ?" re- 
 plied the sheriff. 
 
 "lam not able, sir," returned Fergus ; " it wouldn't be 
 good for my health, your honor." 
 
 " Well, pass on, and don't trouble me ; I have nothing 
 for you." 
 
 " Ah ! thin, sir, if you'd give me a trifle, maybe I'd make 
 it worth your while. ' ' 
 
 " What do you mean ?" asked the sheriff, who knew that 
 persons like him had opportunities of hearing and knowing 
 more about local circumstances, in consequence of their 
 vagrant life, than any other class of persons in society. 
 " What do you mean by what you have just said ?" 
 
 " Aren't you the sheriff, sir, that was robbed some time 
 ago ?" 
 
 " I am." 
 
 11 Ah, sir, I see you are dressed in black ; and I heard of 
 the death of the misthress, sir." 
 
 " Well, but what has that to do with what you have just 
 now said — that you would make it worth my while if I gave 
 you alms ?" 
 
 " I said so, sir ; and I can, if you will be guided by me." 
 
 " Speak out ; I don't understand you." 
 
 " Would you like to see the man that robbed you, sir, and 
 would you know him if you did see him ?" 
 
 " Unquestionably I would know him. They say it was 
 Reilly, but I have seen Reilly since ; and although the dress 
 was the same which Reilly usually wears, yet the faces were 
 different." 
 
 11 Is your honor goin' far ?" asked Fergus. 
 
 " No, I am going over to that farm-house, Tom Brady's ; 
 two or three of his family are ill of fever, and I wish to do 
 something for him ; I am about to make him my land 
 bailiff." 
 
 " What stay will you make there, your honor ?" 
 
 "A very short one — not more than ten or fifteen min- 
 utes." 
 
 " Would it be inconvenient for your honor to remain 
 there, or somewhere about the house, for an hour, or may 
 be a little longer ?" 
 
 " For what purpose ? You are a mysterious old fellow." 
 
 14 Bekaise, if you'd wish to see the man that robbed you,
 
 280 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 I'll undhertake to show him to you, face to face, within that 
 time. Will your honor promise this ?" 
 
 The sheriff paused upon this proposal, coming as it did 
 from such an equivocal authority. What, thought he, if it 
 should be a plot for my life, in consequence of the fines 
 which I have been forced to levy upon the Catholic priests 
 and bishops in my official capacity. God knows I feel it 
 to be a painful duty. 
 
 11 What is your religion ?" he asked, " and why should a 
 gentleman in my condition of life place any confidence upon 
 the word of a common vagrant like you, who must necessa- 
 rily be imbued with all the prejudices of your creed — for I 
 suppose you are a Catholic ?" 
 
 " I am, sir ; but, for all that, in half an hour's time I'll 
 be a rank Protestant." 
 
 The sheriff smiled and asked, " How the devil's that ?" 
 
 " You are dressed in black, sir, in mumin' for your wife. 
 I have seen you go into Tom Brady's to give the sick crea- 
 tures the rites of their Church. I give notice to Sir Robert 
 Whitecraft that a priest is there ; and my word to you, he 
 and his hounds will soon be upon you. The man that 
 robbed you will be among them — no, but the foremost of 
 them ; and if you don't know him, I can't help it — that's 
 all, your honor." 
 
 " Well," replied the sheriff, " I shall give you nothing 
 now ; because I know not whether what you say can be re- 
 lied upon or not. In the meantime, I shall remain an 
 hour, or better, in Brady's house ; and if your words are 
 not made good, I shall send to Sir Robert Whitecraft for a 
 military party to escort me home." 
 
 11 I know, your honor," replied Fergus, " that Sir Robert 
 and his men are at home to-day ; and if 1 don't fulfil my 
 words, I'll give your honor lave to whip me through the 
 county." 
 
 " Well," said the sheriff, " I shall remain an hour or so 
 in Brady's ; but I tell you that if you are deceiving me you 
 shall not escape me ; so look to it, and think if what you 
 propose to me is honest or not — if it be not, woe betide 
 you." 
 
 Fergus immediately repaired to Sir Robert Whitecraft, to 
 whom he represented himself as a poor Protestant of the 
 name of Bingham, and informed him that a Popish priest
 
 WILLY REILLY. 281 
 
 was then in Tom Brady's house, administering the rites of 
 Popery to those who were sick in the family. 
 
 " I seen him, your honor, go into the house ; and he's 
 there this minute. If your honor makes haste you'll catch 
 him." 
 
 In less than a quarter of an hour Sir Robert and his 
 crew were in stirrups, and on their way to Tom Brady's ; 
 and in the meantime, too, the sheriff, dressed as he was, in 
 black, came outside the door, from time to time, more in 
 apprehension of a plot against his life than of a visit from 
 Whitecraft, which he knew must end in nothing. Now, 
 Whitecraft and his followers, on approaching Brady's house, 
 caught a glimpse of him — a circumstance which not only 
 confirmed the baronet in the correctness of the information 
 he had received, but also satisfied the sheriff that the men- 
 dicant had not deceived him. Rapid was the rush they 
 made to Brady' house, and the very first that entered it was 
 the Red Rapparee. He was about to seize the sheriff, 
 whom he pretended not to know ; but in a moment Sir 
 Robert and the rest entered, when, on recognizing each 
 other, an explanation took place, with all due apologies to 
 the functionary, who said : 
 
 " The mistake, Sir Robert, is very natural. I certainly 
 have a clerical appearance, as I am in mourning for my 
 wife. I trust you will neither hang nor transport me." 
 
 "lam very sorry indeed, Mr. Oxley ; but I only acted 
 on information received." 
 
 "And I don't doubt, Sir Robert," replied the sheriff, 
 " that the person who gave you the information may have 
 been deceived himself by my ecclesiastical looking dress. I 
 am sorry you have had so much trouble for nothing ; but, 
 upon my word, I feel extremely delighted that I am not a 
 priest." 
 
 In the meantime the sheriff had recognized the Rapparee, 
 by a single glance, as the man that had robbed him. He 
 was now certain ; but he took care not to bestow the least 
 sign of recognition upon him ; so far from that, he appeared 
 to pay no attention whatsoever to the men ; but chatted 
 with Sir Robert for some time, who returned home deeply 
 disappointed, though without imputing blame to his inform- 
 ant, who, he thought, was very naturally misled by the dress 
 of the sheriff. Fergus, however, apprehensive of being in-
 
 2S2 WILLY KELLLY. 
 
 volved in the prosecution of the Rapparee, and thus dis- 
 covered, made a point to avoid the sheriff, whose cross-ex- 
 amination a consciousness of his previous life led him to 
 dread. Still, he had, to a certain extent, though not de- 
 finitely, resolved to become evidence against him ; but only, 
 as we have said, on the condition of previously receiving a 
 full pardon for his own misdeeds, which was granted. For 
 upwards of a month, however, the sheriff was confined to 
 his bed, having caught, whilst in Brady's, the malignant 
 fever which then raged throughout the country. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 SOMETHING NOT VERY PLEASANT FOR ALL PARTIES. 
 
 THE position of England at this period was any thing 
 but an easy one. The Rebellion of '45 had com- 
 menced, and the young Pretender had gained some signal 
 victories. Independently of this, she was alarmed by the 
 rumor of a French invasion on her southern coast. Appre- 
 hensive lest the Irish Catholics, galled and goaded as they 
 were by the influence of the penal laws, and the dreadful 
 persecution which they caused them to suffer, should flock 
 to the standard of Prince Charles, himself a Catholic, she 
 deemed it expedient, in due time, to relax a little, and ac- 
 cordingly she " checked her hand, and changed her pride." 
 Milder measures were soon resorted to, during this crisis, in 
 order that by a more liberal administration of justice the 
 resentment of the suffering Catholics might be conciliated, 
 and their loyalty secured. This, however, was a proceeding 
 less of justice than expediency, and resulted more from the 
 actual and impending difficulties of England than from any 
 sincere wish on her part to give civil and religious freedom 
 to her Catholic subjects, or prosperity to the country in 
 which, even then, their numbers largely predominated. 
 Yet, singular to say, when the Rebellion first broke out, all 
 the chapels in Dublin were closed, and the Administration, 
 as if guided by some unintelligible infatuation, issued a pro- 
 clamation, commanding the Catholic priesthood to depart
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 283 
 
 from the city. Those who refused this senseless and im- 
 politic edict were threatened with the utmost severity of the 
 law. Harsh as that law was, the Catholics obeyed it ; yet 
 even this obedience did not satisfy the Protestant party, or 
 rather that portion of them who were active agents in carry- 
 ing out this imprudent and unjustifiable rigor at such a pe- 
 riod. They were seized by a kind of panic, and imagined 
 forsooth that a broken down and disarmed people might en- 
 gage in a general massacre of the Irish Protestants. 
 Whether this incomprehensible terror was real, is a matter 
 of doubt and uncertainty ; or whether it was assumed as a 
 justification for assailing the Catholics in a general massacre, 
 similar to that which they apprehended, or pretended to ap- 
 prehend, is also a matter of question ; yet certain it is, that 
 a proposal to massacre them in cold blood was made in the 
 Privy Council. " But," says O'Connor, " the humanity of 
 the members rejected this barbarous proposal, and crushed 
 in its infancy a conspiracy hatched in Lurgan to extirpate 
 the Catholics of that town and vicinity." 
 
 In the meantime, so active was the persecuting spirit of 
 such men as Whitecraft and Smell priestthat a great number 
 of the unfortunate priests fled to the metropolis, where, in a 
 large and populous city, they had a better chance of remain- 
 ing incog-niti than when living in the country, exposed and 
 likely to be more marked by spies and informers. A very 
 dreadful catastrophe took place about this time. A congre- 
 gation of Catholic people had heard mass upon an old loft, 
 which had for many years been decayed — in fact, actually 
 rotten. Mass was over, and the priest was about to give 
 them the parting benediction, when the floor went down 
 with a terrific crash. The result was dreadful. The priest 
 and a great many of the congregation were killed on the 
 spot, and a vast number of them wounded and maimed for 
 life. The Protestant inhabitants of Dublin sympathized 
 deeply with the sufferers, whom they relieved and succored as 
 far as in them lay, and, by their remonstrances, Government 
 was shamed into a more human administration of the laws. 
 
 In order to satisfy our readers that we have not overdrawn 
 our picture of what the Catholics suffered in those unhappy 
 times, we shall give a quotation from the Messrs. Chambers, 
 of Edinburgh, themselves fair and liberal men, and as im- 
 partial as they are able and well informed :
 
 2S4 WILLY RF.ILLY. 
 
 " Since the pacification of Limerick, Ireland had been 
 ruled exclusively by the Protestant party, who, under the 
 influence of feelings arising from local and religious antipa- 
 thies, had visited the Catholics with many severities. The 
 oath which had excluded the Catholics from office had been 
 followed, in 169S, by an Act of the Irish Parliament, com- 
 manding all Romish priests to leave the kingdom, under the 
 penalty of transportation, a return from which was to be 
 punishable by death. Another law decreed forfeiture of 
 property and civil rights to all who should send their chil- 
 dren abroad to be educated in the Catholic faith." * 
 
 Can any reasonable person be in doubt for a moment 
 that those laws were laws of extermination ? In the mean- 
 time, let us hear the Messrs. Chambers further : 
 
 11 After the death of William, who was much opposed to 
 severities on account of religion, Acts of still greater rigor 
 were passed for preventing the growth of Popery. Any child 
 of a Roman Catholic who should declare himself a Protest- 
 ant was entitled to become the heir of his estate, the father 
 merely holding it for his lifetime, and having no command 
 over it. Catholics were made incapable of succeeding to 
 Protestants, and lands, passing over them, were to go to 
 the next Protestant heir. Catholic parents were prevented 
 from being guardians to their own children ; no Protestant 
 possessing property was to be permitted to marry a Catholic ; 
 and Catholics were rendered incapable of purchasing landed 
 property, or enjoying long leases. These measures naturally 
 rendered the Catholics discontented subjects, and led to 
 much turbulence. The common people of that persuasion, 
 being denied all access to justice, took it into their own 
 hands, and acquired all those lawless habits for which they 
 have since been remarkable. Treachery, cruelty, and all 
 the lower passions, were called into vigorous exercise. 
 Even the Protestants, for their own sakes, were often obliged 
 to connive at the evasion of laws so extremely severe, and 
 which introduced much difficulty in their dealings with Cath- 
 olics ; but, when any Protestant wished to be revenged 
 upon a Catholic, or to extort money from him, he found in 
 these laws a ready instrument for his purpose. By an addi- 
 
 * " History and Present State of the British Empire." Edinburgh, 
 \V. and R. Chambers.
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 285 
 
 tional Act, in 1726, it was ordained that a Roman Catholic 
 priest, marrying a Protestant to a Catholic, should suffer 
 death ; and in order that legal redress might be still less ac- 
 cessible to the Catholics, it was enacted, in 1728, that no one 
 should be entitled to practise as an attorney who had not 
 been two years a Protestant." 
 
 This is a clear and succinct epitome of the penal laws ; 
 true, much more might be added ; but it is enough to say 
 that those who sow the wind will reap the whirlwind. It is 
 not by placing restrictions upon creeds or ceremonies that 
 religion can ever be checked, much less extinguished. Like 
 the camomile plant, the more it is trampled on the more it 
 will spread and grow ; as the rude winds and the inclemency 
 of the elements only harden and make more vigorous the 
 constitutions of those who are exposed to them. In our 
 state of the world, those who have the administration of 
 political laws in their hands, if they ever read history, or 
 can avail themselves of the experiences of ages, ought to 
 know that it is not by severity or persecution that the affec- 
 tions of their fellow-subjects can be conciliated. We our- 
 selves once knew a brutal ruffian, who was a dealer in fruit 
 in the little town of Maynooth, and whose principle of cor- 
 recting his children was to continue whipping the poor things 
 until they were forced to laugh ! A person was one day 
 present when he commenced chastising one of them — a child 
 of about seven — upon this barbarous principle. This indi- 
 vidual was then young and strong, and something besides of 
 a pugilist ; but on witnessing the effecting efforts of the little 
 fellow to do that which was not within the compass of any 
 natural effort, he deliberately knocked the ruffian down, 
 after having first remonstrated with him to no purpose. He 
 arose, however, and attacked the other, but, thanks to a 
 good arm and a quick eye, he prostrated him again, and 
 again, and again ; he then caught him by the throat, for he 
 was already subdued, and squeezing his windpipe to some 
 purpose, the fellow said, in a choking voice, " Are you going 
 to kill me ?' ' 
 
 11 No," replied the other, " I only want to see the length 
 of your tongue ; don't be alarmed, the whole thing will end 
 merrily ; come, now, give three of the heartiest laughs you 
 ever gave in your life, or down goes your apple-cart — you 
 know what that means ?"
 
 286 WILLY R LILLY. 
 
 " I — I c — a — n' — t," said he. 
 
 11 Yes, you can," replied his castigator ; " nothing's more 
 easy ; come, be merry." 
 
 The caitiff, for he was a coward, and wanted bottom, upon 
 getting a little wind, whilst the other held him by the throat, 
 gave three of the most ludicrous, but disastrous, howls that 
 ever were witnessed. On his opponent letting him go, he 
 took to his heels, but got a kick on going out that was rather 
 calculated to accelerate his flight. Legislators, therefore, 
 ought to know that no political whipping will ever make a 
 people laugh at the pleasure of it. 
 
 But to resume our narrative. England, now apprehen- 
 sive, as we have said, of a descent of the French upon her 
 southern coast, and startled by the successes of the young 
 Pretender, who had cut Cope's army to pieces, deemed it 
 expedient to send over the celebrated Earl of Chesterfield as 
 Viceroy, with instructions to relax the rigor of the laws, and 
 conciliate the Catholics, as well as he could, so, at least, as 
 to prevent them from joining the Pretender, whose object it 
 was understood to be to cross the frontier and march upon 
 London. Lord Chesterfield's policy afforded great gratifi- 
 cation to the Catholics, who were now restored to their usual 
 privileges ; and its political object was so far successful 
 that, as we have said, not a single man of them ever joined 
 the Pretender. Still, the liberal Protestants, or, as they 
 were termed, ,the patriotic party, were not satisfied with the 
 mere removal of the Catholic restrictions. Ireland, at that 
 time, was studded with men, or rather with monsters, like 
 Smellpriest and Whitecraft, who were stained with the blood 
 of their fellow-subjects and fellow-Christians. Sir Robert 
 Whitecraft, especially, was now in a bad position, although 
 he himself was ignorant of it. The French Ambassador de- 
 manded satisfaction, in the name of his Court and the French 
 nation, for the outrage that had been committed upon a 
 French subject, and by which international law was so 
 grossly violated. We must say here that Whitecraft, in the 
 abundance of his loyalty and zeal, was in the habit, in his 
 searches after priests, and suspected lay Catholics, to pay 
 domiciliary visits to the houses of many Protestant magis- 
 trates, clergymen, and even gentlemen of wealth and distinc- 
 tion, who were suspected, from their known enmity to per- 
 secution, of harboring Catholic priests and others of that
 
 WILLY REILLY. 287 
 
 persuasion ; so that, in point of fact, he had created more 
 enemies in the country than any man living. The Marquis 
 
 of , Mr. Hastings, Mr. Brown, together with a great 
 
 number of the patriotic party, had already transmitted a 
 petition to the Lord Lieutenant, under the former Adminis- 
 tration ; but it was not attended to, the only answer they 
 got having been a simple acknowledgment of its receipt. 
 This, on coming to Sir Robert's ears, which it did from one 
 of the underlings of the Castle, only gave a spur to his inso- 
 lence, and still more fiercely stimulated his persecuting 
 spirit. He felt conscious that Government would protect 
 him, or rather reward him, for any acts of violence which 
 he might commit against the Catholic party, and so far, 
 under his own pet Administration, he was right. 
 
 The petition we have alluded to having been treated with 
 studied contempt, the persons and party already mentioned 
 came to the determination of transmitting another, still more 
 full and urgent, to the new Viceroy, whose feeling it was, 
 for the reasons we have stated, to reverse the policy of his 
 predecessor. 
 
 His liberal administration encouraged them, therefore, to 
 send him a clear statement of the barbarous outrages com- 
 mitted by such men as Smellpriest and Sir Robert White - 
 craft, not only against his Majesty's Roman Catholic sub- 
 jects, but against many loyal Protestant magistrates, and 
 other Protestants of distinction and property, merely because 
 they were supposed to entertain a natural sympathy for their 
 persecuted fellow-subjects and fellow-countrymen. They 
 said that the conduct of those men and of the Government 
 that had countenanced and encouraged them had destroyed 
 the prosperity of the country by interrupting and annulling 
 all bona fide commercial transactions between Protestants 
 and Catholics. That those men had not only transgressed the 
 instructions they received from his predecessor, but all those 
 laws that go to the security of life and property. That they 
 were guilty of several cruel and atrocious murders, arsons, 
 and false imprisonments, for which they were never brought 
 to account ; and that, in fine, they were steeped in crime 
 and blood, because they knew that his predecessor, ignorant, 
 perhaps, of the extent of their guilt, threw his shield over 
 them, and held them irresponsible to the laws for those sav-
 
 2 83 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 They then stated that, in their humble judgment, a mere 
 relaxation in the operation of the severe and penal laws 
 against Catholics would not be an act of sufficient atonement 
 to them for all they had previously suffered ; that to over- 
 look, or connive at, or protect those great criminals would 
 be at variance, not only with all principles of justice, but with 
 the spirit of the British Constitution itself, which never 
 recognizes, much less encourages, a wicked and deliberate 
 violation of its own laws. That the present was a critical 
 moment, which demanded great judgment and equal human- 
 ity in the administration of the laws in Ireland. A rebellion 
 was successfully progressing in Scotland, and it appeared to 
 them that not only common justice but sound policy ought 
 to prompt the Government to attract and conciliate the 
 Catholic population of Ireland by allowing them to partici- 
 pate in the benefits of the Constitution, which hitherto ex- 
 isted not for them, thousands of whom, finding their country 
 but a bed of thorns, might, from a mere sense of relief, or, 
 what was more to be dreaded, a spirit of natural vengeance, 
 flock to the standard of the Pretender. 
 
 His excellency, already aware of the startling but just de- 
 mand which had been made by the French Ambassador, for 
 the national insult by Whitecraft to his country, was himself 
 startled and shocked by the atrocities of those blood-stained 
 delinquents. 
 
 His reply, however, was brief, but to the purpose. 
 
 His secretary acknowledged the receipt of the memorial, 
 and stated that the object of his Excellency was not to ad- 
 minister the laws in cruelty, but in mercy ; that he consid- 
 ered all classes of his Majesty's subjects equally entitled to 
 their protection ; and that with respect to the persons 
 against whom such serious charges and allegations had been 
 made, he had only to say, that if they were substantiated 
 against them in a court of justice, they must suffer like other 
 criminals — if they c a i be proved, Government will leave them, 
 as it would any common felons, to the laws of the country. 
 His Excellency is determined to administer those laws with 
 the strictest impartiality, and without leaning to any particu- 
 lar class or creed. So far as the laws will allow him, their 
 protection shall be extended, on just and equal principles 
 to the poor and to the rich, to the Catholic and to the Pro- 
 testant.
 
 WILLY REILLY. 2S9 
 
 This communication, which was kept strictly secret, 
 reached the Marquis of at a critical period of our nar- 
 rative. Whitecraft, who was ignorant of it, but sufficiently 
 aware of the milder measures which the new Administration 
 had adopted, finding that the trade of priest-hunting and 
 persecution was, for the present, at an end, resolved to ac- 
 celerate his marriage with Miss Folliard, and for this pur- 
 pose he waited upon her father, in order to secure his con- 
 sent. His object was to retire to his English estates, and 
 there pass the remainder of his life with his beautiful but re- 
 luctant bride. He paid his visit about two o'clock, and was 
 told that Miss Folliard and her father were in the garden. 
 Hither he accordingly repaired, and found the squire, his 
 daughter, and Reilly, in the green-house. When the squire 
 saw him he cried out, with something of a malicious tri- 
 umph : 
 
 " Hallo, Sir Robert ! ' why art thou so pale, young lover? 
 why art thou so pale ? ' — and why does thy lip hang, Sir 
 Robert ? — new men, new measures, Sir Robert — and so, 
 1 Othello's occupation's gone,' and the Earl of Chesterfield 
 goes to mass every Sunday, and is now able to repeat his 
 padareens in Irish." 
 
 " I am glad to find you so pleasant, Mr. Folliard ; but 
 I'm delighted to see the beautiful state of your green-house 
 — oh, Miss Folliard ! — excuse me. Your back was to me, 
 and you were engaged in trailing that beautiful shrub ; allow 
 me the honor of shaking hands with you." 
 
 11 Sir Robert, I bid you good-day, but you see that I have 
 my garden gloves on ; you will excuse me." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Folliard," he replied, " your will is the spirit 
 of the British Constitution to me." 
 
 " A spirit which, I fear, you have too frequently violated, 
 Sir Robert ; but, as papa says, I believe your cruel occupa- 
 tion is gone — at least I hope so." 
 
 11 'Gad, you got it there, Sir Robert," replied her father, 
 laughing. 
 
 44 I must confess it," replied the baronet ; " but I think, 
 in order to ingratiate myself with Miss Folliard, I shall take 
 whatever side she recommends me. How, Mr. Folliard," 
 he proceeded, fixing his eyes upon Reilly — 44 what the deuce 
 is this ? Have you got Robinson Crusoe here ?" 
 
 44 We have," replied the squire; "but his man Friday
 
 290 WILLY K LILLY. 
 
 has got married to a Tipperary woman, and he's now in 
 quest of a desert island for him and her to settle in." 
 
 11 I think, papa," said Helen, " that if the principles of 
 Sir Robert and his class were carried out, he would not have 
 far to go to look for one." 
 
 " Another hit, Bob, you dog — another hit. Well said, 
 Helen — well said, I say. Crusoe, you villain, hold up your 
 head, and thank God you're christened." 
 
 11 Wid de help o' Gad, shir, I was christhened af whore, 
 sure, by de priesht. " 
 
 This visit occurred about six weeks after the appointment 
 of the new Viceroy to the Government of Ireland, and about 
 five after the sheriff's illness. 
 
 " Come, Whitecraft," said the squire, " come and let us 
 have lunch : I'll hold a crown I give you as good a glass of 
 Burgundy as you gave me the other day, and will say done 
 first." 
 
 " Won't Miss Folliard join us at lunch ?" asked White- 
 craft, looking to her for an assent. 
 
 "Why, I suppose so," replied her father; " won't you 
 come, Helen ?" 
 
 " You know, papa, I never lunch." 
 
 11 'Gad, and neither you do, Helen. Come, Sir Robert, 
 we will have a mouthful to eat, and something good to wash 
 it down ; come along, man, what the devil are you scrutin- 
 izing poor old Robinson Crusoe for ? Come along, I say, 
 the old chap is making the green-house thrive ; he beats 
 Malcomson. Here, Malcomson, you know Sir Robert 
 Whitecraft, don't you ?" 
 
 " Hout, your honor, wha' disna ken Sir Robert White- 
 craft ? Isn't his name far and near, as a braw defender o' 
 the faith, and a putter down o' Papistry ?" 
 
 " By the way, Malcomson," said Sir Robert, " where did 
 you get Robinson Crusoe, by which I mean that wild-look- 
 ing man in the green-house ?" 
 
 " Saul, sir, it's a question I never speered at him. He 
 cam' here as a gaberlunzie, and on stating that he was in- 
 doctrinated in the sceence o' buttany, his honor garred me 
 employ him. De'il hae't but the truth I'll tell — he's a 
 clever buttanist, and knows a' the sceentific names aff 
 hand." 
 
 "So that's all you know about him?" said Sir Robert.
 
 WILLY REILLY. 291 
 
 " He has a devil of a beard, and is shockingly dressed. 
 Why doesn't he shave ?" 
 
 11 Ou, just some Papistry nonsense," replied the gardener ; 
 " but we hae naething to do wi' that, sae lang's we get the 
 worth o' our siller out o' him." 
 
 " Here's a shilling, Malcomson," said Sir Robert. 
 
 " Na, na, your honor ; a shilling's no for a man that un- 
 derstands the sceence o' buttany : a shilling's for a flunky 
 in livery ; but as for me, I couldna conscientiously conde- 
 scend upon less than ten o' them, or may be a pund British, 
 but I'm feart that's contrair to your honor's habits." 
 
 " Well, then," said Sir Robert, " I have no more silver, 
 and so I leave you to the agreeable society of Robinson 
 Crusoe." 
 
 Reilly had watched Sir Robert's motions, as well as his 
 countenance, in a manner as furtively as possible. Some- 
 times, indeed, he stared at him broadly, and with a stupid, 
 oafish look, and again placed himself in such a position be- 
 hind the range of flower-pots which were placed upon the 
 ledges, that he could observe him without being perceived 
 himself. The force of habit, however, is extraordinary. 
 Our hero was a man exceedingly remarkable for personal 
 cleanliness, and consequently made a point to wash his 
 hands morning and evening with peculiar care. Be this as 
 it may, the lynx eye of Sir Robert observed their whiteness, 
 and he instantly said to himself, " This is no common labor- 
 er ; I know that he is not, from the whiteness of his hands. 
 Besides, he is disguised ; it is evident from the length of his 
 beard, and the unnecessary coarseness of his apparel. Then 
 his figure, the symmetry and size of which no disguise can 
 conceal ; this, and everything else, assures me that he is dis- 
 guised, and that he is, besides, no other individual than the 
 man I want, William Reilly, who has been hitherto my evil 
 genius ; but it shall go hard with me, or I shall be his now." 
 Such were his meditations as he passed along with the squire 
 to join him at lunch. 
 
 When they had left the garden, Reilly addressed his Coo- 
 lecn Bawn as follows : 
 
 " Helen, I am discovered." 
 
 11 Discovered ! O my God, no !" 
 
 " Unquestionably, there is no doubt of it ; it is certain." 
 
 " But how do you know that it is certain ?"
 
 2 92 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 " Because I observed that Whitecraft's eyes were never 
 off my hands ; he knew that a common laborer could not 
 possibly have such hands. Helen, I am discovered, and 
 must fly." 
 
 " But you know that there is a change of Administration, 
 and that the severity of the laws has been relaxed against 
 Catholics." 
 
 11 Yes, you told me so, and I have no fear for myself ; but 
 what I apprehend is that this discovery, of which I feel cer- 
 tain, will precipitate your marriage with that miscreant ; 
 they will entrap you into it, and then I am miserable for 
 ever." 
 
 11 Then, William, we must fly this very night ; we will 
 proceed to the Continent, to some Protestant state, where 
 we can get married without any danger to the clergyman 
 who may unite us." 
 
 " It is all that is left for us," replied Reilly ; " I should 
 sooner lose life than you, my beloved Helen ; and now, what 
 is to be done ? Fly we must ; and in anticipation of the 
 necessity of this step I left a suit of clothes with Lanigan : 
 or rather with a poor widow, who was a pensioner of mine 
 — a Mrs. Buckley, from whom Lanigan got them, and has 
 them. I could not think of accompanying you in this vile 
 dress. On your way in, try to see Lanigan, and desire him 
 to come out to me. There is not a moment to be lost ; 
 and, my dear Helen, show no marks of agitation ; be calm 
 and firm, or we are undone." 
 
 " Rely on me, dear Reilly, rely on me ; I shall send 
 Lanigan to you." 
 
 She left him, and went to her room, when she rang the 
 bell, and her maid, the faithful Connor, who had been re- 
 stored to her service, came to her. 
 
 " Connor," said she, " I shall not be able to dine with 
 papa to-day, especially as that wretch Whitecraft is likely to 
 dine with him. Go to Lanigan, and tell him to come to 
 me, for I wish to know if he has any thing light and delicate 
 that he could send to my own room ; Connor, I am very 
 unhappy." 
 
 " But, miss, sure they say that the laws are changed, and 
 that Mr. Reilly may go at large if he wishes." 
 
 " I know that, Connor ; but send Lanigan to me immedi- 
 ately."
 
 WILLY REILLY, 293 
 
 When Lanigan entered he found the Cooleen Bawn in 
 tears. 
 
 " My God, Miss Folliard," said he, " what is the matter 
 with you ? why are you crying, or what have they done to 
 you ?" 
 
 "Lanigan," she replied, wiping her eyes, "you and 
 Connor only are in our secret ; we must fly this night." 
 
 " This night, Miss Folliard !" 
 
 " This night, Lanigan ; and you must assist us." 
 
 " To the last drop of my blood, I will." 
 
 " Lanigan, Reilly is discovered." 
 
 " Discovered, miss ! good God, how was he discovered ?" 
 
 " By his hands — by the whiteness of his beautiful hands. 
 Now, Lanigan, Sir Robert, aware that he cannot act the 
 tyrant at present, as he used to do, will instigate my father 
 to some act of outrage against him ; for you know, Lanigan, 
 how cowardly, how cruel, how vindictive, the detestable vil- 
 lain is ; and most assuredly he will make my credulous and 
 generous, but hot-tempered, father the instrument of his 
 vengeance upon Reilly ; and, besides, he will certainly urge 
 him to bring about an immediate marriage between himself 
 and me, to which, it is true, I would, and will die, sooner 
 than consent. I will dine here, Lanigan, for I cannot bear 
 to look upon my dear father, whom I am about to — " 
 Here her tears interrupted her, and she could proceed no 
 farther ; at length she recovered herself, and resumed : " I 
 know," she added, " that Whitecraft is now detailing his 
 discovery and his plans. Oh ! that, for Reilly's sake, I 
 could become acquainted with them !" 
 
 " What would you wish for dinner, Miss Folliard ?" asked 
 Lanigan clamly. 
 
 " For dinner ? oh, any thing, any thing ; I care not what ; 
 but see Reilly, tell him I have a second key for the back 
 gate in the garden, and also for the front ; and, Lani- 
 gan—' ' 
 
 " Well, Miss Folliard ; but, for God's sake, don't cry so ; 
 your eyes will get red, and your father may notice it." 
 
 " True, thank you, Lanigan ; and Reilly, besides, told 
 me to keep myself calm ; but how can I, Lanigan ? Oh, 
 my father ! my beloved father ! how can I abandon — desert 
 him ? No, Lanigan, I will not go ; say to Reilly — say I 
 have changed my mind ; tell him that my affection for my
 
 294 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 father has overcome my love for him ; say I will never marry 
 — that my heart is his, and never will or can be an- 
 other's. But then again — he, the noble-minded, the brave, 
 the generous, the disinterested — alas ! I know not what to 
 do, Lanigan, nor how to act. If I remain here, they will 
 strive to force this odious marriage on me ; and then some 
 fearful catastrophe will happen ; for, sooner than marry 
 Whitecraft, I would stab either him or myself. Either that, 
 Lanigan, or I should go mad ; for do you know, Lanigan, 
 that there is insanity in our family, by my father's side ?" 
 
 " Unfortunately I know it, Miss Folliard ; your uncle 
 died in a mad-house, and it was in that way the estate came 
 to your father. But remember what you say Mr. Reilly 
 told you ; be calm ; I will send up some light nourishing 
 dinner to you, at the usual hour ; and in the meantime I 
 will see him before then, and forge some excuse for bringing 
 it up myself." 
 
 11 Stay, Lanigan, I am sadly perplexed ; I scarcely know 
 what I say ; I am in a state of inconceivable distraction. 
 Suppose I should change my mind ; it is not unlikely ; I am 
 whirled about by a crowd of contending emotions ; but — well 
 — let me see — oh, yes — it will be as well, Lanigan, to have two 
 horses ready saddled ; that is no crime, I hope, if we should 
 go. I must, of course, put on my riding habit." 
 
 " Begging your pardon, Miss Folliard, you'll do no such 
 thing ; would you wish to have yourself discovered in the 
 first inn you might put up at ? No : dress yourself in one 
 of Connor's dresses so that you may appear as humble as 
 possible, and any thing but a lady of rank ; otherwise, it 
 will be difficult for you to escape observation." 
 
 " Well, Lanigan, all I can say is, that he and I shall place 
 ourselves under your advice and guidance. But my father 
 — oh, my dear father !" And again she wrung her hands 
 and wept bitterly. 
 
 !Miss Helen," said he, "as sure as the Lord's in 
 heaven, you will discover yourself ; and, after all, how do 
 you know that Sir Robert has found out Mr. Reilly ? Sure 
 it's nothing but bare suspicion on both your parts. At any 
 rate, I'll saddle Paudeen O'Rafferty wid my own hands, and 
 I'll put on Molly Crudden's big pillion, for you know she's 
 too fat to walk to mass, and you will feel yourself quite 
 easy and comfortable in it."
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 295 
 
 11 No, no, Lanigan ; I know not why the impression is 
 on me ; but I feel as if I were never to experience comfort 
 more. Go to Mr. Reilly ; make what arrangements he and 
 you may think proper, and afterwards you can acquaint me 
 with them. You see, Lanigan, in what a state of excite- 
 ment and uncertainty I am. But tell Reilly that, rather 
 than be forced into a marriage with Whi tec raft — rather than 
 go distracted — rather than die — I shall fly with him." 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 REILLY's DISGUISE PENETRATED — HE ESCAPES — FERGUS 
 REILLY IS ON THE TRAIL OF THE RAPPAREE SIR ROB- 
 ERT BEGINS TO FEEL CONFIDENT OF SUCCESS. 
 
 LANIGAN, on passing the dining parlor, heard what he 
 conceived to be loud and angry voices inside the 
 room, and as the coast was clear he deliberately put his ear 
 to the key-hole, which ear drank in the following conversa- 
 tion : - 
 
 "I say, Sir Robert, I'll shoot the villain. Do not hold 
 me. My pistols are unloaded and loaded every day in the 
 year ; and ever since I transported that rebel priest I never 
 go without them. But are you sure, Sir Robert ? Is it not 
 possible you may be mistaken ? I know you are a suspicious 
 fellow ; but still, as I said, you are, for that very reason, 
 the more liable to be wrong. But, if it is he, what's to be 
 done, unless I shoot him ?" 
 
 "Under the last Administration, sir, I could have an- 
 swered your question ; but you know that if you shoot him 
 now you will be hanged. All that's left for us is simply to 
 effect this marriage the day after to-morrow ; the documents 
 are all ready, and in the course of to-morrow the license can 
 be procured. In the meantime, you must dispatch him to- 
 night." 
 
 " What do you mean, Sir Robert ?" 
 
 11 I say you must send him about his business. In 
 point of fact, I think the fellow knows that he is discovered,
 
 296 WILL Y RE ILL Y. 
 
 and it is not unlikely that he may make an effort to carry off 
 your daughter this very night." 
 
 " But, Sir Robert, can we not seize him and surrender him 
 to the authorities ? Is he not an outlaw ?" 
 
 " Unfortunately, Mr. Folliard, he is not an outlaw ; I 
 stretched a little too far there. It is true I got his name 
 put into the Ifue-and-Cry, but upon representations which I 
 cannot prove." 
 
 " And why did you do so, Sir Robert ?" 
 
 " Why, Mr. Folliard, to save your daughter." 
 
 The old man paused. 
 
 "Ah," he exclaimed, "that is a bad business — I mean 
 for you, Sir Robert ; but we will talk it over. You shall 
 stop and dine with me ; I want some one to talk with — some 
 one who will support me and keep me in spirits ;" and as 
 he spoke he sobbed bitterly. "I wish to God," he ex- 
 claimed, " that neither I nor Helen — my dear Helen — had 
 ever seen that fellow's face. You will dine with me, Bob ?" 
 
 11 I will, upon the strict condition that you keep yourself 
 quiet, and won't seem to understand any thing." 
 
 " Would you recommend me to lock her up ?" 
 
 "By no means ; that would only make matters worse. 
 I shall dine with you, but you must be calm and quiet, and 
 not seem to entertain any suspicions." 
 
 " Very well, I shall ; but what has become of our lunch ? 
 Touch the bell." 
 
 This hint sent Lanigan downstairs, who met the butler 
 coming up with it. 
 
 "Why, Pat," said he, " what kept you so long with the 
 lunch ?" 
 
 " I was just thinking," replied Pat, "how it would be 
 possible to poison that ugly, ill-made, long-legged scoundrel, 
 without poisoning my master. What's to be done, Lanigan ? 
 He will marry this darlin' in spite of us. And sure, now we 
 have our privileges once more, since this great Earl came 
 to rule over us ; and sure, they say, he's a greater gentleman 
 than the king himself. All I can say is, that if this same 
 Sir Robert forces the Cooleen Baw?i to such an unnatural 
 marriage, I'll try a dose, hit or miss, for a cowheel any way. " 
 
 Lanigan laughed, and the butler passed on with the lunch. 
 
 We may state here that the squire, notwithstanding his out- 
 spoken manner against Popery, like a terrible ieverend
 
 WILLY K LILLY. 297 
 
 baronet not long deceased, who, notwithstanding his dis- 
 covery of the most awful Popish plots, and notwithstanding 
 the most extravagant denunciations against Popery, like 
 him, we say, the old squire seldom had more than one or 
 two Protestant servants under his roof. Pat hated Long- 
 shanks, as he termed him, as did all the household, which, 
 indeed, was very natural, as he was such a notorious perse- 
 cutor of their religion and their clergy. 
 
 Lanigan lost no time in acquainting Reilly with what he 
 had heard, and the heart of the latter palpitated with alarm 
 on hearing that the next day but one was likely to join his 
 Cooleen Baivn, by violent and unnatural proceedings, to the 
 man whom she so much detested. He felt that it was now 
 time to act in order to save her. Arrangements were con- 
 sequently made between them as to the time and manner of 
 their escape, and those arrangements, together with the 
 dialogue he had overheard, Lanigan communicated to the 
 Cooleen Baw?i. 
 
 The squire on that day experienced strange alternations of 
 feeling. His spirits seemed to rise and sink, as the quick- 
 silver in the glass is effected by the state of the atmosphere. 
 He looked into the future with terror, and again became, 
 to the astonishment of his guest — we now talk of their con- 
 duct after dinner — actuated by some thought or impulse 
 that put him into high spirits. Whitecraft, cool and cau- 
 tious, resolved to let him have his way ; for the squire was 
 drinking deeply, and the Burgundy was good and strong. 
 
 " Bob, my boy," said he, " you don't drink, and that is 
 a bad sign. You have either a bad head of late, or a bad 
 heart, which is worse. Hang you, sir, why don't you drink ? 
 I have seen you lay lots of my guests under the table when 
 you were quite cool ; but now, what are you at ? They 
 can't run away to-night. Helen doesn't know that the dis- 
 covery has been made. And now, Bob, you dog, listen to 
 me, I say — would you have had the manliness and courage 
 to expose yourself for the sake of a pretty girl as he did ? — 
 that is — here's a bumper to Helen ! Curse you, will noth- 
 ing make you drink ? No, faith, he hadn't seen Helen at 
 the time ; it was for a worthless old fellow like me that he 
 exposed himself ; but no matter, you may be right ; perhaps 
 it was a plot to get acquainted with her. Still, I'm not 
 sure of that ; but if it was, I'll make him smart."
 
 29S WILLY RELLLY. 
 
 After dinner the squire drank deeply — so deeply, indeed, 
 that Whitecraft was obliged to call up some of the male ser- 
 vants to carry him to his chamber and put him to bed. In 
 this task Lanigan assisted, and thanked his stars that he was 
 incapacitated from watching the lovers, or taking any means 
 to prevent their escape. As for Whitecraft, thought he, I 
 will soon send him about his business. Now, this gentleman's 
 suspicions were the more deeply excited, in consequence of 
 Helen's refusal to meet him at either lunch or dinner, a re- 
 fusal which she gave on the plea of indisposition. He had 
 therefore made up his mind to watch the motions of Cooleen 
 Baivn, and he would have included Reilly in his surveillance 
 were it not that Lanigan informed him of what he termed 
 the mysterious disappearance of the under-gardener. 
 
 11 What !" exclaimed Whitecraft, " is he gone ?" 
 
 "He has gone, Sir Robert, and left his week's wages be- 
 hind him, for he never came to the steward to ask it. And 
 now, Sir Robert, to tell you the truth, I'm not sorry he's 
 gone ; he was a disagreeable old fellow, that nobody could 
 make either head or tail of ; but, Sir Robert, listen — wait, 
 sir, till I shut the door — it will soon be gettin' dusk : you 
 know you're not liked in the country, and now that we — -I 
 mean the Catholics — have the countenance of Government, 
 I think that riding late won't be for your health. The night 
 air, you know, isn't wholesome to some people. I am 
 merely givin' you a hint, Sir Robert, bekaise you are a 
 friend of my masther's, and I hope for your own sake you'll 
 take it. The sooner you mount your horse the better ; 
 and if you be guided by me, you'll try and reach your own 
 house before the darkness sets in. W T ho knows what Reilly 
 may be plotting ? You know he doesn't like a bone in your 
 honor's skin ; and the Reillys are cruel and desperate." 
 
 11 But, Lanigan, are you aware of any plot or conspiracy 
 that has been got up against my life ?" 
 
 11 Not at all, your honor ; but I put it to yourself, sir, 
 whether you don't feel that I'm speaking truth." 
 
 11 I certainly know very well," replied the baronet, " that 
 I am exceedingly unpopular with the Popish party ; but, in 
 my conduct towards them, I only carried out the laws that 
 had been passed against them." 
 
 " I know that, Sir Robert, and, as a Catholic, I am sorry 
 that you and others were supported and egged on by such
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 299 
 
 laws. Why, sir, a hangman could give the same excuse, be- 
 cause if he put a rope about your neck, and tied his cursed 
 knot nately under your left ear, what was he doin' but ful- 
 fillin' the law as you did ? And now, Sir Robert, who would 
 shake hands with a hangman, unless some unfortunate high- 
 way robber or murderer, that gives him his hand because he 
 knows that he will never see his purty face agin. This dis- 
 course is all folly, however — you haven't a minute to lose — 
 shall I order your horse ?" 
 
 " Yes, you had better, Lanigan," replied the other, with 
 a dogged appearance of cowardice and revenge. He could 
 not forgive Lanigan the illustration that involved the com- 
 parison of the hangman ; still his conscience and his cow- 
 ardice both whispered to him that the cook was in the right. 
 
 This night was an eventful one. The course of our nar- 
 rative brings us and our readers to the house of Captain 
 Smellpriest, who had for his next-door neighbor the stalwart 
 curate of the parish, the Rev. Samson Strong, to whom 
 some allusion has been already made in these pages. Now 
 the difference between Smellpriest and Whitecraft was this 
 — Smellpriest was not a magistrate, as Whitecraft was, and 
 in his priest-hunting expeditions only acted upon warrants 
 issued by some bigoted and persecuting magistrate or other 
 who lived in the district. But as his propensity to hunt 
 those untortunate persons was known, the execution of the 
 warrants was almost in every instance entrusted to his 
 hands. It was not so with Sir Robert, who, being himself a 
 magistrate, might be said to have been in the position at 
 once of judge and executioner. At all events, the race of 
 blood was pretty equal between them, so far as the clergy 
 was concerned ; but in general enmity to the Catholic com- 
 munity at large, Whitecraft was far more cruel and compre- 
 hensive in his vengeance. It is indeed an observation 
 founded upon truth and experience, that in all creeds, in 
 proportion to his ignorance and bigotry, so is the violence 
 of the persecutor. Whitecraft, the self-constituted cham- 
 pion of Protestantism, had about as much religion as Satan 
 himself — or indeed less, for we are told that he believes 
 and trembles, while Whitecraft, on the contrary, neither be- 
 lieved nor trembled. But if he did not fear God, he cer- 
 tainly feared man, and on the night in question went home 
 with as craven a heart — thanks to Lanigan — as ever beat in
 
 300 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 a coward's bosom. Smellpriest, however, differed from 
 Whitecraft in many points ; he was brave, though cruel, and 
 addicted to deep potations. Whitecraft, it is true, drank 
 more deeply still than he did ; but, by some idiosyncrasy of 
 stomach or constitution, it had no more effect upon him 
 than it had upon the cask from which it had been drawn, 
 unless, indeed, to reduce him to greater sobriety and sharpen 
 his prejudices. 
 
 Be this as it may, the Rev. Samson Strong made his ap- 
 pearance in Smellpriest' s house with a warrant, or some- 
 thing in the shape of one, which he placed in the gallant 
 captain's hands, who was drunk. 
 
 " What's this, oh, Samson the Strong ?" said Smellpriest, 
 laughing and hiccuping both at the same time. 
 
 " It's a hunt, my dear friend. One of those priests of Baal 
 has united in unholy bands a Protestant subject with a sub- 
 ject of the harlot of abominations." 
 
 " Samson, my buck," said Smellpriest, " I hope this 
 Popish priest of yours will not turn out to be a wild-goose. 
 You know you have sent me upon many a wild-goose chase 
 before ; in — in — in fact, you nev — never sent me upon any 
 other. You're a blockhead, oh, divine Samson ; and that 
 — that thick head of yours would flatten a cannon-ball. But 
 what is it ? — an intermarriage between the two P's — Popish 
 and Protestant ?" 
 
 " My dear," said his wife, " you must be aware that the 
 Popishers have only got liberty to clatter their beads in pub- 
 lic ; but not to marry a Popisher to a Protestanter. This is a 
 glorious opportunity for you to come home with a feather in 
 vour cap, my dear. Has he far to go, Mr. Strong ? because 
 he never goes out after the black garne, as you call them, sir, 
 that I don't feel as if I — but I can't express what I feel at 
 his dear absence." 
 
 Now we have said that Smellpriest was drunk, which, in 
 point of fact, was true ; but not so drunk but that he ob- 
 served some intelligent glances pass between his wife and 
 the broad-shouldered curate. 
 
 11 No, madam, only about two miles. Smellpriest, you 
 know Jack Houlaghan's stripe?" 
 
 " Yes — I know Jack Houlaghan's stripe, in Kilrudden." 
 
 11 Well, when you get to the centre of the stripe, look a 
 little to your right, and — as the night is light enough — you
 
 WILLY REILLY. 301 
 
 will see a house — a cottage, rather ; to this cottage bring 
 your men, and there you will find your game. I would not, 
 captain, under other circumstances, advise you to recruit 
 your spirits with an additional glass or two of liquor ; but, 
 as the night is cold, I really do recommend you to fortify 
 yourself with a little refreshment." 
 
 He was easily induced to do so, and he accordingly took 
 a couple of glasses of punch, and when about to mount his 
 horse, it was found that he could not do so without the as- 
 sistance of his men who were on duty, in all about six, every 
 one of whom, as well as the captain himself, was well armed. 
 It is unnecessary to state to the reader that the pursuit was 
 a vain one. They searched the house to no purpose ; neither 
 priest or friar was there, and he, consequently, had the sat- 
 isfaction of performing another wild-goose chase with his 
 usual success, whenever the Rev. Samson Strong sent him 
 in pursuit. In the meantime the moon went down, and the 
 night became exceedingly dark ; but the captain's spirits 
 were high and boisterous, so much so that they began to put 
 themselves forth in song, the song in question being the 
 once celebrated satire upon James the Second and Tyrcon- 
 nell, called " Lillibullero," now " The Protestant Boys." 
 How this song gained so much popularity it is difficult to 
 guess, for we are bound to say that a more pointless and 
 stupid production never came from the brain of man. Be 
 this as it may, we must leave the gallant captain and his 
 gang singing it in full chorus, and request our readers to ac- 
 company us to another locality. 
 
 The sheriff had now recovered from a dreadful attack of 
 the prevailing epidemic, and was able to resume his duties. 
 In the meantime he had heard of the change which had 
 taken place in the administration of affairs at headquarters 
 — a change at which he felt no regret, but rather a good 
 deal of satisfaction, as it relieved him from the performance 
 of very disagreeable and invidious duties, and the execution 
 of many severe and inhuman laws. He was now looking 
 over and signing some papers, when he rang the bell, and a 
 servant entered. 
 
 11 Tom," said he, " there is an old man, a poor mendi- 
 cant, to call here, who was once a servant in our family ; 
 when he comes show him into the office. I expect some 
 important family information from him respecting the prop-
 
 302 WILLY RELLLY. 
 
 erty which we are disputing about in the Court of Chan- 
 cery." 
 
 " Very well, sir," replied the servant, " I shall do so." 
 
 This occurred on the day of Whitecraft's visit to Squire 
 Folliard, and it was on the evening of the same that Smell- 
 priest was sent upon the usual chase, on the information of 
 the Rev. Samson Strong ; so that the events to which we 
 have alluded occurred, as if by some secret relation to each 
 other, on the same day. 
 
 At length our friend Fergus entered the office, in his usual 
 garb of an aged and confirmed mendicant. 
 
 "Well, Reilly," said the sheriff, "I am glad you have 
 come. I could have taken up this ruffian, this Red Rap- 
 paree, as he is properly called, upon suspicion ; but that 
 would have occasioned delay ; and it is my object to lodge 
 him in jail this night, so as to give him no chance of escape 
 unless he breaks prison ; but in order to prevent that, I shall 
 give strict injunctions, in consequence of the danger to be 
 apprehended from so powerful and desperate a character, 
 that he be kept in strong irons." 
 
 " If it be within the strength of man, sir, to break prison, 
 he will ; he done it twice before ; and he's under the notion 
 that he never was born to be hanged ; some of the ould 
 prophecy men, and Mary Mahon, it seems, tould him so." 
 
 11 In the meantime, Reilly, we shall test the truth of such 
 prophecies. But listen. What is your wish that I should 
 do for you, in addition to what I have already done. You 
 know what I have promised you, and that for some time 
 past, and that 1 have the Secretary's letter stating that you 
 are free, and have to dread neither arrest nor punishment ; 
 but that is upon the condition that you shall give all the 
 evidence against this man that you are possessed of. In 
 that case the Government will also bountifully reward you 
 besides." 
 
 " The Government need not think of any such thing, 
 your honor," replied Reilly ; "a penny of Government 
 money will never cross my pocket. It isn't for any reward 
 I come against this man, but because he joined the blood- 
 hounds of Sir Robert Whitecraft against his own priests and 
 his own religion ; or at laste against the religion he pro- 
 fessed, for I don't think he ever had any." 
 
 11 Well, then, I can make you one of my officers."
 
 WILLY RELLLY. 303 
 
 " Is it to go among the poor and distressed, sir, and help, 
 maybe, to take the bed from undher the sick father or the 
 sick mother, and to leave them without a stick undher the 
 ould roof or naked walls ? No, sir ; sooner than do that I'd 
 take to the highway once more, and rob like a man in the face 
 of danger. That I may never see to-morrow," he pro- 
 ceeded, with vehemence, " but I'd rather rob ten rich men 
 than harish one poor family. It was that work that druv 
 me to the coorse I left — that an' the persecution that was 
 upon us. Take my word, sir, that in nineteen cases out of 
 twenty it was the laws themselves, and the poverty they 
 brought upon the country, that made the robbers." 
 
 11 But could you not give evidence against some others of 
 the gang ?" 
 
 11 No, sir ; there is not one of them in this part of the 
 kingdom, and I believe the most of them all are out of it al- 
 together. But, even if they were not, I, sir, am not the 
 man to betray them ; the Red Rapparee would, if he could 
 get at them ; but, thank God, I've put every man of them 
 beyond his reach." 
 
 11 You did ! and pray, now, why, may I ask, did that hap- 
 pen ?" 
 
 " Bekaise it came to my ears that it was his intention to 
 inform against them, and to surrender them all to the Gov- 
 ernment. ' ' 
 
 " Well, Reilly, after all, I believe you to be an honest fel- 
 low, even although you were once a robber ; but the ques- 
 tion now is, what is to be done ? Are you sure of his where- 
 abouts ?" 
 
 1 ' I think so, sir ; or, if I am not, I know one that is. 
 But I have an observation to make. You know, sir, I would 
 a' gone abroad, a free man before this time, only that it's 
 necessary I should still keep on my disguise, in ordher that 
 I may move about as I wish until I secure this Red Rap- 
 paree. After that, sir, please God, I'll taste a mouthful of 
 freedom. In the meantime I know one, as I said, that will 
 enable us to make sure of him." 
 
 11 Pray, who is that ?" 
 
 11 Tom Steeple, sir." 
 
 " Do you mean the poor fool of that name — or rather, I 
 believe, of that nickname ?" 
 
 " I do, sir ; and in many things he's less of a fool than
 
 304 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 wiser men. lie has been dodgin' him for the last two or 
 three days ; and he s a person that no one would ever sus- 
 pect, unless, indeed, the cautious and practised Rapparees ; 
 but in ordher to meet any such suspicion, I have got upon 
 the right trail myself — we're sure of him now, I think." 
 
 " Well, Reilly," proceeded the sheriff, " I leave the man- 
 agement of the capture of this man to yourself. You shall 
 have a strong and determined party to support you. Do 
 you only show them the man, and, take my word for it, 
 they will secure the robber. After this affair is over you 
 must throw off those rags. I will furnish you with decent 
 clothes, and you can go out at large without fear or risk, 
 and that under your own name too. I took your hint, and 
 declined swearing the informations against him before the 
 old squire, as I had intended, from an apprehension that he 
 might possibly blab the fact to Whitecraft, who, if your in- 
 formation be correct, would have given him notice to fly, 
 or otherwise concealed him from justice." 
 
 " Well, sir," said Reilly, " it's my opinion that the Rap- 
 paree 'will lodge in Sligo jail before to-morrow mornin'; 
 and it's a thousand pities that Whitecraft shouldn't be sent 
 there to keep him company." 
 
 11 He certainly is the most unpopular man living. In the 
 exuberance of his loyalty he has contrived to offend almost 
 every liberal Protestant in the county, and that with an un- 
 justifiable degree of wanton and overbearing insolence, arising 
 from his consciousness of impunity. However, thank God, 
 his day is gone by. But, mark me, Reilly — I had almost 
 forgotten — don't neglect to secure the clothes in which the 
 villain robbed me ; they will be important." 
 
 11 I had no intention of forgetting them, sir ; and that 
 scheme for throwing the guilt of his own villany on Mr. 
 Reilly is another reason why I appear against him." 
 
 It was not, indeed, very easy for the Rapparee to escape. 
 Whitecraft got home safe, a little before dusk, after putting 
 his unfortunate horse to more than his natural speed. On 
 his arrival he ordered wine to be brought, and sat down to 
 meditate upon the most feasible plan for reinstating himself 
 in the good graces of the new Government. After ponder- 
 ing over many speculations to that effect, it occurred to him 
 that to secure the Rapparee, now that he could, as an agent 
 and a guide, be of no further use to him, was the most likely
 
 WILLY REILLY. 305 
 
 procedure to effect his purpose. He accordingly rang for 
 his usual attendant, and asked him if he knew where O'Don- 
 nel was. The man replied that he was generally in or about 
 Mary Mahon's. 
 
 11 Then," proceeded his master, " let him be with me to- 
 morrow morning at eleven o'clock." 
 
 " If I see him, sir, I shall tell him." 
 
 " And say that I have something to his advantage to men- 
 tion to him." 
 
 " Yes, sir ; I shan't forget it." 
 
 " Now," said he, after the servant had withdrawn, and 
 taking a bumper of wine, " I know not how it is, but I feel 
 very uncomfortable somehow. I certainly did not expect, a 
 change in the Administration, nor a relaxation in the carry- 
 ing out of the laws against Papists ; and, under this impres- 
 sion, I fear I have gone too far, and that I may be brought 
 over the coals for my conduct. I understand that the old 
 French Abbe is returned, and once more a resident in the 
 family of that cursed marquis. I think, by the way, I 
 should go and apologize to both the marquis and the Abbe, 
 and throw the blame of my own violence upon the conduct 
 and instructions of the last Government ; that, and the giv- 
 ing up of this ruffianly Rapparee to the present, may do 
 something for me. This country, however, now that mat- 
 ters have taken such an unexpected turn, shall not long be 
 my place of residence. As for Reilly, my marriage on the 
 day after to-morrow with that stubborn beauty, Helen Fol- 
 liard, will place an impassable barrier between him and her. 
 I am glad he has escaped, for he will not be in our way, 
 and we shall start for my English estates immediately after 
 the ceremony. To-morrow, however, I shall secure the 
 Rapparee, and hand him over to the authorities. I could 
 have wished to hang Reilly, but now it is impossible ; still, 
 we shall start for England immediately after the nuptial knot 
 is tied, for I don't think I could consider myself safe, now 
 that he is at large, and at liberty to appear in his proper 
 name and person, especially after all the mischief I have 
 done him, in addition to the fact of my bearing away his 
 Cooleen Bawn, as she is called." 
 
 In fact, the man's mind was a turbid chaos of reflections 
 upon the past and the future, in which selfishness, disap- 
 pointed vengeance, terror, hypocritical policy, and every
 
 306 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 feeling that could fill the imagination of a man possessed of 
 a vacillating, cowardly, and cruel heart, with the exception 
 only of any thing that could border upon penitence or re- 
 morse. That Miss Folliard was not indifferent to him is 
 true ; but the feeling which he experienced towards her 
 contained only two elements — sensuality and avarice. Of 
 love, in its purest, highest, and holiest sense, he was utterly 
 incapable ; and he was not ignorant himself that, in the 
 foul attachment which he bore her, he was only carrying 
 into effect the principles of his previous life — those of a pri- 
 vate debauche and a miser. That amiable, but unhappy 
 and distracted, lady spent that whole evening in making 
 preparations for her flight with Reilly. Her manner was 
 wild and excited ; indeed, so much so that the presence of 
 mind and cool good sense, for which her maid Connor was 
 remarkable, were scarcely sufficient to guide and direct her 
 in this distressing emergency. She seemed to be absorbed 
 by but one thought, and that was of her father. His affec- 
 tion for her enlarged and expanded itself in her loving heart, 
 with a force and tenderness that nearly drove her into de- 
 lirium. Connor, in the meantime, got all things ready, she 
 herself having entrusted the management of every thing to 
 her. The unhappy girl paced to and fro her room, sobbing 
 and weeping bitterly, wringing her hands, and exclaiming 
 from time to time : 
 
 ' ' Oh, my father ! my dear and loving father ! is this the 
 return I am making you for your tenderness and affection ? 
 what I am about to do ? what steps am I going to take ? to 
 leave you desolate, with no heart for yours to repose upon ! 
 Alas ! there was but one heart that you cared for, and in 
 the duty and affection of that all your hopes for my happi- 
 ness lay ; and now, when you awake, you will find that that 
 heart, the very heart on which you rested, has deserted you ! 
 When you come down to breakfast in the morning, and find 
 that your own Helen, your only one, has gone — oh ! who 
 will sustain, or soothe, or calm you in the frenzied grief of 
 your desolation ? But alas ! what can I do but escape from 
 that cowardly and vindictive villain — the very incarnation of 
 oppression and persecution ; the hypocrite, the secret de- 
 bauche, the mean, the dastardly, whose inhuman ambition 
 was based upon and nurtured by blood ? Alas ! I have but 
 the one remedy — flight with my noble-minded lover, whom
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 307 
 
 that dastardly villain would have hunted, even to his mur- 
 der, or an ignominious death, which would have been 
 worse. This flight is not spontaneously mine ; I am forced 
 to it, and of two evils I will choose the least ; surely I am 
 not bound to seal my own misery forever." 
 
 Connor had by this time attempted, as far as she could, 
 to disguise her in one of her own dresses ; but nothing could 
 conceal the elegance and exquisite proportion of her figure,nor 
 the ladylike harmony and grace of her motions. She then went 
 to the oaken cabinet, mentioned by her father in the open- 
 ing of our narrative, and as she always had the key of that 
 portion of it which contained her own diamonds, and other 
 property, she took a casket of jewels of immense value from 
 it, and returned to her room, where she found Connor be- 
 fore her. 
 
 " Mr. Reilly is ready, miss," she said, " and is waiting 
 for you behind the garden ; the only one I dread in the 
 house is Andy Cummiskey ; he is so much attached to the 
 master that I think if he knew you were about to escape 
 he would tell him." 
 
 "Well, Connor, we must only avoid him as well as we 
 can ; but where, or how, shall I carry these jewels ? In these 
 slight pockets of yours, Connor, they could not be safe." 
 
 " Well, then, can't you give them to him to keep, and 
 they'll be safe ?" 
 
 " True, Connor, so they will ; but I give him a heart 
 which he prizes above them all. But, alas ! my father ! oh ! 
 how, Connor, shall I abandon him V 
 
 ** Do not distress yourself, my dear Miss Folliard ; your 
 father loves you too much to hold out his anger against you 
 long. Did you not tell me that if Reilly was a Protestant 
 your father said he would rather marry you to him than to 
 Sir Robert, the villain, with all his wealth ?" 
 
 " I did, Connor, and my father certainly said so ; but the 
 serpent, Connor, entwined himself about the poor credulous 
 man, and succeeded in embittering him against Reilly, who 
 would rather go to the scaffold — yes, and — which he would 
 consider a greater sacrifice — rather abandon even me than 
 his religion. And do you think, Connor, that T do not 
 love my noble-minded Reilly the more deeply for this ? I 
 tell you, Connor, that if he renounced his religion upon no 
 other principle than his love for me, I should despise him as
 
 30S WILLY REILLY. 
 
 a dishonorable man, to whom it would not be safe for me 
 to entrust my happiness." 
 
 11 Well, well ; but now it is time to start, and Reilly, as I 
 said, is waiting for you behind the garden." 
 
 " Oh, Connor, and is it come to this ? my dear papa ! 
 but I cannot go until I see him ; no, Connor, I could not ; 
 I shall go quietly into his room, and take one look at him ; 
 probably it may be the last. Oh, my God ! what am I 
 about to do ! Connor, keep this casket until I return ; I 
 shall not be long." 
 
 She then went to his chamber. The blinds and curtains of 
 the windows had not been drawn, and it occurred to her 
 that as her dress was so different from any which her father 
 had ever seen on her, some suspicion might be created 
 should he observe it. She therefore left the candlestick 
 which she had brought with her on the inside sill of a lobby 
 window, having observed at the door that the moonlight 
 streamed in through the windows upon his bed. Judge of 
 her consternation, however, when, on entering the room, 
 her father, turning himself in the bed, asked, 
 
 " Is that Helen ?" 
 
 11 It is, papa ; I thought you had been asleep, and I came 
 up to steal my good-night kiss without any intention of 
 awakening you." 
 
 " I drank too much, Helen, with Whitecraft, whom wine 
 — my Burgundy — instead of warming, seems to turn into an 
 icicle. However, he is a devilish shrewd fellow. Helen, 
 darling, there's a jug of water on the table there ; will you 
 hand it to me ; I'm all in a flame and a fever." 
 
 She did so, and her hand trembled so much that she was 
 near spilling it. He took a long draught, after which he 
 smacked his lips, and seemed to breathe more freely. 
 
 " Helen," said he. 
 
 11 Well, dear papa." 
 
 " Helen, I had something to mention to you, but — " 
 
 " Don't disturb yourself to-night, papa ; you are some- 
 what feverish," she added, feeling his pulse ; " if you will 
 excuse me, papa, I think you drank too much ; your pulse is 
 very quick ; if you could fall into rest again it would be 
 better for you." 
 
 11 Yes, it would ; but my mind is uneasy and sorrowful. 
 Helen, I thought you loved me, my darling."
 
 WILLY RELLLY. 309 
 
 " Oh, could you doubt it, papa ? You see I am come as 
 usual — no, not as usual, either — to kiss you ; I will place 
 my cheek against yours, as I used to do, dear papa, and you 
 will allow me to weep — to weep — and to say that never 
 father deserved the love of a daughter as you have deserved 
 mine ; and never did daughter love an affectionate and in- 
 dulgent father more tenderly than your Cooleen Bawn does 
 you." 
 
 " I know it, Helen, I know it ; your whole life has been 
 a proof of it, and will be a proof of it ; I know you have 
 no other object in this world than to make papa happy ; I 
 know I feel that you are great-minded enough to sacrifice 
 everything to that." 
 
 " Well, but, papa," she continued, " for all my former 
 offences against you will you pity and forgive me ?" 
 
 " I do both, you foolish darling; but what makes you 
 speak so ?" 
 
 " Because I feel melancholy to-night, papa ; and now, 
 papa, if ever I should do any thing wrong, won't you pity 
 and forgive your own Cooleen Bawn .?" 
 
 11 Get along, you gipsy — don't be crying. What could 
 you do that papa wouldn't forgive you, unless to run away 
 with Reilly ? Don't you know that you can wind me round 
 your finger ?" 
 
 11 Farewell, papa," she said, weeping all the time, for, in 
 truth, she found it impossible to control herself ; " farewell 
 — good-night ! and remember that you may have a great 
 deal to forgive your own Cooleen Bawn some of these days." 
 
 On leaving the bedroom, where she was hurried by her 
 feelings into this indiscreet dialogue, she found herself 
 nearly incapable of walking without support. The contend- 
 ing affections for her father and her lover had nearly over- 
 come her. By the aid of the staircase she got to her own 
 room, where she was met by Connor, into whose arms she 
 fell almost helpless. 
 
 " Ah, Connor," she said, alluding to her father, whom 
 she could not trust herself to name, " to-morrow morning 
 what will become of him when he finds that I am. gone? 
 But I know his affectionate heart. He will relent — he will 
 relent for the sake of his own Cooleen Bawn. The laws 
 against Catholics are now relaxed, and I am glad of it. 
 But I have one consolation, my dear girl, that I am trust-
 
 310 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 ing myself to a man of honor. We will proceed directly to 
 the Continent — that is, if no calamitous occurrence should 
 take place to prevent us ; and there, after our nuptials shall 
 have been duly celebrated, I will live happy with Reilly — 
 that is, Connor, as happy as absence from my dear father 
 will permit me — and Reilly will live happy, and, at least, 
 free from the persecution of bad laws, and such villains as 
 base and vindictive Whitecraft. You, Connor, must ac- 
 company me to the back of the garden, and see me off. 
 Take this purse, Connor, as some compensation for your 
 truth and the loss of your situation." 
 
 It was now, when the moment of separation approached, 
 that Connor's tears began to flow, far less at the generosity 
 of her mistress than her affection, and that which she looked 
 upon as probably their final separation. 
 
 " Dear Connor," said her mistress, " I would expect that 
 support to my breaking heart which I have hitherto expe- 
 rienced from you. Be firm now, for you see / am not 
 firm, and your tears only render me less adequate to en- 
 counter the unknown vicissitudes which lie before me." 
 
 11 Well, then, I will be firm, my dear mistress ; and I tell 
 you that if there is a God in heaven that rewards virtue and 
 goodness like yours, you will be happy yet. Come, now, he 
 is waiting for you, and the less time we lose the better. 
 We shall go out by the back way — it is the safest." 
 
 They accordingly did so, and had nearly reached the back 
 wall of the garden when they met Malcomson and Cummis- 
 key, on their way into the kitchen, in order to have a mug 
 of strong ale together. The two men, on seeing the females 
 approach, withdrew to the shelter of a clump of trees, but 
 not until they were known by Connor. 
 
 11 Come, my dear mistress," she whispered, " there is not 
 one second of time to be lost. Cummiskey, who is a Cath- 
 olic, might overlook our being here at this hour ; because, 
 although he is rather in the light of a friend than a servant 
 to your father, still he is a friend to Reilly as well ; but as 
 for that ugly Scotchman, that is nothing but bone and skin, 
 I would place no dependence whatever upon him." 
 
 We will not describe the meeting between Reilly and the 
 Cooleen Bawn. They had no time to lose in the tender ex- 
 pressions of their feelings. Each shook hands with, and bid 
 farewell to, poor affectionate Connor, who was now drowned
 
 WILLY K LILLY. 311 
 
 in tears ; and thus they set off, with a view of leaving the 
 kingdom, and getting themselves legally married in Hol- 
 land, where they intended to reside. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE RAPPAREE SECURED — REILLY AND THE COOLEEN 
 PAWN ESCAPE, AND ARE CAPTURED. 
 
 CUMMISKEY had a private and comfortable room of 
 his own, to which he and the cannie Scotchman pro- 
 ceeded, after having ordered from the butler a tankard of 
 strong ale. There was a cheerful fire in the grate, and 
 when the tankard and glasses were placed upon the table 
 the Scotchman observed : 
 
 " De'il be frae my saul, maisther Cummiskey, but ye're 
 vara comfortable here. ' ' 
 
 " Why, in troth, I can't complain, Mr. Malcomson ; 
 here's your health, sir, and after that we must drink an- 
 other." 
 
 " Mony thanks, Andrew." 
 
 "Hang it, I'm not Andrew ; that sounds like Scotch; 
 I'm Andy, man alive." 
 
 11 Weel, mony thanks, Andy ; but for the maitter o' that, 
 what the de'il waur wad it be gin it were Scotch ?" 
 
 11 Bekaise I wouldn't like to be considered a Scotchman, 
 somehow." 
 
 "Weel, Andrew — Andy — I do just suppose as muckle ; 
 gin ye war considered Scotch, muckle more might be ex- 
 pecket frae you than, being an Irisher as you are, you could 
 be prepared to answer to ; whereas — " 
 
 11 Why, hang it, man alive, we can give three answers for 
 your one." 
 
 " Weel, but how is that now, Andy ? Here's to ye in the 
 meantime ; and 'am no sayin' but this yill is just richt gude 
 drink ; it warms the pit o' the stamach, man." 
 
 " You mane by that the pit o' the stomach, I suppose." 
 
 " Ay, just that." 
 
 11 Troth, Mr. Malcomson, you Scotchers bring every thing
 
 312 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 to the pit o' the stomach — no, begad, I ax your pardon, for 
 although you take care of the pratie bag, you don't forget 
 the pocket." 
 
 "And what for no, Andy? why the de'il war pockets 
 made, gin they warna to be filled ? but how hae ye Irishers 
 three answers for our ane ?" 
 
 11 Why, first with our tongue ; and even with that we 
 bate ye — flog you hollow. You Scotchmen take so much 
 time in givin' an answer that an Irishman could say his pat- 
 therin aves before you spake. You think first and spake 
 aftherwards, and come out in sich a way that one would sup- 
 pose you say grace for every word you^ spake ; but it isn't 
 ' for what we are to receive ' you ought to say ' may the 
 Lord make us thankful,' but for what we are to lose — that 
 is, your Scotch nonsense ; and, in troth, we ought to be 
 thankful for losin' it." 
 
 11 Weel, man, here's to ye, Andy — ou, man, but this yill 
 is extraordinar' gude." 
 
 11 Why," replied Andy, who, by the way, seldom went 
 sober to bed, and who was even now nearly three sheets in 
 the wind, " it is, Mr. Malcomson, the right stuff. But, as 
 I was sayin', you Scotchmen think first and spake afther — 
 one of the most unlucky practices that ever anybody had. 
 Now, don't you see the advantage that the Irishman has 
 over you ; he spakes first and thinks aftherwards, and then, 
 you know, it gives him plenty of time to think — here's God 
 bless us all, anyhow — but that's the way an Irishman bates 
 a Scotchman in givin' an answer ; for if he fails by word o' 
 mouth, why, whatever he's deficient in he makes up by the 
 fist or cudgel ; and there's our three Irish answers for one 
 Scotch." 
 
 11 Weel, man, a' richt — a' richt — we winna quarrel aboot 
 it ; but I thocht ye promised to gie us another toast — de'il 
 be frae my saul, man, but I'll drink as mony as you like wi- 
 siccan liquor as this." 
 
 " Ay, troth, I did say so, and devil a thing but your 
 Scotch nonsense put it out o' my head. And now, Mr. 
 Malcomson, let me advise you, as a friend, never to attempt 
 to have the whole conversation to yourself ; it isn't daicent. ' ' 
 
 " Weel, but the toast, man ?" 
 
 " Oh, ay ; troth, your nonsense would put any thing out 
 of a man's head. Well, you see this comfortable room ?"
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 3' 3 
 
 " Ou, ay ; an vara comfortable it is ; ma faith, I wuss I 
 had ane like it. The auld squire, however, talks o' buildin' 
 a new gerden-hoose." 
 
 "Well, then, fill your bumper. Here's to her that got 
 me this room, and had it furnished as you see, in order that 
 I might be at my aise in it for the remaindher o' my life — 
 ( I mane the Cooleen Bawn — the Lily of the Plains of Boyle. 
 Come, now, off with it ; and if you take it from your lan- 
 thern jaws till it's finished, divil a wet lip ever I'll give you." 
 
 The Scotchman was not indisposed to honor the toast ; 
 first, because the ale was both strong and mellow, and 
 secondly, because the Cooleen Bawn was a great favorite of 
 his, in consequence of the deference she paid to him as a 
 botanist. 
 
 " Eh, sirs," he exclaimed, after finishing his bumper, 
 " but she's a bonnie lassie that, and as gude as she's bonnie 
 — and ;de'il a higher compliment she could get, I think. 
 But, Andy, man, don't they talk some clash and havers 
 anent her predilection for that weel-farrant callan, Reilly V' 
 
 "Ah, my poor girl," replied Cummiskey, shaking his 
 head sorrowfully ; " I pity her there ; but the thing's im- 
 possible — they can't be married — the law is against them." 
 
 " Weel, Andy, they must e'en thole it ; but 'am thinkin' 
 they'll just break bounds at last, an' tak' the law, as you 
 Irish do, into their ain hands." 
 
 ' ' What do you mane by that ?' ' asked Andy, whose temper 
 began to get warm by the observation. 
 
 "Eh, man," replied the Scotchman, " dinna let your 
 birses rise at that gate. Noo, there's the filbert trees, ma 
 friend, of whilk ane is male and the tither female ; and the 
 upshot e'en is, Andy, that de'il a pickle o' fruit ever the 
 female produces until there's a braw halesome male tree 
 planted in the same gerden. But, ou, man, Andy, wasna 
 yon she and that bonnie jaud, Connor, that we met the 
 noo ? De'il be frae my saul, but I jalouse she's aff wi' him 
 this vara nicht." 
 
 "Oh, dear, no !" replied Cummiskey, starting; ''that 
 would kill her father ; and yet there must be something in it, 
 or what would bring them there at such an hour ? He and 
 she may love one another as much as they like, but / must 
 think of my masther. " 
 
 " In that case, then, our best plan is to gie the alarm."
 
 314 WILLY RELL.LY. 
 
 " Hould," replied Andy; "let us be cautious. They 
 wouldn't go on foot, I think ; and before we rise a ruction 
 in the house, let us find out whether she has made off or 
 not. Sit you here, and I'll try to see Connor, her maid." 
 
 "Ah, but, Andy, man, it's no just that pleasant to sit 
 here dry-lipped ; the tankard's oot, ye ken." 
 
 " Divil tankard the Scotch sowl o' you — who do you sup- 
 pose could think of a tankard, or any thing else, if what we 
 suspect has happened ? It will kill him." 
 
 He then proceeded to look for Connor, whom he met in 
 tears, which she was utterly unable to conceal. 
 
 "Well, Miss Connor," he aked, "what's the matther ? 
 You're cryin', I persave. " 
 
 " Ah, Cummiskey, my mistress is unwell." 
 
 " Unwell ! why she wasn't unwell a while ago, when the 
 gardener and I met her and you on your way to the back o' 
 the garden." 
 
 " Oh, yes," replied Connor ; " I forced her to come out, 
 to try what a little cool air might do for her." 
 
 " Ay, but, Connor, did you force her to come in again ?" 
 
 " Force ! there was no force necessary, Cummiskey. 
 She's now in her own room, quite ill." 
 
 " Oh, then, if she's quite ill, it's right that her father 
 should know it, in ordher that a docther may be sent for." 
 
 " Ah, but she's now asleep, Cummiskey — that sleep may 
 set her to rights ; she may waken quite recovered ; but you 
 know it might be dangerous to disturb her." 
 
 " Ay, I believe you," he replied, dissembling ; for he 
 saw at once, by Connor's agitated manner, that every word 
 she uttered was a lie ; " the sleep will be good for her, the 
 darlin' ; but take care of her, Connor, for the masther's sake ; 
 for what would become of him if any thing happened her ? 
 You know that if she died he wouldn't live a week." 
 
 " That's true, indeed," she replied ; " and if she get's 
 worse, Cummiskey, I'll let the master know." 
 
 " That's a good girl ; via gragal that you war — good-by, 
 acushla," and he immediately returned to his own room, af- 
 ter having observed that Connor went down to the kitchen. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Malcomson," said he, " there is a good fire 
 before you. I ax your pardon — 'just sit in the light of it for 
 a minute or so ; I want this candle." 
 
 'Am sayin', Andy, gin ye haud awa to the kitchen, it
 
 WILLY R LILLY. 315 
 
 wadna be a crime to send up anither tankard o' that 
 yill." 
 
 To this the other made no reply, but walked out of the 
 room, and very deliberately proceeded to that of Helen. The 
 door was open, the bed unslept upon, the window-curtains 
 undrawn ; in fact, the room was tenantless, Connor a liar 
 and an accomplice, and the suspicions of himself and Mal- 
 comson well founded. He then followed Connor to the 
 kitchen ; but she too had disappeared, or at least hid her- 
 self from him. He then desired the other female servants 
 to ascertain whether Miss Folliard was within or not, giving 
 it as his opinion that she had eloped with Willy Reilly. 
 The uproar then commenced, the house was searched, but 
 no Coolec?i Baivn was found. Cummiskey himself remained 
 comparatively tranquil, but his tranquillity was neither 
 more nor less than an inexpressible sorrow for what he knew 
 the affectionate old man must suffer for the idol of his heart, 
 upon whom he doted with such unexampled tenderness and 
 affection. On ascertaining that she was not in the house, 
 he went upstairs to his master's bedroom, having the can- 
 dlestick in his hand, and tapped at the door. There was 
 no reply from within, and on his entering he found the old 
 man asleep. The case, however, was one that admitted of 
 no delay ; but he felt that to communicate the melancholy 
 tidings was a fearful task, and he scarcely knew in what 
 words to shape the event which had occurred. At length 
 he stirred him gently, and the old man, half asleep, ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " Good-night, Helen — good-night, darling ! I am not 
 well ; I had something to tell you about the discovery of — 
 but I will let you know it to-morrow at breakfast. For your 
 sake I shall let him escape : there now, go to bed, my love." 
 
 " Sir," said Cummiskey, " I hope you'll excuse me for 
 disturbing you." 
 
 "What? who? who's there? I thought it was my 
 daughter." 
 
 " No, sir, I wish it was ; I'm come to tell you that Miss 
 Folliard can't be found : we have searched every nook and 
 corner of the house to no purpose : wherever she is, she's 
 not undher this roof. I came to tell you so, and to bid you 
 get up, that we may see what's to be done." 
 
 " What," he exclaimed, starting up, " my child ! — my
 
 3'6 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 child — my child gone ! God of heaven ! God of heaven, 
 support me ! — my darling ! my treasure ! my delight ! — Oh, 
 Cummiskey ! — but it can't be — to desert me ! — to leave me 
 in misery and sorrow, broken-hearted, distracted ! — she that 
 was the prop of my age, that loved me as never child loved 
 a father ! Begone, Cummiskey, it is not so, it can't be, I 
 say : search again ; she is somewhere in the house ; you 
 don't know, sirra, how she loved me : why, it was only this 
 night that, on taking her good-night kiss, she — ha — what ? 
 what ? — she wept, she wept bitterly, and bade me farewell ! 
 and said — Here, Cummiskey, assist me to dress. Oh, I see 
 it, Cummiskey, I see it ! she is gone ! she is gone ! yes, she 
 bade me farewell ; but I was unsteady and unsettled after 
 too much drink, and did not comprehend her meaning." 
 
 It is impossible to describe the almost frantic distraction 
 of that loving father, who, as he said, had no prop to lean 
 upon but his Cooleen Bawn, for he himself often loved to 
 call her by that appellation. 
 
 "Cummiskey," he proceeded, "we will pursue them — 
 we must have my darling back : yes, and I will forgive her, 
 for what is she but a child, Cummiskey, not yet twenty. 
 But in the meantime I will shoot him dead — dead — dead — if 
 he had a thousand lives ; and from this night out I shall 
 pursue Popery, in all its shapes and disguises ; I will im- 
 prison it, transport it, hang it — hang it, Cummiskey, as 
 round as a hoop. Ring the bell, and let Lanigan unload, 
 and then reload my pistols ; he always does it ; his father 
 was my grandfather's gamekeeper, and he understands fire- 
 arms. Here, though, help me on with my boots first, and 
 then I will be dressed immediately. After giving the pistols 
 to Lanigan, desire the grooms and hostlers to saddle all the 
 horses in the stables. We must set out and pursue them. 
 It is possible we may overtake them yet. I will not level a 
 pistol against my child ; but, by the great Boyne ! if we 
 meet them, come up with them, overtake them, his guilty 
 spirit will stand before the throne of judgment this night. 
 Go now, give the pistols to Lanigan, and tell him to reload 
 them steadily." 
 
 We leave them now, in order that we may follow the 
 sheriff and his party, who went to secure the body of the 
 Red Rapparee. This worthy person, not at all aware of the 
 friendly office which his patron, Sir Robert, intended to dis-
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 317 
 
 charge towards him, felt himself quite safe, and consequently 
 took very little pains to secure his concealment. Indeed, 
 it could hardly be expected that he should, inasmuch as 
 Whitecraft had led him to understand, as we have said, that 
 Government had pardoned him his social transgressions, as 
 a per contra for those political ones which they still expected 
 from him. Such was his own view of the case, although he 
 was not altogether free from misgiving, and a certain vague 
 apprehension. Be this as it may, he had yet to learn a 
 lesson which his employer was not disposed to teach him 
 by any other means than handing him over to the authorities 
 on the following day. How matters might have terminated 
 between him and the baronet it is out of our power to de- 
 tail. The man was at all times desperate and dreadful, 
 where either revenge or anger was excited, especially as he 
 labored under the superstitious impression that he was 
 never to be hanged or perish by a violent death, a sentiment 
 then by no means uncommon among persons of his out- 
 rageous and desperate life. It has been observed, and with 
 truth, that the Irish Rapparees seldom indulged in the 
 habit of intoxication or intemperance, and this is not at all 
 to be wondered at. The meshes of authority were always 
 spread for them, and the very consciousness of this fact 
 sharpened their wits, and kept them perpetually on their 
 guard against the possibility of arrest. Nor was this all. 
 The very nature of the lawless and outrageous life they led, 
 and their frequent exposure to danger, rendered habits of 
 caution necessary — and those were altogether incompatible 
 with habits of intemperance. Self-preservation rendered this 
 policy necessary, and we believe there are but few instances 
 on record of a Rapparee having been arrested in a state of 
 intoxication. Their laws, in fact, however barbarous they 
 were in other matters, rendered three cases of drunkenness 
 a cause of expulsion from the gang. O'Donnel, however, 
 had now relaxed from the rigid observance of his own rules, 
 principally for the reasons we have already stated — by 
 which we mean, a conviction of his own impunity, as falsely 
 communicated to him by Sir Robert Whitecraft. The 
 sheriff had not at first intended to be personally present 
 at his capture ; but upon second consideration he came to 
 the determination of heading the party who were authorized 
 to secure him. This resolution of Oxley's had, as will pres-
 
 318 WILLY KKILLY. 
 
 entlv be seen, a serious effect upon the fate and fortunes 
 of the Cooleen Bawn and her lover. The party, who were 
 guided by Tom Steeple, did not go to Mary Mahon's, but 
 to a neighboring cottage, which was inhabited by a distant 
 relative of O'Donnel. A quarrel had taken place between 
 the fortune-teller and him, arising from his jealousy of Sir 
 Robert, which caused such an estrangement as prevented 
 him for some time from visiting her house. Tom Steeple, 
 however, had haunted him as his shadow, without ever 
 coming in contact with him personally, and on this night 
 he had him set as a soho man has a hare in her form. 
 Guided, therefore, by the intelligent idiot and Fergus, the 
 party reached the cottage in which the Rapparee resided. 
 The house was instantly surrounded and the door knocked 
 at, for the party knew that the man was inside. 
 
 "Who is there?" asked the old woman who kept the 
 cottage. 
 
 11 Open the door instantly," said the sheriff, " or we shall 
 smash it in." 
 
 "No, I won't," she replied ; "no, I won't, you bos- 
 thoon, whoever you are. I never did nothin' agin the laws, 
 bad luck to them, and I won't open my door to any stroll- 
 ing vagabone like you." 
 
 " Produce the man we want," said the sheriff, ■' or we 
 shall arrest you for harboring an outlaw and a murderer. 
 Your house is now surrounded by military, acting under the 
 king's orders." 
 
 " Give me time," said the crone ; " I was at my prayers 
 when you came to disturb me, and I'll finish them before I 
 open the door, if you were to burn the house over my head, 
 and myself in it. Up," said she to the Rapparee, " through 
 the roof — get that ould table undher your feet — the thatch 
 is thin — slip out and lie on the roof till they go, and then 
 let them whistle jigs to the larks if they like." 
 
 The habits of escape peculiar to the Rapparees were well 
 known to Fergus, who cautioned those who surrounded the 
 house to watch the roof. It was well they did so, for in 
 less time than we have taken to describe it the body of the 
 Rapparee was seen projecting itself upwards through the 
 thin thatch, and in an instant several muskets were levelled 
 at him, accompanied by instant orders to surrender on pain 
 of being shot. Under such circumstances there was no al-
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 319 
 
 ternative, and in a few minutes he was handcuffed and a 
 prisoner. The party then proceeded along the road on which 
 some of the adventures already recorded in this narrative 
 had taken place, when they were met, at a sharp angle of it, 
 by Reilly and his Coolccn Bawn, both of whom were almost 
 instantly recognized by the sheriff and his party. Their ar- 
 rest was immediate. 
 
 " Mr. Reilly," said the sheriff, " I am sorry for this. 
 You must feel aware that I neither am nor ever was disposed 
 to be your enemy ; but I now find you carrying away a 
 Protestant heiress, the daughter of my friend, contrary to 
 the laws of the land, a fact which in itself gives me the 
 power and authority to take you into custody, which I ac- 
 cordingly do in his Majesty's name. I owe you no ill will, 
 but in the meantime you must return with me to Squire 
 Folliard's house. Miss Folliard, you must, as you know 
 me to be your father's friend, consider that I feel it my duty 
 to restore you to him." 
 
 "I am not without means of defence," replied Reilly, 
 " but the exercise of such means would be useless. Two 
 of your lives I might take ; but yours, Mr. Sheriff, could 
 not be one of them, and that you must feel." 
 
 11 I feel, Mr. Reilly, that you are a man of honor ; and, 
 in point of fact, there is ample apology for your conduct in 
 the exquisite beauty of the young lady who accompanies 
 you ; but I must also feel for her father, whose bereave- 
 ment, occasioned by her loss, would most assuredly break 
 his heart." 
 
 Here a deep panting of the bosom, accompanied by vio- 
 lent sobs, was heard by the party, and Coolcen Bawn whis- 
 pered to Reilly, in a voice nearly stifled by grief and excite- 
 ment : 
 
 " Dear Reilly, I love you ; but it was madness in us to 
 take this step ; let me return to my father — only let me see 
 him safe ?" 
 
 11 But Whitecraft ?" 
 
 " Death sooner. Reilly, I am ill, I am ill ; this struggle 
 is too much for me. What shall I do ? My head is swim- 
 ming." 
 
 She had scarcely uttered these words when her father, ac- 
 companied by his servants, dashed rapidly up, and Cum- 
 miskey, the old huntsman, instantly seized Reilly, exclaim-
 
 320 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 ing, " Mr. Reilly, we have you now ;" and whilst he spoke, 
 his impetuous old master dashed his horse to one side, and 
 discharged a pistol at our hero, and this failing, he dis- 
 charged another. Thanks to Lanigan, however, they were 
 both harmless, that worthy man having; forgotten to put in 
 bullets, or even as much powder as would singe an ordinary 
 whisker. 
 
 "Forbear, sir," exclaimed the sheriff, addressing Cum- 
 miskey ; " unhand Mr. Reilly. He is already in custody, 
 and you, Mr. Folliard, may thank God that you are a not 
 murderer this night. As a father, I grant that an opology 
 may be made for your resentment, but not to the shedding 
 of blood." 
 
 11 Lanigan ! villain ! treacherous and deceitful villain !" 
 shouted the squire, " it was your perfidy that deprived me 
 of my revenge. Begone, you sneaking old profligate, and 
 never let me see your face again. You did not load my 
 pistols as you ought." 
 
 11 No, sir," replied Lanigan, " and I thank God that I 
 did not. It wasn't my intention to see your honor hanged 
 for murder." 
 
 "Mr. Folliard," observed the sheriff, "you ought to 
 bless God that gave you a prudent servant, who had too 
 much conscience to become the instrument of your ven- 
 geance. Restrain your resentment for the present, and 
 leave Mr. Reilly to the laws of his country. We shall now 
 proceed to your house, where, as a magistrate, you can 
 commit him to prison, and I will see the warrant executed 
 this night. We have also another prisoner of some celeb- 
 rity, the Red Rapparee." 
 
 " By sun and moon, I'll go bail for him," replied the in- 
 furiated squire. " I like that fellow because Reilly does 
 not. Sir Robert spoke to me in his favor. Yes, I snail go 
 bail for him, to any amount." 
 
 " His offence is not a bailable one," said the cool sheriff ; 
 " nor, if the thing were possible, would it be creditable in 
 you, as a magistrate, to offer yourself as bail for a common 
 robber, one of the most notorious highwaymen of the day." 
 
 "Well, but come along," replied the squire; "I have 
 changed my mind ; we shall hang them both ; Sir Robert 
 will assist and support me. I could overlook the offence of 
 a man who only took my purse ; yes, I could overlook that,
 
 WILLY REILLY. 3 21 
 
 but the man who would rob me of my child — of the solace 
 and prop of my heart and life — of' — of — of — " 
 
 Here the tears came down his cheeks so copiously that his 
 sobs prevented him from proceeding. He recovered him- 
 self, however, for indeed he was yet scarcely sober after the 
 evening's indulgence, and the two parties returned to his 
 house, where, after having two or three glasses of Burgundy 
 to make his hand steady, he prepared himself to take the 
 sheriff's informations and sign unfortunate R.eilly's com- 
 mittal to Sligo jail. The vindictive tenacity of resentment 
 by which the heart of the ruffian Rapparee was animated 
 against that young man was evinced, on this occasion, by a 
 satanic ingenuity of malice that was completely in keeping 
 with the ruffian's character. It was quite clear, from the 
 circumstances we are about to relate, that the red miscreant 
 had intended to rob Folliard's house on the night of his at- 
 tack upon it, in addition to the violent abduction of his 
 daughter. We must premise here that Reilly and the Rap- 
 paree were each strongly guarded in different rooms, and 
 the first thing the latter did was to get some one to inform 
 Mr. Folliard that he had a matter of importance concerning 
 Reilly to mention to him. This was immediately on their 
 return, and before the informations against Reilly were 
 drawn up. Folliard, who knew not what to think, paused 
 for some time, and at last, taking the sheriff along with him, 
 went to hear what O'Donnel had to say. 
 
 "Is that ruffian safe?" he asked, before entering the 
 room ; " have you so secured him that he can't be mis- 
 chievous ?" 
 
 11 Quite safe, your honor, and as harmless as a lamb." 
 
 He and the sheriff then entered, and found the huge sav- 
 age champing his teeth and churning with his jaws, until a 
 line of white froth encircled his mouth, rendering him a hid- 
 eous and fearful object to look at. 
 
 "What is this you want with me, you misbegotten vil- 
 lain," said the squire. " Stand between the ruffian and me, 
 fellows, in the meantime — what is it, sirra ?" 
 
 " Who's the robber now, Mr. Folliard ?" he asked, with 
 something, however, of a doubtful triumph in his red glaring 
 eye. "Your daughter had jewels in a black cabinet, and 
 I'd have secured the same jewels and your daughter along 
 with them, on a certain night, only for Reilly ; and it was
 
 322 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 very natural he should out-general me, which he did ; but 
 it was only to get both for himself. Let him be searched 
 at wanst, and, although I don't say he has them, yet I'd 
 give a hundred to one he has ; she would never carry them 
 while he was with her." 
 
 The old squire, who would now, with peculiar pleasure, 
 have acted in the capacity of hangman in Reilly's case, had 
 that unfortunate young man been doomed to undergo the 
 penalty of the law, and that no person in the shape of Jack 
 Ketch was forthcoming — he, we say — the squire — started at 
 once to the room where Reilly was secured, accompanied 
 also by the sheriff, and, after rushing in with a countenance 
 inflamed by passion, shouted out : 
 
 " Seize and examine that villain ; he has robbed me — ex- 
 amine him instantly : he has stolen the family jewels." 
 
 Reilly's countenance fell, for he knew his fearful position ; 
 but that which weighed heaviest upon his heart was a con- 
 sciousness of the misinterpretations which the world might 
 put upon the motives of his conduct in this elopement, im- 
 puting it to selfishness and a mercenary spirit. When about 
 to be searched, he said : 
 
 " You need not ; I will not submit to the indignity of 
 such an examination. I have and hold the jewels for Miss 
 Folliard, whose individual property I believe they are ; nay, 
 
 I am certain of it, because she told me so, and requested 
 me to keep them for her. Let her be sent for, and I shall 
 hand them back to her at once, but to no other person with- 
 out violence." 
 
 " But she is not in a condition to receive them," replied 
 the sheriff (which was a fact) ; " I pledge my honor she is 
 not." 
 
 " Well, then, Mr. Sheriff, I place them in your hands ; 
 you can do with them as you wish — that is, either return 
 them to Miss Folliard, the legal owner of them, or to her 
 father." 
 
 The sheriff received the casket which contained them, and 
 immediately handed it to Mr. Folliard, who put it in his 
 pocket, exclaiming : 
 
 " Now, Reilly, if we can hang you for nothing else, we 
 can hang you for this ; and we will, sir." 
 
 ** You, sir," said Reilly, with melancholy indignation, 
 
 II are privileged to insult me ; so, alas ! is every man now ;
 
 WILLY REILLY. 323 
 
 but I can retire into the integrity of my own heart and find 
 a consolation there of which you cannot deprive me. My 
 life is now a consideration of no importance to myself, since 
 I shall die with the consciousness that your daughter loved 
 me. You do not hear this for the first time, for that daugh- 
 ter avowed it to yourself ! and if I had been mean and un- 
 principled enough to have abandoned my religion, and that 
 of my persecuted forefathers, I might ere this have been her 
 husband." 
 
 " Come," said Folliard, who was not prepared with an 
 answer to this, "come," said he, addressing , the sheriff, 
 " come, till we make out his mittimus, and give him the first 
 shove to the gallows." 
 
 They then left him. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 SIR ROBERT ACCEPTS OF AN INVITATION. 
 
 THE next morning rumor had, as they say, her hands 
 and tongues very full of business. Reilly and the Red 
 Rapparee were lodged in Sligo jail that night, and the next 
 morning the fact was carried by the aforesaid rumor far and 
 wide over the whole country. One of the first whose ears 
 it reached was the gallant and virtuous Sir Robert White- 
 craft, who no sooner heard it than he ordered his horse and 
 rode at a rapid rate to see Mr. Folliard, in order, now that 
 Reilly was out of the way, to propose an instant marriage 
 with the C00lee.11 Bawn. He found the old man in a state 
 very difficult to be described, for he had only just returned 
 to the drawing-room from the strongly sentinelled chamber 
 of his daughter. Indignation against Reilly seemed now 
 nearly lost in the melancholy situation of the wretched 
 Cooleen Bawn. He had just seen her, but, somehow, the 
 interview had saddened and depressed his heart. Her posi- 
 tion and the state of her feelings would have been pitiable, 
 even to the eye of a stranger ; what, then, must they not 
 have been to a father who loved her as he did ? 
 
 " Helen," said he, as he took a chair in her room, after 
 her guards had been desired to withdraw for a time, " Helen,
 
 3^4- WILLY RELLLY. 
 
 are you aware that you have eternally disgraced your own 
 name, and that of your father and your family ?" 
 
 Helen, who was as pale as death, looked at him with va- 
 cant and unrecognizing eyes, but made no reply, for it was 
 evident that she either had not heard, or did not understand, 
 a word he said. 
 
 " Helen," said he, " did you hear me ?" 
 
 She looked upon him with a long look of distress and 
 misery, but there was the vacancy still, and no recognition. 
 
 This, I suppose, thought the father, is just the case with 
 every love-sick girl in her condition, who will not be allowed 
 to have her own way ; but of what use is a father unless he 
 puts all this nonsense down, and substitutes his own judg- 
 ment for that of a silly girl. I will say something now that 
 will startle her, and I will say nothing but what I will bring 
 about. 
 
 " Helen, my darling," he said, " are you both deaf and 
 blind, that you can neither see nor hear your father, and to- 
 morrow your wedding-day ? Sir Robert Whitecraft will be 
 here early ; the special license is procured, and after mar- 
 riage you and he start for his English estates to spend the 
 honeymoon there, after which you both must return and live 
 with me, for I need scarcely say, Helen, that I could not live 
 without you. Now I think you ought to be a happy girl 
 to get a husband possessed of such immense property." 
 
 She started and looked at him with something like return- 
 ing consciousness. " But where is Willy Reilly ?" she asked. 
 
 " The villain that would have robbed me of my property 
 and my daughter is now safe in Sligo jail." 
 
 A flash of something like k)y — at least the father took it as 
 such — sparkled in a strange^ind of triumph from her eyes. 
 
 " Ha," said she, " is that villain safe at last ? Dear papa, 
 I am tired of all this — this — yes, I am tired of it, and it is 
 time I should ; but you talked about something else, did 
 you not ? Something about Sir Robert Whitecraft and a 
 marriage. And what is my reply to that ? why, it is this, 
 papa: I have but one life, sir. Now begone, and leave me, 
 or, upon my honor, I will push you out of the room. 
 Have I not consented to all your terms. Let Sir Robert 
 come to-morrow and he shall call me his wife before the 
 sun reaches his meridian. Now, leave me ; leave me, I 
 say."
 
 WILLY REILLY. 3^5 
 
 In this uncertain state her father found himself compelled 
 to retire to the drawing-room, where Sir Robert and he met. 
 
 11 Mr. Folliard," said the baronet, " is this true ?" 
 
 " Is what true, Sir Robert ?" said he sharply. 
 
 " Why, that Reilly and the Red Rapparee are both in 
 Sligo jail ?" 
 
 11 It is true, Sir Robert ; and it must be a cursed thing to 
 be in jail for a capital crime. ' ' 
 
 "Are you becoming penitent," asked the other, "for 
 bringing the laws of the land to bear upon the villain that 
 would have disgraced, and might have ruined, your only 
 daughter ?" 
 
 The father's heart was stung by the diabolical pungency 
 of this question. 
 
 " Sir Robert," said he, " we will hang him, if it was only 
 to get the villain out of the way ; and if you will be here 
 to-morrow at ten o'clock, the marriage must take place. 
 I'll suffer no further nonsense about it ; but, mark me, after 
 the honeymoon shall have passed, you and she must come 
 and reside here ; to think that I could live without her is 
 impossible. Be here, then, at ten o'clock ; the special li- 
 cense is ready, and I have asked the Rev. Samson Strong to 
 perform the ceremony. A couple of my neighbor Ashford's 
 daughters will act as bridesmaids, and I myself will give her 
 away : the marriage articles are drawn up, as you know, 
 and there will be little time lost in signing them ; and yet, 
 it's a pity to — but no matter — be here at ten." 
 
 Whitecraft took his leave in high spirits. The arrest and 
 imprisonment of Reilly had removed the great impediment 
 that had hitherto lain in the way of his marriage ; but not 
 so the imprisonment of the Red Rapparee. The baronet 
 regretted that that public and notorious malefactor had been 
 taken out of his own hands, because he wished, as the reader 
 knows, to make the delivering of him up to the Government 
 one of the elements of his reconciliation to it. Still, as 
 matters stood, he felt on the whole gratified at what had 
 happened. 
 
 Folliard, after the baronet had gone, knew not exactly 
 how to dispose of himself. The truth is, the man's heart 
 was an anomaly — a series of contradictions, in which one 
 feeling opposed another for a brief space, and then was 
 obliged to make way for a new prejudice equally transitory
 
 326 WILLY R LILLY. 
 
 and evanescent. Whitecraft he never heartily liked ; for 
 though the man was blunt, he could look through a knave, 
 and appreciate a man of honor, with a great deal of shrewd 
 accuracy. To be sure, Whitecraft was enormously rich, 
 but then he was penurious and inhospitable, two vices 
 strongly and decidedly opposed to the national feeling. 
 
 11 Curse the long-legged scoundrel," he exclaimed ; " if he 
 should beget me a young breed of Whitecrafts like himself 
 I would rather my daughter were dead than marry him. 
 Then, on the other hand, Reilly ; hang the fellow, had he 
 only recanted his nonsensical creed, I could — but then, 
 again, he might, after marriage, bring her over to the Pa- 
 pists, and then, by the Boyne, all my immense property 
 would become Roman Catholic. By Strongbow, he'd teach 
 the very rivers that run through it to sing Popish psalms in 
 Latin : he would. However, the best way is to hang him 
 out of the way, and when Jack Ketch has done with him, 
 so has Helen. Curse Whitecraft, at all events !" 
 
 We may as well hint here that he had touched the Bur- 
 gundy to some purpose ; he was now in that state of mental 
 imbecility where reason, baffled and prostrated by severe 
 mental suffering and agitation, was incapable of sustaining 
 him without having recourse to the bottle. In the due 
 progress of the night he was helped to bed, and had 
 scarcely been placed and covered up there when he fell fast 
 asleep. 
 
 Whitecraft, in the meantime, suspected, of course, or 
 rather he was perfectly aware of the fact, that unless by 
 some ingenious manoeuvre, of which he could form no con- 
 ception, a marriage with the Cooleen Bawn would be a mat- 
 ter of surpassing difficulty ; but he cared not, provided it 
 could be effected by any means, whether foul or fair. The 
 attachment of this scoundrel to the fair and beautiful Coolccn 
 Bawn was composed of two of the worst principles of the 
 heart — sensuality and avarice ; but, in this instance, avarice 
 came in to support sensuality. What the licentious passions 
 of the debauche might have failed to tempt him to, the 
 consideration of her large fortune accomplished. And such 
 was the sordid and abominable union of the motives which 
 spurred him on to the marriage. 
 
 The next morning, being that which was fixed for his 
 wedding-day, he was roused at an early hour by a loud rap-
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 327 
 
 ping at his hall-door. He started on his elbow in the bed, 
 and ringing the bell for his valet, asked, when that gentle- 
 man entered his apartment half dressed, " What was the 
 matter ? what cursed knocking was that ? Don't they know 
 I can hunt neither priest nor Papist now, since this polite 
 viceroy came here." 
 
 " I don't know what the matter is, Sir Robert ; they are 
 at it again ; shall I open the door, sir ?" 
 
 11 Certainly ; open the door immediately." 
 
 11 I think you had better dress, Sir Robert, and see what 
 they want." 
 
 The baronet threw his long fleshless shanks out of the 
 bed, and began to get on his clothes as fast as he could. 
 
 11 Ha !" said he, when he was nearly dressed, " what if 
 this should be a Government prosecution for what I have 
 undertaken to do on my own responsibility during the last 
 Administration ? 'But no, surely it cannot be ; they would 
 have given me some intimation of their proceedings. This 
 was due to my rank and station in the country, and to my 
 exertions, a zealous Protestant, to sustain the existence of 
 Church and State. Curse Church and State if it be ! I 
 have got myself, perhaps, into a pretty mess by them." 
 
 He had scarcely uttered the last words when Mr. Hast- 
 ings, accompanied by two or three officers of justice, en- 
 tered his bedroom. 
 
 " Ah, Hastings, my dear friend, what is the matter? Is 
 there any thing wrong, or can I be of any assistance to you ? 
 if so, command me. But we are out of power now, you 
 know. Still, show me how I can assist you. How do you 
 do ?" and as he spoke he put his hand out to shake hands 
 with Mr. Hastings. 
 
 11 No, Sir Robert, I cannot take your hand, nor the 
 hand of any man that is red with the blood of murder. 
 This," said he, turning to the officers, "is Sir Robert 
 Whitecraft ; arrest him for murder and arson." 
 
 11 Why, bless me, Mr. Hastings, are you mad ? Surely, I 
 did nothing, unless under the sanction and by the instruc- 
 tions of the last Government ?" 
 
 11 That remains to be seen, Sir Robert ; but, at all events, I 
 cannot enter into any discussion with you at present. I am 
 here as a magistrate. Informations have been sworn against 
 you by several parties, and you must now consider yourself
 
 32S WILLY RE ILL V. 
 
 our prisoner and come along with us. There is a party cf 
 cavalry below to escort you to Sligo jail." 
 
 " But how am I to be conveyed there ? I hope I will be 
 allowed my own carriage ?" 
 
 " Unquestionably," replied Mr. Hastings ; " I was about 
 to have proposed it myself. You shall be treated with every 
 respect, sir." 
 
 " May I not breakfast before I go ?" 
 
 11 Certainly, sir ; we wish to discharge our duty in the 
 mildest possible manner." 
 
 " Thank you, Hastings, thank you ; you were always a 
 good-hearted, gentlemanly fellow. You will, of course, 
 breakfast with me ; and these men must be attended to." 
 
 And he rang the bell. 
 
 " I have already breakfasted, Sir Robert ; but even if I 
 had not, it would not become me, as your prosecutor, to do 
 so ; but perhaps the men — " 
 
 " What," exclaimed the baronet, interrupting him, " you 
 my prosecutor ! For what, pray ?" 
 
 " That will come in time," replied the other ; " and you 
 may rest assured that I would not be here now were I not 
 made aware that you were about to be married to that sweet 
 girl whom you have persecuted with such a mean and un- 
 manly spirit, and designed to start with her for England 
 this day." 
 
 Whitecraft, now that he felt the dreadful consequences of 
 the awful position in which he was placed, became the very 
 picture of despair and pusillanimity ; his complexion turned 
 haggard, his eyes wild, and his hands trembled so much 
 that he was not able to bring the tea or bread and butter to 
 his lips ; in fact, such an impersonation of rank and unman- 
 ly cowardice could not be witnessed. He rose up, exclaim- 
 ing, in a faint and hollow voice, that echoed no other sensa- 
 tion than that of horror : 
 
 " I cannot breakfast ; I can eat nothing. What a fate is 
 this ! on the very day, too, which I thought would have 
 consummated my happiness ! Oh, it is dreadful !" 
 
 His servant then, by Mr. Hastings' orders, packed up 
 changes of linen and apparel in his trunk, for he saw that 
 he himself had not the presence of mind to pay attention to 
 any thing. In the course of a few minutes the carriage was 
 ready, and with tottering steps he went down the stairs, and
 
 WILLY REILLY. 329 
 
 was obliged to be assisted into it by two constables, who 
 took their places beside him. Mr. Hastings bowed to him 
 coldly, but said nothing ; the coachman smacked his whip, 
 and was about to start, when he turned round and said : 
 
 " Where am I to drive, Sir Robert ?" 
 
 "To Sligo jail," replied one of the constables, "as 
 quick as you can too." 
 
 The horses got a lash or two, and bounded on, whilst an 
 escort of cavalry, with swords drawn, attended the coach 
 until it reached its gloomy destination, where we will leave 
 it for the present. 
 
 The next morning, as matters approached to a crisis, the 
 unsteady old squire began to feel less comfortble in his 
 mind than he could have expected. To say truth, he had 
 often felt it rather an unnatural process to marry so lovely a 
 girl to " such an ugly stork of a man as Whitecraft was, and 
 a knave to boot. I cannot forget how he took me in by 
 the ' Hop-and-go-constant ' affair. But then he's a good 
 Protestant — not that I mean he has a single spark of religion 
 in his nondescript carcass ; but in those times it's not cant- 
 ing and psalm-singing we want, but good political Protest- 
 antism, that will enable us to maintain our ascendancy by 
 other means than praying. Curse the hound that keeps 
 him ? ' Is this a day for him to be late on ? and it now 
 half past ten o'clock ; however, he must come soon ; 
 but, upon my honor, I dread what will happen when he 
 does. A scene there will be no doubt of it ; however, we 
 must only struggle through it as well as we can. I'll go and 
 see Helen, and try to reconcile her to this chap, or, at all 
 events, to let her know at once that, be the consequences 
 what they may, she must marry him, if I were myself to 
 hold her at the altar." 
 
 When he had concluded this soliloquy, Ellen Connor, 
 without whose society Helen could now scarcely live, and 
 who, on this account, had not been discharged after her 
 elopement, she, we say, entered the room, her eye resolute 
 with determination, and sparkling with a feeling which 
 evinced an indignant sense of his cruelty in enforcing this 
 odious match. The old man looked at her with surprise, 
 for it was the first time she had ever ventured to obtrude 
 her conversation upon him, or to speak, unless when 
 spoken to.
 
 33° WILLY REILLY. 
 
 "Well, madam," said he, "what do you want? Have 
 you any message from your mistress ? if not, what brings 
 you here ?" 
 
 " I have no message from my mistress," she replied in a 
 loud, if not in a vehement, voice ; " I don't think my mis- 
 tress is capable of sending a message ; but I came to tell 
 you that the God of heaven will soon send you a message, 
 and a black one too, if you allow this cursed marriage to go 
 on." 
 
 11 Get out, you jade — leave the room ; how is it your 
 affair ?" 
 
 11 Because I have what you want — a heart of pity and 
 affection in my breast. Do you want to drive your daugh- 
 ter mad, or to take her life ?" 
 
 "Begone, you impudent hussy; why do you dare to 
 come here on such an occasion, only to annoy me ?" 
 
 " I will not begone," she replied, with a glowing cheek, 
 " unless I am put out by force — until I point out the con- 
 sequences of your selfish tyranny and weakness. I don't come 
 to annoy you, but I come to warn you, and to tell you, that 
 I know your daughter better than you do yourself. This 
 marriage must not go on ; or, if it does, send without delay 
 to a lunatic asylum for a keeper for that only daughter. I 
 know her well, and I tell you that that's what it'll come to." 
 
 The squire had never been in the habit of being thus ad- 
 dressed by any of his servants ; and the consequence was 
 that the thing was new to him ; so much so that he felt 
 not only annoyed, but so much astounded, that he absolutely 
 lost, for a brief period, the use of his speech. He looked 
 at her with astonishment — then about the room — then up at 
 the ceiling, and at length spoke : 
 
 "What the deuce does all this mean? What are you 
 driving at ? Prevent the marriage, you say ?" 
 
 " If the man," proceeded Connor, not even waiting to 
 give him an answer — " if the man had but one good point — 
 one good quality — one virtue in his whole composition to 
 redeem him from contempt and hatred — if he had but one 
 feature in his face only as handsome as the worst you could 
 find in the devil's — yes, if he had but one good thought, or 
 one good feature in either his soul or body, why — vile as it 
 would be — and barbarous as it would be — and shameful and 
 cruel as it would be — still, it would have the one good
 
 WILLY REILLY. 33 1 
 
 thought, and the one good feature to justify it. But here, 
 in this deep and wretched villain, there is nothing but one 
 mass of vice and crime and deformity ; all that the eye can 
 see, or the heart discover, in his soul or body, is as black, 
 odious, and repulsive as could be conceived of the worst 
 imp of perdition. And this is the man — the persecutor — 
 the miser — the debauche — the hypocrite — the murderer, 
 and the coward, that you are going to join your good — vir- 
 tuous — spotless — and beautiful daughter to ! Oh, shame 
 upon you, you heartless old man ; don't dare to say, or 
 pretend, that you love her as a father ought, when you would 
 sacrifice her to so base and damnable a villain as that. And 
 again, and what is more, I tell you not to prosecute Reilly ; 
 for, as sure as the Lord above is in heaven, your daughter 
 is lost, and you'll not only curse Whitecraft, but the day 
 and hour in which you were born — black and hopeless will 
 be your doom if you do. And now, sir, I have done ; I 
 felt it to be my duty to tell you this, and to warn you against 
 what I know will happen unless you go back upon the steps 
 you have taken." 
 
 She then courtesied to him respectfully, and left the room 
 in a burst of grief which seized her when she had concluded. 
 
 Ellen Connor was a girl by no means deficient in educa- 
 tion — thanks to the care and kindness of the Cooleen Bawn, 
 who had herself instructed her. 'Tis true, she had in ordi- 
 nary and familiar conversation a touch of the brogue ; but, 
 when excited, or holding converse with respectable per- 
 sons, her language was such as would have done no discredit 
 to many persons in a much higher rank of life. 
 
 After she had left the room, Folliard looked towards the 
 door by which she had taken her exit, as if he had her still 
 in his vision. He paused — he meditated — he walked about, 
 and seemed taken thoroughly aback. 
 
 11 By earth and sky," he exclaimed, " but that's the most 
 comical affair I have seen yet. Comical ! no, not a touch 
 of comicality in it. Zounds, is it possible that the jade has 
 coerced and beaten me ? — dared to beard the lion in his 
 own den — to strip him, as it were, of his claws, and to pull 
 the very fangs out of his jaws, and, after all, to walk away 
 in triumph ? Hang me, but I must have a strong touch of 
 the coward in me or I would not have knuckled as I did to 
 the jade. Yet, hold — can I, or ought I to be angry with
 
 $32 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 her, when I know that this hellish racket all proceeded from 
 her love to Helen. Hang me, but she's a precious bit of 
 goods, and I'll contrive to make her a present, somehow, 
 for her courage. Beat me ! by sun and sky she did." 
 
 He then proceeded to Helen's chamber, and ordered her 
 attendants out of the room ; but, on looking at her, he felt 
 surprised to perceive that he complexion, instead of being 
 pale, was quite flushed, and her eyes flashing with a strange 
 wild light that he had never seen in them before. 
 
 "Helen," said he, "what's the matter, love? are you 
 unwell ?" 
 
 She placed her two snowy hands on her temples, and 
 pressed them tightly, as if striving to compress her brain 
 and bring it within the influence of reason. 
 
 " I fear you are unwell, darling," he continued ; " you 
 look flushed and feverish. Don't, however, be alarmed ; 
 if you're not well, I'd see that knave of a fellow hanged be- 
 fore I'd marry you to him, and you in that state. The 
 thing's out of the question, my darling Helen, and must not 
 be done. No : God forbid that I should be the means of 
 murdering my only child." 
 
 So much, we may fairly presume, proceeded from the 
 pithy lecture of Ellen Connor ; but the truth was, that the 
 undefinable old squire was the greatest parental coward in 
 the world. In the absence of his daughter he would rant 
 and swear and vapor, strike the ground with his staff, and 
 give other indications of the most extraordinary resolution, 
 combined with fiery passion, that seemed alarming. No 
 sooner, however, did he go into her presence, and contem- 
 plate not only her wonderful beauty, but her goodness, her 
 tenderness and affection for himself, than the bluster de- 
 parted from him, his resolution fell, his courage oozed away, 
 and he felt that he was fairly subdued, under which circum- 
 stances he generally entered into a new treaty of friendship 
 and affection with the enemy. 
 
 Helen's head was aching dreadfully, and she felt feverish 
 and distracted. Her father's words, however, and the 
 affection which they expressed, went to her heart ; she 
 threw her arms about him, kissed him, and was relieved by 
 a copious flood of tears. 
 
 " Papa," she said, " you are both kind and good ; surely 
 you wouldn't kill your poor Helen ?"
 
 WILLY REILLY. 333 
 
 " Me kill you, Helen ! — oh, no, faith. If Whitecraft 
 were hanged to-morrow it 'wouldn't give me half so much 
 pain as if your little finger ached." 
 
 Just at this progress of the dialogue a smart and impa- 
 tient knock came to the door. 
 
 " Who is that ?" said the squire ; " come in — or, stay till 
 I see who you are." He then opened the door and ex- 
 claimed, " What ! Lanigan ! — why, you infernal old 
 scoundrel ! how dare you have the assurance to look me in 
 the face, or to come under my roof at all, after what I said 
 to you about the pistols ?" 
 
 " Ay, but you don't know the good news I have for you 
 and Miss Helen." 
 
 11 Oh, Lanigan, is Reilly safe ? — is he set at large ? Oh, I 
 am sure he must be. Never was so noble, so pure, and so 
 innocent a heart." 
 
 11 Curse him, look at the eye of him," said her father, 
 pointing his cane at Lanigan ; " it's like the eye of a sharp- 
 shooter. What are you grinning at, you old scoundrel ?' ' 
 
 " Didn't you expect Sir Robert Whitecraft here to-day 
 to marry Miss Folliard, sir ?" 
 
 11 I did, sirra, and I do ; he'll be here immediately." 
 
 " Devil a foot he'll come to-day, I can tell you ; and 
 that's the way he treats your daughter !" 
 
 11 What does this old idiot mean, Helen ? Have you been 
 drinking, sirra ?" 
 
 " Not yet, sir, but plaise the Lord I'll soon be at it." 
 
 11 Lanigan," said Helen, " will you state at once what you 
 have to say ?' ' 
 
 " I will, miss ; but, first and foremost, I must show you 
 how to dance the ' Little House under the Hill," and as he 
 spoke he commenced whistling that celebrated air and 
 dancing to it with considerable alacrity and vigor, making 
 allowances for his age. 
 
 The father and daughter looked at each other, and 
 Helen, notwithstanding her broken spirits, could not avoid 
 smiling. Lanigan continued the dance, kept wheeling 
 about to all parts of the room, like an old madcap, cut- 
 ting, capering, and knocking up his heels against his ham, 
 with a vivacity that was a perfect mystery to his two spec- 
 tators, as was his whole conduct. 
 
 " Now, you drunken old scoundrel," said his master,
 
 334 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 catching him by the collar and flourishing the cane over his 
 head, " if you don't give a direct answer I will cane you 
 within an inch of your life. What do you mean when you 
 say that Sir Robert Whitecraft won't come here to-day ?" 
 
 11 Bekaise, sir, it isn't convanient to him." 
 
 " Why isn't it convenient, you scoundrel ?" 
 
 " Bekaise, sir, he took it into his head to try a change of 
 air for the benefit of his health before he starts upon his 
 journey ; and as he got a very friendly invitation to spend 
 some time in Sligo jail he accepted it, and if you go there 
 you will find him before you. It seems he started this 
 morning in great state, with two nice men belonging to the 
 law in the carriage with him, to see that he should want 
 for nothing, and a party of cavalry surroundin' his honor's 
 coach, as if he was one of the judges, or the Lord Lieu 1 
 tenant." 
 
 The figurative style of his narrative would unquestionably 
 have caused him to catch the weight of the cane aforesaid 
 had not Helen interfered and saved him for the nonce. 
 
 " Let me at him, Helen, let me at him — the drunken old 
 rip ; why does he dare to humbug us in this manner ?" 
 
 " Well, then, sir, if you wish to hear the good news, 
 and especially you, Miss Folliard, it will probably relieve 
 your heart when I tell you that Sir Robert Whitecraft is, 
 before this time, in the jail of Sligo, for a charge of raur- 
 dher, and for burnin' Mr. Reilly's house and premises, 
 which it now seems aren't Mr. Reilly's at all — nor ever 
 were — but belong to Mr. Hastings." 
 
 11 Good heavens !" exclaimed the squire, " this is dread- 
 ful : but is it true, sirra ?" 
 
 11 Why, sir, if you go to his house you'll find it so." 
 
 11 Oh, papa," said Helen, " surely they wouldn't hang 
 him?" 
 
 " Hang him, Helen ; why, Helen, the tide's turned ; they 
 want to make him an example for the outrages that he and 
 others have committed against the unfortunate Papists. 
 Hang him ! — as I live, he and the Red Rapparee will both 
 swing from the same gallows ; but there is one thing I say 
 — if he hangs I shall take care that that obstinate scoundrel, 
 Reilly, shall also swing along with him." 
 
 Helen became as pale as ashes, the flush had disappeared 
 from her countenance, and she burst again into tears.
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 335 
 
 11 Oh, papa," she exclaimed, " spare Reilly : he is inno- 
 cent." 
 
 " I'll hang him," he replied, " if it should cost me. ten 
 thousand pounds. Go you, sirra, and desire one of the 
 grooms to saddle me Black Tom ; he is the fastest horse in 
 my stables ; I cannot rest till I ascertain the truth of 
 this." 
 
 On passing the drawing-room he looked in, and found 
 Mr. Strong and the two Misses Ashford waiting, the one to 
 perform, and the others to attend, at the ceremony. 
 
 " Mr. Strong and ladies," said he, with looks of great 
 distraction, " I fear there will be no marriage here to-day. 
 An accident, I believe, has happened to Sir Robert White- 
 craft that will prevent his being a party in the ceremony, 
 for this day at least." 
 
 " An accident !" exclaimed the ladies and the clergyman. 
 " Pray, Mr. Folliard, what is it ? how did it happen ?" 
 
 "lam just going to ride over to Sir Robert's to learn 
 every thing about it," he replied ; " I will be but a short 
 time absent. But how!" he added, "here's his butler, 
 and I will get every thing from him. Oh, Thomas, is this 
 you ? follow me to my study, Thomas. 
 
 As the reader already knows all that Thomas could tell 
 him, it is only necessary to say that he returned to the 
 drawing-room with a sad and melancholy aspect. 
 
 11 There is no use," said he, addressing them, " in con- 
 cealing what will soon be. known to the world. Sir Robert 
 Whitecraft has been arrested, on a charge of murder and 
 arson, and is now a prisoner in the county jail." 
 
 This was startling intelligence to them all, especially to 
 the parson, who found that the hangman was likely to cut 
 him out of his fees. The ladies screamed, and said, " it 
 was a shocking thing to have that delightful man hanged ;" 
 and then asked if the bride-elect had heard it. 
 
 11 She has heard it," replied her father, " and I have just 
 left her in tears ; but, upon my soul, I don't think there 
 is one of them shed for him. Well, Mr. Strong, I believe, 
 after all, there is likely to be no marriage, but that is not 
 your fault ; you came here to do your duty, and I think it 
 only just — a word with you in the next apartment," he 
 added, and then led the way to the dining-room. ' ' I was 
 about to say, Mr. Strong, that it would be neither just nor
 
 33$ WILLY REILLY. 
 
 reasonable to deprive your of your fees ; here is a ten- 
 pound note, and it would have been twenty had the mar- 
 riage taken place. I must go to Sligo to see the unfortunate 
 baronet, and try what can be done for him — that is, if any 
 thing can, which I greatly doubt. ' ' 
 
 The parson protested against the receipt of the ten-pound 
 note very much in the style of a bashful schoolboy, who 
 pretends to refuse an apple from a strange relation when he 
 comes to pay a visit, whilst, at the same time, the young 
 monkey's chops are watering for it. With some faint show 
 of reluctance he at length received it, and need we say 
 that it soon disappeared in one of his sanctified pockets. 
 
 " Strong, my dear fellow," proceeded the squire, " you 
 will take a seat with these ladies in their carriage and see 
 them home." 
 
 " I would, with pleasure, my dear friend, but that I am 
 called upon to console poor Mrs. Smellpriest for the loss of 
 the captain." 
 
 " The captain ! why, what has happened him ?" 
 
 " Alas ! sir, an unexpected and unhappy fate. He went 
 out last night a priest-hunting, like a godly sportsman of the 
 Church, as he was, and on his return from an unsuccessful 
 chase fell off his horse while in the act of singing that far- 
 famed melody called ' Lillibullero, ' and sustained such severe 
 injuries that he died on that very night, expressing a very 
 ungodly penitence for his loyalty in persecuting so many 
 treasonable Popish priests." 
 
 The squire seemed amazed, and, after a pause, said : 
 
 11 He repented, you say ; upon my soul, then, I am glad 
 to hear it, for it is more than I expected from him, and, be- 
 tween you and me, Strong, I fear it must have taken a devil- 
 ish large extent of repentance to clear him from the crimes 
 he committed against both priests and Popery." 
 
 11 Ah," replied Strong, with a groan of deep despond- 
 ency, " but, unfortunately, my dear sir, he did not repent 
 of his sins — that is the worst of it — Satan must have tempted 
 him to transfer his repentance to those very acts of his life 
 upon which, as a Christian champion, he should have de- 
 pended for justification above — I mean, devoting his great 
 energies so zealously to the extermination of idolatry and 
 error. What was it but repenting for his chief virtues, in- 
 stead of relying, like a brave and dauntless soldier of our
 
 WILLY REILLY. 337 
 
 Establishment, upon his praiseworthy exertions to rid it of 
 its insidious and relentless enemies ?" 
 
 The squire looked at him. 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Strong — by the great Boyne, I'd give 
 a trifle to see you get a smart touch of persecution in your 
 own person ; it might teach you a little more charity towards 
 those who differ with you ; but, upon my honor, if any 
 change in our national parties should soon take place, and 
 that the Papists should get the upper hand, I tell you to 
 your teeth that if ever your fat ribs should be tickled by 
 the whip of persecution, they would render you great injus- 
 tice who should do it for the sake of religion— & commodity 
 with which I see, from the spirit of your present sentiments, 
 you are not over-burdened. However, in the meantime, I 
 daresay that whatever portion you possess of it, you will 
 charitably expend in consoling his widow, as you say. 
 Good-morning !" 
 
 We must return, however, to the close of Smellpriest's 
 very sudden and premature departure from the scene of his 
 cruel and merciless labors. Having reached the stripe 
 already described to him by Mr. Strong, and to which he 
 was guided by his men, he himself having been too far ad- 
 vanced in liquor to make out his way with any kind of cer- 
 tainty, he proceeded, still under their direction, to the cot- 
 tage adjoining, which was immediately surrounded by the 
 troopers. After knocking at the door with violence, and 
 demanding instant admittance, under the threat of smashing 
 it in, and burning the house as a harbor for rebellious 
 priests, the door was immediately opened by a gray-headed 
 old man, feeble and decrepit in appearance, but yet without 
 any manifestation of terror either in his voice or features. 
 He held a candle in his hand, and asked them, in a calm, 
 composed voice, what it was they wanted, and why they 
 thus came to distuib him and his family at such an unseason- 
 able hour. 
 
 11 Why, you treasonable old scoundrel," shouted Smell- 
 priest, " haven't you got a rebel and recuscant Popish priest 
 in the house ? I say, you gray-headed old villain, turn him 
 out on the instant, or, if you hesitate but half a minute, 
 we'll make a bonfire of you, him, the house, and all that's 
 in it. Zounds, I don't see why I shouldn't burn a house 
 as well as Whitecraft. That cursed baronet is getting ahead
 
 33% WILLY RELLLY. 
 
 of me, but I think I am entitled to a bonfire as well as he 
 is. Shall we burn the house?" he added, addressing his 
 men. 
 
 11 I think you had better not, captain," replied the princi- 
 pal of them ; " recollect there are new regulations now. It 
 wouldn't be safe, and might only end in hanging every man 
 of us — yourself among the rest." 
 
 "But why doesn't the old rebel produce the priest?" 
 asked their leader. " Come here, sirra — hear me — produce 
 that lurking priest immediately." 
 
 " I don't exactly understand you, captain," replied the 
 old man, who appeared to know Smellpriest right well. " I 
 don't think it's to my house you should come to lock for a 
 priest." 
 
 ' ' Why not, you villain ? I have been directed here, and 
 told that I would find my game under your roof." 
 
 11 In the first place," replied the old man, with a firm and 
 intrepid voice, "lam no villain ; and in the next, I say, that 
 if any man directed you to this house in quest of a priest, he 
 must have purposely sent you upon a fool's errand. I am a 
 Protestant, Captain Smellpriest ; but, Protestant as I am, I 
 tell you to your face that if I could give shelter to a poor per- 
 secuted priest, and save him from the clutches of such men 
 as you and Sir Robert Whitecraft, I would do it. In the 
 meantime, there is neither priest nor friar under this roof ; 
 you can come in and search the house, if you wish." 
 
 " Why, gog's ouns, father," exclaimed one of the men, 
 " how does it come that we find you here ?" 
 
 " Very simply, John," replied his father — for such he 
 was — " I took this cottage, and the bit of land that goes with 
 it, from honest Andy Morrow, and we are not many hours 
 in it. The house was empty for the last six months, so 
 that I say again, whoever sent Captain Smellpriest here sent 
 him upon a fool's errand — upon a wild-goose chase." 
 
 The gallant captain started upon hearing these latter words. 
 
 "What does he say," he asked — "a wild-goose chase ! 
 Right — right," he added, in a soliloquy ; " Strong is at the 
 bottom of it, the black scoundrel ! but still, let us search 
 the house ; the old fellow admits that he would shelter a 
 priest. Search the house I say. 
 
 ' There was an old prophecy found in a bog, 
 Lillibullero, bullen ala, (Sec., &c.' "
 
 IV ILLY RE ILLY. 339 
 
 The house was accordingly searched, but it is unnecessary 
 to add that neither priest nor friar was found under the 
 roof, nor any nook or corner in which either one or the 
 other could have been concealed. 
 
 The party, who then directed their steps homewards, were 
 proceeding across the fields to the mountain road which ran 
 close by, and parallel with the stripe, when they perceived 
 at once that Smellpriest was in a rage, by the fact of his 
 singing " Lillibullero ;" for, whenever either his rage or loy- 
 alty happened to run high, he uniformly made a point to in- 
 dulge himself in singing that celebrated ballad. 
 
 " By jabers," said one of them to his companions, 
 " there will be a battle royal between the captain and Mr. 
 Strong if he finds the parson at home before him." 
 
 " If there won't be a fight with the parson, there will 
 with the wife," replied the other. "Hang the same par- 
 son," he added; "many a dreary chase he has sent us 
 upon, with nothing but the fatigue of a dark and slavish 
 journey for our pains. With what bitterness he's giving us 
 ' Lillibullero,' and he scarcely able to sit on his horse ! I 
 think I'll advance, and ride beside him, otherwise he may 
 get an ugly tumble on this hard road." 
 
 He accordingly did so, observing, as he got near him, 
 " I have taken the liberty to ride close beside you, lest, as 
 the night is dark, your horse might stumble." 
 
 "What ! do you think I'm drunk, you scoundrel ? — fall 
 back, sir, immediately. 
 
 " ' Lillibullero, bullen ala.' 
 
 " I say I'm not drunk ; but I'm in a terrible passion at that 
 treacherous scoundrel ; but no matter, I saw something to- 
 night — never mind, I say. 
 
 " ' There was an old prophecy found in a bog, 
 
 Lillibullero, bullen ala ; 
 That Ireland should be ruled by an Ass and a Dog, 
 
 Lillibullero, bullen ala. 
 And now that same prophecy has come to pass — 
 
 Lillibullero, bullen ala ; 
 For Talbot's the Dog, and James is the Ass, 
 
 Lillibullero, bullen ala.' 
 
 " Never mind, I say ; hang me, but I'll crop the villain, or 
 crop both, which is better still — steady, Schomberg — curse 
 you."
 
 34° WILLY K LILLY. 
 
 The same rut or chasm across the more open road on 
 which they had now got out, and that had nearly been so fatal 
 to Mr. Brown, became decidedly so to unfortunate Smell- 
 priest. The horse, as his rider spoke, stopped suddenly, 
 and, shying quickly to the one side, the captain was pitched 
 off, and fell with his whole weight upon the hard pavement. 
 The man was an unwieldy, and consequently a heavy 
 man, and the unexpected fall stunned him into insensibility. 
 After about ten minutes or so he recovered his conscious- 
 ness, however, and having been once more placed upon his 
 horse, was conducted home, two or three of his men, with 
 much difficulty, enabling him to maintain his seat in the 
 saddle. In this manner they reached his house, where they 
 stripped and put him to bed, having observed, to their con- 
 sternation, that strong gushes of blood welled, every three 
 or four minutes, from his mouth. 
 
 The grief of his faithful wife was outrageous ; and Mr. 
 Strong, who was still there kindly awaiting his safe re- 
 turn, endeavored to compose her distraction as well as he 
 could. 
 
 " My dear madam," said he, " why will you thus permit 
 your grief to overcome you ? You will most assuredly injure 
 your own precious health by this dangerous outburst of 
 sorrow. The zealous and truly loyal captain is not, I trust, 
 seriously injured ; he will recover, under God, in a few 
 days. You may rest assured, my dear Mrs. Smellpriest, 
 that his life is too valuable to be taken at this unhappy pe- 
 riod. No, he will, I trust and hope, be spared until a 
 strong anti-Popish Government shall come in, when, if he 
 is to lose it, he will lose it in some great and godly exploit 
 against the harlot of abominations." 
 
 " Alas ! my dear Mr. Strong, that is all very kind of you, 
 to support my breaking heart with such comfort ; but, when 
 lie is gone, what will become of me ?" 
 
 11 You will not be left desolate, my dear madam — you will 
 be supported — cheered — consoled. Captain, my friend, how 
 do you feel now ? Are you easier ?" 
 
 " I am," replied the captain feebly — for he had not lost 
 his speech — " come near me, Strong." 
 
 " With pleasure, dear captain, as becomes my duty, 
 not only as a friend, but as an humble and unworthy min- 
 ister of religion. I trust you are not in danger, but, under
 
 WILLY REILLY. 341 
 
 any circumstances, it is best, you know, to be prepared tor 
 the worst. Do not then be cast down, nor allow your heart 
 to sink into despair. Remember that you have acted the 
 part of a zealous and faithful champion on behalf of our 
 holy Church, and that you have been a blessed scourge of 
 ropery in this Pope-ridden country. Let that reflection, 
 then, be your consolation. Think of the many priests you 
 have hunted — and hunted successfully too ; think of how 
 many bitter Papists of every class you have been the 
 blessed means of committing to the justice of our laws ; 
 think of the numbers of Popish priests and bishops you 
 have, in the faithful discharge of your pious duty, committed 
 to chains, imprisonment, transportation, and the scaffold — 
 think of all these things, I say, and take comfort to your 
 soul by the retrospect. Would you wish to receive the rites 
 and consolations of religion at my hands ?" 
 
 11 Come near me, Strong," repeated Smellpriest. " The 
 rites of religion from you — the rights of perdition as soon, 
 you hypocritical scoundrel ;" and as he spoke he caught a 
 gush of blood as it issued from his mouth and flung it with 
 all the strength he had left right into the clergyman's face. 
 "■ Take that, you villain," he added ; " I die in every sense 
 with my blood upon you. And as for my hunting of priests 
 and Papists, it is the only thing that lies at this moment 
 heavy over my heart. And as for that wife of mine, I'm 
 sorry she's not in my place. I know, of course, I'll be 
 damned ; but it can 't be helped now. If I go down, as 
 down I will go, won't I have plenty of friends to keep me 
 in countenance. I know — I feel I'm dying ; but I must 
 take the consequences. In the meantime, my best word 
 and wish is, that that vile jade shan't be permitted to ap- 
 proach or touch my body after I am dead. My curse upon 
 you both ! for you brought me to this untimely death be- 
 tween you." 
 
 " Why, my dear Smellpriest — " exclaimed the wife. 
 
 " Don't call me Smellpriest," he replied, interrupting her ; 
 " my name is Norbury. But it doesn't matter — it's all up 
 with me, and I know it will soon be all down with me ; for 
 down, down I'll go. Strong, you hypocritical scoundrel, 
 don't be a persecutor : look at me on the very brink of per- 
 dition for it. And now the only comfort I have is, that I 
 let the poor Popish bishop off. I could not shoot him, or
 
 342 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 at any rate make a prisoner of him, and he engaged in the 
 worship of God." 
 
 "Alas!" whispered Strong, "the poor man is verging 
 on rank Popery — he is hopeless." 
 
 " But, Tom, dear," said the wife, " why are you dis- 
 pleased with me, your own faithful partner ? I that was so 
 loving and affectionate to you ? I that urged you on in the 
 path of duty ? I that scoured your arms and regimentals 
 with my own hands — that mixed you your punch before you 
 went after the black game, as you used to say, and, again, 
 had it ready for you when you returned to precious Mr. 
 Strong and me after a long hunt. Don't die in anger with 
 your own Grizzey, as you used to call me, my dear Tom, 
 or, if you do, I feel that I won't long survive you. " 
 
 " Ah ! you jade," replied Tom, " didn't I see the wink 
 between you to-night, although you thought I was drunk ? 
 Ah, these wild-goose chases !" 
 
 " Tom, dear, we are both innocent. Oh, forgive your 
 own Grizzey !" 
 
 " So I do, you jade — my curse on you both." 
 
 Whether it was the effort necessary to speak, in addition to 
 the excitement occasioned by his suspicions, and whether 
 these suspicions were well founded or not, we do not presume 
 to say ; but the fact was, that, after another outgulp of blood 
 had come up, he drew a long, deep sigh, his under-jawfell, 
 and the wretched, half-penitent Captain Smellpriest breathed 
 his last. After which his wife, whether from sorrow or re- 
 morse, became insensible, and remained in that state for a 
 considerable time ; but at length she recovered, and, after 
 expressing the most violent sorrow, literally drove the Rev. 
 Mr. Strong out of the house, with many deep and bitter 
 curses. But to return : 
 
 In a few minutes the parties dispersed, and Folliard, too 
 much absorbed in the fates of Reilly and Whitecraft, pre- 
 pared to ride to Sligo, to ascertain if any thing could be 
 done for the baronet. In the meantime, while he and his 
 old friend Cummiskey are on their way to see that gentle- 
 man, we will ask the attention of our readers to the state of 
 Helen's mind, as it was affected by the distressing events 
 which had so rapidly and recently occurred. We need not 
 assure them that deep anxiety for the fate of her unfortunate 
 lover lay upon her heart like the gloom of death itself. His
 
 WILLY REILLY. 343 
 
 image and his natural nobility of character, but, above all, 
 the purity and delicacy of his love for herself ; his manly 
 and faithful attachment to his religion, under temptations 
 which few hearts could resist — temptations of which she 
 herself was, beyond all comparison, the most trying and the 
 most difficult to be withstood ; his refusal to leave the coun- 
 try on her account, even when the bloodhounds of the law 
 were pursuing him to his death in every direction ; and the 
 reflection that this resolution of abiding by her, and watching 
 over her welfare and happiness, and guarding her, as far as 
 he could, from domestic persecution — all these reflections, 
 in short, crowded upon her mind with such fearful force 
 that her reason began to totter, and she felt apprehensive 
 that she might not be able to bear the trial which Reilly's 
 position now placed before her in the most hideous colors. 
 On the other hand, there was Whitecraft, a man certainly 
 who had committed many crimes and murders and burn- 
 ings, often, but not always, upon his own responsibility ; a 
 man who, she knew, entertained no manly or tender affec- 
 tion for her ; he too about to meet a violent death ! That 
 she detested him with an abhorrence as deep as ever woman 
 entertained against man was true ; yet she was a woman, 
 and this unhappy fate that impended over him was not ex- 
 cluded out of the code of her heart's humanity. She wished 
 him also to be saved, if only that he might withdraw from 
 Ireland and repent of his crimes. Altogether she was in a 
 state bordering on frenzy and despair, and was often inca- 
 pable of continuing a sustained conversation. 
 
 When Whitecraft reached the jail in his carriage, attend- 
 ed by a guard of troopers, the jailer knew not what to make 
 of it ; but seeing the carriage, which, after a glance or two, 
 he immediately recognized as. that of the well-known grand 
 juror, he came out, with hat in hand, bowing most obsequi- 
 ously. 
 
 " I hope your honor's well ; you are coming to inspect 
 the prisoners, I suppose ? Always active on behalf of 
 Church and State, Sir Robert." 
 
 11 Come, Mr. O'Shaughnessy," said one of the consta- 
 bles, " get on with no nonsense. You're a mighty Church 
 and State man now ; but I remember when there was as 
 rank a rebel under your coat as ever thumped a craw. Sir 
 Robert, sir, is here as our prisoner, and will soon be yours,
 
 3H WILLY REILLY. 
 
 for murder and arson, and God knows what besides. Be 
 pleased to walk into the hatch, Sir Robert, and there we 
 surrender you to Mr. O'Shaughnessy, who will treat you 
 well if you pay him well." 
 
 They then entered the hatch. The constable produced the 
 mittimus and the baronet's person both together, after which 
 they withdrew, having failed to get the price of a glass from 
 the baronet as a reward for their civility. 
 
 Such scenes have been described a hundred times, and 
 we consequently shall not delay our readers upon this. The 
 baronet, indeed, imagined that from his rank and influence 
 the jailer might be induced to give him comfortable apart- 
 ments. He was in, however, for two capital felonies, and 
 the jailer, who was acquainted with the turn that public 
 affairs had taken, told him that upon his soul and conscience 
 if the matter lay with him he would not put his honor among 
 the felons ; but then he had no discretion, because it was 
 as much as his place was worth to break the rules — a thing 
 he couldn't think of doing as an honest man and an upright 
 officer. 
 
 11 But whatever I can do for you, Sir Robert, I'll do." 
 " You will let me have pen and ink, won't you ?" 
 " Well, let me see. Yes, I will, Sir Robert ; I'll stretch 
 that far for the sake of ould times." 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE SQUIRE COMFORTS WHITECRAFT IN HIS AFFLICTION. 
 
 THE old squire and Cummiskey lost little time in getting 
 over the ground to the town of Sligo, and, in order to 
 reach it the more quickly, they took a short cut by the old 
 road which we have described at the beginning of this nar- 
 rative. On arriving at that part of it from which they could 
 view the spot where Reilly rescued them from the murderous 
 violence of the Red Rapparee, Cummiskey pointed to it. 
 
 11 Does your honor remember that place, where you see 
 the ould buildin'?"
 
 Mi; ROBERT WHITECRAFT IN PRISON.
 
 WILL Y RE ILL Y. 345 
 
 11 Yes, I think so. Is not that the place where the cursed 
 Rapparee attacked us ?" 
 
 " It is, sir ■ and where poor Reilly saved both our lives ; 
 and yet your honor's goin' to hang him." 
 
 " You know nothing about it, you old blockhead. It was 
 all a plan got up by Reilly and the Rapparee for the purpose 
 of getting introduced to my daughter, for his own base and 
 selfish purposes. Yes, I'll hang him certainly — no doubt of 
 that." 
 
 " Well, sir," replied Cummiskey, " it's one comfort that 
 he won't hang by himself." 
 
 " No," said the other, " he and the Rapparee will stretch 
 the same rope." 
 
 " The Rapparee ! faith, sir, he'll have worse company." 
 
 '■ What do you mean, sirra ?" 
 
 11 Why, Sir Robert Whitecraft, sir ; he always had gallows 
 written in his face ; but, upon my soul, he'll soon have it 
 about his neck, please God." 
 
 11 Faith, I'm afraid you are not far from the truth, Cum- 
 miskey," replied his master; "however, I am going to 
 make arrangements with him, to see what can be done for 
 the unfortunate man." 
 
 11 If you'll take my advice, sir, you'll have nothing to do 
 with him. Keep your hand out o' the pot ; there's no man 
 can skim boiling lead with his hand and not burn his fingers 
 — but a tinker." 
 
 11 Don't be saucy, you old dog ; but ride on, for I must 
 put Black Tom to his speed." 
 
 On arriving at the prison, the squire found Sir Robert 
 pent up in a miserable cell, with a table screwed to the 
 floor, a pallet bed, and a deal form. Perhaps his comfort 
 might have been improved through the medium of his 
 purse, were it not that the Prison Board had held a meeting 
 that very day, subsequent to his committal, in which, with 
 some dissentients, they considered it their duty to warn the 
 jailer against granting him any indulgence beyond what he 
 was entitled to as a felon, and this under pain of their 
 earnest displeasure. 
 
 When the squire entered he found the melancholy baro- 
 net and priest-hunter sitting upon the hard form, his head 
 hanging down upon his breast, or, indeed, we might say 
 much farther ; for, in consequence of the almost unnatural
 
 346 WILLY REJLLY. 
 
 length of his neck, it appeared on that occasion to be grow- 
 ing out of the middle of his body, or of that fleshless verte- 
 bral column which passed for one. 
 
 "Well, baronet," exclaimed Folliard pretty loudly, 
 " here's an exchange ! from the altar to the halter ; from 
 the matrimonial noose to honest Jack Ketch's — and a devil- 
 ish good escape it would be to many unfortunate wretches 
 in this same world." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Folliard," said the baronet, " is not this mis- 
 erable ? What will become of me ?" 
 
 " Now, I tell you what, Whitecraft, I am come to speak 
 to you upon your position ; but before I go farther, let me 
 say a word or two to make you repent, if possible, for what 
 you have done to others." 
 
 11 For what I have done, Mr. Folliard ! why should I not 
 repent, when I find I am to be hanged for it ?" 
 
 11 Oh, hanged you will be, there is no doubt of that ; but 
 now consider a little ; here you are with a brown loaf, and 
 — is that water in the jug ?" 
 
 " It is." 
 
 11 Very well ; here you are, hard and fast — you who were 
 accustomed to luxuries, to the richest meats, and the richest 
 wines — here you are with a brown loaf, a jug of water, and 
 the gallows before you ! However, if you wish to repent 
 truly and sincerely, reflect upon the numbers that you and 
 your bloodhounds have consigned to places like this, and 
 sent from this to the gibbet, while you were rioting in luxury 
 and triumph. Good God, sir, hold up your head, and be a 
 man. What if you are hanged ? Many a better man was. 
 Hold up your head, I say." 
 
 " I can't, my dear Folliard ; it won't stay up for me." 
 
 " Egad ! and you'll soon get a receipt for holding it up. 
 Why the mischief can't you have spunk ?" 
 
 " Spunk ; how the deuce could you expect spunk from 
 any man in my condition ? It is difficult to understand you, 
 Mr. Folliard ; you told me a minute ago to repent, and now 
 you tell me to have spunk ; pray what do you mean by 
 that?" 
 
 " Why, confound it, I mean that you should repent with 
 spunk. However, let us come to more important matters ; 
 what can be done for you ?" 
 
 " I know not ; I am incapable of thinking on any thing
 
 WILLY REILLY. ZAl 
 
 but that damned gallows without ; yet I should wish to make 
 my will." 
 
 " Your will ! Why, I think you have lost your senses ; 
 don't you know that when you're hanged every shilling 
 and acre you are possessed of will be forfeited to the 
 crown ?" 
 
 11 True," replied the other, " I had forgotten that. Could 
 Hastings be induced to decline prosecuting ?" 
 
 " What ! to compromise a felony, and be transported 
 himself. Thank you for nothing baronet ; that's rather a 
 blue look up. No, our only plan is to try and influence the 
 grand jury to throw out the bills ; but then, again, there 
 are indictments against you to no end. Hastings' case is 
 only a single one, and, even if he failed, it would not better 
 your condition a whit. Under the late Administration we 
 could have saved you by getting a packed jury ; but that's 
 out of the question now. All we can do, I think, is to get 
 up a memorial strongly signed, supplicating the Lord Lieu- 
 tenant to commute your sentence from hanging to transpor- 
 tation for life. I must confess, however, there is little hope 
 even there. They will come down with their cursed reason- 
 ing and tell us that the rank and education of the offender 
 only aggravate the offence ; and that, if they allow a man 
 so convicted to escape, in consequence of his high position 
 in life, every humble man found guilty and executed for the 
 same crime — is murdered. They will tell us it would be a 
 prostitution of the prerogative of the Crown to connive at 
 crime in the rich and punish it in the poor. And, again, 
 there's the devil of it ; your beggarly want of hospitality in 
 the first place, and the cursed swaggering severity with which 
 you carried out your loyalty, by making unexpected domi- 
 ciliary visits to the houses of loyal but humane Protestant 
 families, with the expectation of finding a priest or a Papist 
 under their protection : both these, I say, have made you the 
 most unpopular man in the county ; and, upon my soul, Sir 
 Robert, I don't think there will be a man upon the grand 
 jury whose family you have not insulted by your inveterate 
 loyalty. No one, I tell you, likes a persecutor. Still, I say, 
 I'll try what I can do with the grand jury. I'll see my 
 friends and yours — if you have any now, make out a list of 
 them in a day or two — and you may rest assured that I will 
 leave nothing undone to extricate you."
 
 34 s WILLY REILLY. 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Folliard ; but do you know why\ am 
 here?" 
 
 " To be sure I do." 
 
 " No, you don't, sir. William Reilly, the Jesuit and 
 Papist, is the cause of it, and will be the cause of my utter 
 ruin and ignominious death." 
 
 " How is that ? Make that plain to me ; only make that 
 plain to me." 
 
 " He is the bosom friend of Hastings, and can sway him 
 and move him and manage him as a father would his child, 
 or, rather, as a child would a doting father. Reilly, sir, is at 
 the bottom of this, his great object always having been to 
 prevent a marriage between me and your beautiful daughter ; 
 I, who, after all, have done so much for Protestantism, am 
 the victim of that Jesuit and Papist." 
 
 This vindictive suggestion took at once, and the impetuous 
 old squire started as if a new light had been let in upon his 
 mind. We call him impetuous, because, if he had reflected 
 only for a moment upon the diabolical persecution, both in 
 person and property, which Reilly had sustained at the baro- 
 net's hands, he ought not to have blamed him had he shot 
 the scoundrel as if he had been one of the most rabid dogs 
 that ever ran frothing across a country. We say the sug- 
 gestion, poisoned as it was by the most specious falsehood, 
 failed not to accomplish the villain's object. 
 
 Folliard grasped him by the hand. " Never mind," said 
 he ; *' keep yourself quiet, and leave Reilly to me ; I have 
 him, that's enough." 
 
 " No," replied the baronet, " it is not enough, because I 
 know what will happen : Miss Folliard's influence over you 
 is a proverb ; now she will cajole and flatter and beguile 
 you until she prevails upon you to let the treacherous Jesuit 
 slip through your fingers, and then he will get off to the 
 Continent, and laugh at you all, after having taken her with 
 him ; for there is nothing more certain, if he escapes death 
 through your indulgence, than that you will, in the course 
 of a few years, find yourself grandfather to a brood of young 
 Papists ; and when I say Papists, need I add rebels ?" 
 
 11 Come," replied the hot-headed old man, " don't insult 
 me ; I am master of my own house, and, well as I love my 
 daughter, I would not for a moment suffer her to interfere 
 in a public matter of this or any other kind. Now good-
 
 WILLY REILLY. 349 
 
 by ; keep your spirits up, and if you are to die, why die 
 like a man." 
 
 They then separated ; and as Folliard was passing through 
 the hatch, he called the jailer into his own office, and strove 
 to prevail upon him, not ineffectually, to smuggle in some 
 wine and other comforts to the baronet. The man told him 
 that he would with pleasure do so if he dared ; but that the 
 caution against it which he had got that very day from the 
 Board rendered the thing impossible. Ere the squire left 
 him, however, his scruples were overcome, and the baronet, 
 before he went to bed that night, had a roast duck for sup- 
 per, with two bottles of excellent claret to wash it down and 
 lull his conscience into slumber. 
 
 11 Confound it," the squire soliloquized, on their way 
 home, " I am as stupid as Whitecraft himself, who was 
 never stupid until now ; there have I been with him in that 
 cursed dungeon, and neither of us ever thought of taking 
 measures for his defence. Why, he must have the best law- 
 yers at the Bar, and fee them like princes. Gad ! I have a 
 great notion to ride back and speak to him on the subject : 
 he's in such a confounded trepidation about his life that he 
 can think of nothing else. No matter, I shall write to him 
 by a special messenger early in the morning. It would be a 
 cursed slap in the face to have one of our leading men 
 hanged — only, after all, for carrying out the wishes of an 
 anti-Papist Government, who connived at his conduct, and 
 encouraged him in it. I know he expected a coronet, and I 
 have no doubt but he'd have got one had his party remained 
 in ; but now all the unfortunate devil is likely to get is a 
 rope — and be hanged to them ! However, as to my own 
 case about Reilly — I must secure a strong bar against him ; 
 and if we can only prevail upon Helen to state the facts as 
 they occurred, there is little doubt that he shall suffer ; for 
 hang he must, in consequence of the disgrace he has brought 
 upon my daughter's name and mine. Whatever I might 
 have forgiven, I will never forgive him that." 
 
 He then rode on at a rapid pace, and did not slacken his 
 speed until he reached home. Dinner was ready, and he 
 sat down with none but Helen, who could scarcely touch a 
 morsel. Her father saw at once the state of her mind, and 
 felt that it would be injudicious to introduce any subject 
 that might be calculated to excite her. They accordingly
 
 35° WILL Y RELLL Y. 
 
 talked, upon commonplace topics, and each assumed as 
 much cheerfulness and more than they could command. It 
 was a miserable sight, when properly understood, to see the 
 father and daughter forced, by the painful peculiarity of 
 their circumstances, thus to conceal their natural sentiments 
 from each other. Love, however, is often a disturber of 
 families, as in the case of Reilly and Coolcen Bawn ; and so 
 is an avaricious ambition, when united to a selfish and a 
 sensual attachment, as in the case of Whitecraft. 
 
 It is unnecessary now, and it would be only tedious, to 
 dwell upon the energetic preparations that were made for 
 the three approaching trials. Public rumor had taken them 
 up and sent them abroad throughout the greater portion of 
 the kingdom. The three culprits were notorious — Sir Rob- 
 ert Whitecraft, the priest-hunter and persecutor ; the noto- 
 rious Red Rapparee, whose exploits had been commemo- 
 rated in a thousand ballads; and "Willy Reilly," whose 
 love for the far-famed Cooleen Bawn, together with her un- 
 conquerable passion for him, had been known throughout 
 the empire. In fact, the interest which the public felt in 
 the result of the approaching trials was intense, not only in 
 Ireland, but throughout England and Scotland, were the 
 circumstances connected with them were borne on the wings 
 of the press. Love, however, especially the romance of it 
 — and here were not only romance but reality enough — love, 
 we say, overcomes all collateral interests — and the history of 
 the loves of Willy Reilly and his " dear Cooleen Bawn 11 even 
 then touched the hearts of thousands, and moistened many a 
 young eye for his calamities and early fate, and the sorrows 
 of his Cooleen Bawn. 
 
 Helen's father, inspired by the devilish suggestions of 
 Whitecraft, now kept aloof from her as much as he could 
 with decency do. He knew his own weakness, and felt 
 that if he suffered her to gain that portion of his society to 
 which she had been accustomed, his resolution might break 
 down, and the very result prognosticated by Whitecraft 
 might be brought about. Indeed his time was so little his 
 own, between his activity in defence of that villain and his 
 energetic operations for the prosecution of Reilly, that he 
 had not much to spare her, except at meals. It was not, 
 however, through himself that he wished to win her over to 
 prosecute Reilly. No ; he felt his difficulty, and knew that
 
 WILL Y REILL Y. 35 1 
 
 he could not attempt to influence her with a good grace, or 
 any force of argument. He resolved, therefore, to set his 
 attorney to work, who, as he understood all the quirks and 
 intricacy of the law, might be able to puzzle her into com- 
 pliance. This gentleman, however, who possessed at once 
 a rapacious heart and a stupid head, might have fleeced half 
 the country had the one been upon a par with the other. 
 He was, besides, in his own estimation, a lady-killer, and 
 knew not how these interviews with the fair Cooleen Bawn 
 might end. He, at all events, was a sound Protestant, and 
 if it were often said that you might as well ask a Highlander 
 for a knee-buckle as an attorney for religion, he could con- 
 scientiously fall back upon the fact that political Protestant- 
 ism and religion were very different things — for an attorney. 
 
 Instructed by Folliard, he accordingly waited upon her 
 professionally, in her father's study, during his absence, and 
 opened his case as follows : 
 
 " I have called upon you, Miss Folliard, by the direction 
 of your father, professionally, and indeed I thank my stars 
 that any professional business should give me an oppor- 
 tunity of admiring so far-famed a beauty." 
 
 " Are you not Mr. Doldrum," she asked, " the celebrated 
 attorney ?" 
 
 11 Doldrum is certainly my name, my lovely client." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Doldrum, I think I have heard of you ; but 
 permit me to say that before you make love, as you seem 
 about to do, I think it better you should mention your pro- 
 fessional business. 
 
 " It is very simple, Miss Folliard ; just to know whether 
 you have any objection to appear as an evidence against — 
 he-hem — against Mr. Reilly. " 
 
 11 Oh, then your business and time with me will be very 
 brief, Mr. Doldrum. It is my intention to see justice done, 
 and for that purpose I shall attend the trial, and if I find 
 that my evidence will be necessary, I assure you I shall give 
 it. But, Mr. Doldrum, one word with you before you go." 
 
 11 A hundred — a thousand, my dear lady." 
 
 " It is this : I beg as a personal favor that you will use 
 your great influence with my father to prevent him from 
 talking to me on this subject until the day of trial comes. 
 By being kind enough to do this you will save me from 
 much anxiety and annoyance."
 
 35- WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 " I pledge you my honor, madam, that your wishes shall 
 be complied with to the letter, as far, at least, as any influ- 
 ence of mine can accomplish them." 
 
 " Thank you, sir ; I wish you a good-morning." 
 
 11 Good-morning, madam ; it shall not be my fault if you 
 are harassed upon this most painful subject ; and I pledge 
 you my reputation that I never contributed to hang a man 
 in my life with more regret than I experience in this unfor- 
 tunate case." 
 
 It is quite a common thing to find vanity and stupidity 
 united in the same individual, as they were in Mr. Doldrum. 
 He was Mr. Folliard's country attorney, and, in conse- 
 quence of his strong Protestant politics, was engaged as the 
 law agent of his property ; and for the same reason — that is, 
 because he was a violent, he was considered a very able man. 
 
 There is a class of men in the world who, when they once 
 engage in a pursuit or an act of any importance, will persist 
 in working it out, rather than be supposed, by relinquishing 
 it, when they discover themselves wrong, to cast an imputa- 
 tion on their own judgments. To such a class belonged Mr. 
 Folliard, who never, in point of fact, acted upon any fixed 
 or distinct principle whatsoever ; yet if he once took a mat- 
 ter into his head, under the influence of caprice or impulse, 
 no man could evince more obstinacy or perseverance, apart 
 from all its justice or moral associations, so long, at least, 
 as that caprice or impulse lasted. The reader may have 
 perceived from his dialogue with Helen, on the morning ap- 
 pointed for her marriage with Whitecraft, that the worthy 
 baronet, had he made his appearance, stood a strong chance 
 of being sent about his business as rank a bachelor as he 
 had come. And yet, because he was cunning enough to 
 make the hot-brained and credulous old man believe that 
 Reilly was at the bottom of the plan for his destruction, 
 and Hastings only the passive agent in his hands ; we say, 
 because he succeeded in making this impression, which he 
 knew to be deliberately false, upon his plastic nature, he, 
 Folliard, worked himself up into a vindictive bitterness pe- 
 culiar to little minds, as well as a fixed determination 
 that Reilly should die ; not by any means so much because 
 he took away his daughter as that his death might be 
 marked in this conflict of parties as a set-off against that 
 of Whitecraft.
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 353 
 
 In the meantime he and Helen entertained each a dif- 
 ferent apprehension ; he dreaded that she might exercise 
 her_ influence over him for the purpose of softening him 
 against Reilly, whom, if he had suffered himself to analyze 
 his own heart, he would have found there in the shape of 
 something very like a favorite. Helen, on the contrary, knew 
 that she was expected to attend the trial, in order to give 
 evidence against her lover ; and she lived for a few days 
 after his commital under the constant dread that her father 
 would persecute her with endless arguments to induce her 
 attendance at the assizes. Such, besides, was her love of 
 truth and candor, and her hatred of dissimulation in every 
 shape, that, if either her father -or the attorney had asked 
 her, in explicit terms, what the tendency of her evidence 
 was to be, she would at once have satisfied them that it 
 should be in favor of her lover. In the meantime she felt 
 that, as they did not press her on this point, it would 
 have been madness to volunteer a disclosure of a matter so 
 important to the vindication of Reilly's conduct. To this 
 we may add her intimate knowledge of her father's whimsi- 
 cal character and unsteadiness of purpose. She was not 
 ignorant that, even if he were absolutely aware that the 
 tenor of her evidence was to go against Reilly, his mind 
 might change so decidedly as to call upon her to give evi- 
 dence in his defence. Under these circumstances she acted 
 with singular prudence, in never alluding to a topic of such 
 difficulty, and which involved a contingency that might affect 
 her lover in a double sense. 
 
 Her father's conduct, however, on this occasion, saved 
 them both a vast deal of trouble and annoyance, and the 
 consequence was that they met as seldom as possible. In 
 addition to this, we may state that Doldrum communicated 
 the successful result of his interview with Miss Folliard — her 
 willingness to attend the trial and see justice done, upon 
 condition that she should not have the subject obtruded on 
 her, either by her father or any one else, until the appointed 
 day should arrive, when she would punctually attend. In 
 this state were the relative positions and feelings of father 
 and daughter about a month before the opening of the as- 
 sizes. 
 
 In the meantime the squire set himself to work for the 
 baronet. The ablest lawyers were retained, but Whitecraft
 
 354 WILLY RIULLY. 
 
 most positively objected to Folliard's proposal of engaging 
 Doldrum as his attorney ; he knew the stupidity and igno- 
 rance of the man, and would have nothing to do with him as 
 the conductor of his case. His own attorney, Mr. Sharply, 
 was engaged ; and indeed his selection of a keen and able 
 man such as he was did credit both to his sagacity and fore- 
 sight. 
 
 Considering the state of the country at that particular pe- 
 riod, the matter began to assume a most important aspect. 
 A portion of the Protestant party, by which we mean those 
 who had sanctioned all Whitecraft's brutal and murderous 
 excesses, called every energy and exertion into work, in 
 order to defeat the Government and protect the leading man 
 of their own clique. On the other hand, there was the 
 Government, firm and decided, by the just operation of the 
 laws, to make an example of the man who had not only 
 availed himself of those laws when they were with him, but 
 who scrupled not to set them aside when they were against 
 him, and to enforce his bloodthirsty instincts upon his own 
 responsibility. The Government, however, were not with- 
 out large and active support from those liberal Protestants, 
 who had been disgusted and sickened by the irresponsible 
 outrages of such persecutors as Whitecraft and Smellpriest. 
 Upon those men "the new Government relied, and relied with 
 safety. The country was in a tumult, the bigoted party 
 threatened an insurrection ; and they did so, not because 
 they felt themselves in a position to effect it, but in order to 
 alarm and intimidate the Government. On the other hand, 
 the Catholics, who had given decided proofs of their loyalty 
 by refusing to join the Pretender, now expressed their deter- 
 mination to support the Government if an outbreak among 
 that section of the Protestant party to which we have just 
 alluded should take place. 
 
 But perhaps the real cause of the conduct of Government 
 might be traced to Whitecraft's outrage upon a French sub- 
 ject in the person of the Abbe . The matter, as we 
 
 have stated, was seriously taken up by the French Ambassa- 
 dor, in the name, and by the most positive instructions, of 
 his Court. The villain Whitecraft, in consequence of that 
 wanton and unjustifiable act, went far to involve the two 
 nations in a bitter and bloody war. England was every day 
 under the apprehension of a French invasion, which, of
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 355 
 
 course, she dreaded ; something must be done to satisfy the 
 French Court. Perhaps, had it not been for this, the gen- 
 eral outrages committed upon the unfortunate Catholics of 
 Ireland would never have become the subject of a detailed 
 investigation. An investigation, however, took place, by 
 which a system of the most incredible persecution was dis- 
 covered, and a milder administration of the laws was found 
 judicious, in order to conciliate the Catholic party, and pre- 
 vent them from embracing the cause of the Pretender. At 
 all events, what between the necessity of satisfying the claims 
 of the French Government, and in apprehension of a Cath- 
 olic defection, the great and principal criminal was selected 
 for punishment. The Irish Government, however, who 
 were already prepared with their charges, found themselves 
 already anticipated by Mr. Hastings, a fact which enabled 
 them to lie on their oars and await the result. 
 
 Such was the state and condition of affairs as the assizes 
 were within ten days of opening. 
 
 One evening about this time the old squire, who never re- 
 mained long in the same mode of feeling, sent for his 
 daughter to the dining-room, where he was engaged at. his 
 Burgundy. The poor girl feared that he was about to in- 
 troduce the painful subject which she dreaded so much — that 
 is to say, the necessity of giving her evidence against Reilly. 
 After some conversation, however, she was relieved, for he 
 did not allude to it ; but he did to the fate of Reilly him- 
 self, the very subject which was wringing her heart with 
 agony. 
 
 " Helen," said he, " I have been thinking of Reilly's 
 affair, and it strikes me that he may be saved, and become 
 your husband still ; because, you know, that if Whitecraft 
 was acquitted, now that he has been publicly disgraced, I'd 
 see the devil picking his bones — and very hard picking he'd 
 find them — before I'd give you to him as a wife." 
 
 11 Thank you, my dear papa ; but let me ask why it is 
 that you are so active in stirring up his party to defend such 
 a man ?" 
 
 " Foolish girl," he replied ; " it is not the man, but the 
 cause and the principle, we defend." 
 
 " What, papa, the cause ! bloodshed and persecution ! 
 I believe you to be possessed of a humane heart, papa ; but, 
 notwithstanding his character and his crimes, I do not wish
 
 356 WILLY RELLLY. 
 
 the unfortunate man to be struck into the grave without re- 
 pentance." 
 
 " Repentance, Helen ! How the deuce could a man feel 
 repentance who does not believe the Christian religion ?" 
 
 " But then, sir, has he not the reputation of being a 
 sound and leading Protestant ?" 
 
 11 Oh, hang his reputation ; it is not of him I wish to 
 speak to you, but Reilly." 
 
 Helen's heart beat rapidly and thickly, but she spoke not. 
 
 11 Yes," said he, " I have a project in my head that I think 
 may save Reilly." 
 
 " Pray, what is it, may I ask, papa ?" 
 
 " No, you may not ; but to-morrow I will give him an 
 early call, and let you know how I succeed, after my return 
 to dinner ; yes, I will tell you after dinner. But listen, 
 Helen, it is the opinion of the baronet's friends that they 
 will be able to save him." 
 
 " I hope they may, sir ; I should not wish to see any 
 fellow-creature brought to an ignominious death in the midst 
 of his offences, and in the prime of life." 
 
 " But, on the contrary, if he swings, we are bound to 
 sacrifice one of the Papist party for him, and Reilly is the 
 man. Now don't look so pale, Helen — don't look as if 
 death was settled in your face ; his fate may be avoided ; 
 but ask me nothing — the project's my own, and I will com- 
 municate it to no one until after I shall have ascertained 
 whether I fail in it or not." 
 
 " I trust, sir, it will be nothing that will involve him in 
 any thing dishonorable ; but why do I ask ? He is incapable 
 of that. ' ' 
 
 11 Well, well, leave the matter in my hand ; and now, upon 
 the strength of my project, I'll take another bumper of 
 Burgundy, and drink to its success." 
 
 Helen pleaded some cause for withdrawing, as she enter- 
 tained an apprehension that he might introduce the topic 
 which she most dreaded — that of her duty to give evidence 
 against Reilly. When she was gone he began to ponder 
 over several subjects connected with the principal characters 
 of this narrative until he became drowsy, during which pe- 
 riod halters, gibbets, gallowses, hangmen, and judges jum- 
 bled each other alternately through his fancy, until he fell 
 fast asleep in his easy-chair.
 
 WILLY REILLY. 357 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE SQUIRE BECOMES THEOLOGICAL AND A PROSELYTIZER, 
 BUT SIGNALLY FAILS. 
 
 THE next morning he and Cummiskey started for Sligo, 
 and, as usual, when they reached the jail the turn- 
 key was about to conduct the squire to Sir Robert's room, 
 when the former turned and said : 
 
 11 I wish to see Mr. Reilly ; lead me to his cell." 
 
 11 Reilly, sir !" exclaimed the man in astonishment. 
 " Are you sure, sir, it's not Sir Robert Whitecraft you 
 want ?" 
 
 " Are you sure, sir, that it's not a cut of my whip about 
 the ears you want ? Conduct me to where Reilly is, you 
 rascal ; do you pretend to know the individual I wish to see 
 better than I do myself ? Push along, sirra. " 
 
 The turnkey accordingly conducted him to Reilly's cell, 
 which, considerably to his surprise, was a much more com- 
 fortable one than had been assigned to the baronet. When 
 they had reached the corridor in which it was situated, Fol- 
 liard said, " Knock at the door, and when he appears tell 
 him that /wish to see him." 
 
 " I will, your honor." 
 
 " Say I won't detain him long." 
 
 " I will, your honor." 
 
 " Hang your honor, go and do what I desire you." 
 
 " I will, your honor." 
 
 Reilly's astonishment was beyond belief on learning that 
 his vindictive prosecutor had called upon him ; but on more 
 mature reflection, and comparing what had happened before 
 with the only motive which he could assign for such a visit, 
 he felt pretty certain that the squire came to revive, in his 
 own person, a subject which he had before proposed to him 
 through his daughter. There was no other earthly object to 
 which he could attribute his visit ; but of course he made 
 up his mind to receive him with every courtesy. At length 
 Folliard entered, and, before Reilly had time to utter a syl- 
 lable, commenced : 
 
 " Reilly," said he, " you are astonished to see me here ?" 
 .. "I am, sir," replied Reilly, " very much."
 
 358 WILLY R LILLY. 
 
 11 Yes, I thought you would ; and very few persons, except 
 myself, would come upon such an errand to the man that 
 has disgraced my daughter, myself, and my family ; you 
 have stained our name, sir — a name that was never asso- 
 ciated with any thing but honor and purity until you came 
 among us." 
 
 " If you have paid me this visit, sir, only for the purpose 
 of uttering language which you know must be very painful 
 to me, I would rather you had declined to call upon me at 
 all. I perceive no object you can have in it, unless to 
 gratify a feeling of enmity on your part, and excite one of 
 sorrow on mine. I say sorrow, because, on considering our 
 relative positions, and knowing the impetuosity of your tem- 
 per, I am sorry to see you here ; it is scarcely generous in 
 you to come, for the purpose of indulging in a poor, and 
 what, after all, may be an equivocal and premature triumph 
 over a man whose love for your daughter, you must know, 
 will seal his lips against the expression of one offensive word 
 towards you." 
 
 " But how, let me ask, sir, do you know what brought me 
 here ? I didn't come to scold you, nor to triumph over 
 you ; and I have already said the worst I shall say. I know 
 very well that you and Whitecraft will be hanged, probably 
 from the same rope too, but, in the meantime, I would save 
 you both if I could. I fear indeed that to save him is out 
 of the question, because it appears that there's a cart-load 
 of indictments against him." 
 
 11 How could you doubt it, sir, when you know the in- 
 credible extent of his villany, both private and public ? and 
 yet this is the man to whom you would have married your 
 daughter !" 
 
 44 No ; when I found Helen reduced to such a state the 
 morning on which they were to be married, I told her at 
 once that as she felt so bitterly against him I would never 
 suffer him to become her husband. Neither will I ; if he 
 were acquitted to-morrow I would tell him so ; but you, 
 Reilly, love my daughter for her own sake." 
 
 " For her own sake, sir, as you have said, I love her. 
 If she had millions, it could not increase my affection, and 
 if she had not a penny, it would not diminish it." 
 
 " Well, but you can have her if you wish, notwithstand- 
 ing."
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 359 
 
 Reilly first looked at him with amazement ; but he was 
 so thoroughly acquainted with his character, both from what 
 he had seen and heard of it, that his amazement passed 
 away, and he simply replied : 
 
 11 Pray how, sir ?" 
 
 " Why, I'll tell you what, Reilly ; except with respect to 
 political principles, I don't think, after all, that there's the 
 difference of a rush between the Papist and the Protestant 
 Churches, as mere religions. My own opinion is, that 
 there's neither of them any great shakes, as to any effect 
 they have on society, unless to disturb it. I have known 
 as good Papists as ever I did Protestants, and indeed I 
 don't know why a Papist should not be as good a man as a 
 Protestant ; nor why a Protestant should not be as good a 
 man as a Papist, on the other hand. Now, do you see what 
 I'm driving at ?" 
 
 " Well, I can't exactly say that I do," replied Reilly. 
 
 11 Then the upshot of the argument is this, that there is 
 not a toss-up between them, and any man getting into a 
 scrape, and who could get out of it by changing from one 
 to the other — of course I mean from Popery to Protestant- 
 ism — would prove himself a man of good sound sense, and 
 above the prejudices of the world." 
 
 The truth is, Reilly saw ere this what Folliard was ap- 
 proaching, and, as he determined to allow him full scope, 
 his reply was brief : 
 
 " You seem fond of indulging in speculation, sir," replied 
 Reilly, with a smile ; " but I should be glad to know why 
 you introduce this subject to met" 
 
 11 To you ?" replied Folliard ; " why, who the devil else 
 should or could I introduce it to with such propriety ? 
 Here now are two religions ; one's not sixpence better nor 
 worse than the other. Now, you belong to one of them, 
 and because you do you're here snug and fast. I say, then, I 
 have a proposal to make to you : you are yourself in a diffi- 
 culty — you have placed me in a difficulty — and you have 
 placed poor Helen in a difficulty — which, if any thing hap- 
 pens you, I think will break her heart, poor child. Now 
 you can take her yourself, and me, out of all our difficul- 
 ties, if you have only sense enough to shove over from the 
 
 old P to the young P . As a Protestant, you can 
 
 marry Helen, Reilly — but as a Papist, never ! and you
 
 360 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 know the rest ; for if you are obstinate, and blind to your 
 own interests, I must do my duty." 
 
 " Will you allow me to ask, sir, whether Miss Folliard is 
 aware of this mission of yours to me ?" 
 
 11 She aware ! She never dreamt of it ; but I have prom- 
 ised to tell her the result after dinner to-day." 
 
 "Well, sir," replied Reilly, "will you allow me to state 
 to you a few facts ?" 
 
 " Certainly ; go on." 
 
 " In the first place, then, such is your daughter's high 
 and exquisite sense of integrity and honor that, if I con- 
 sented to the terms you propose, she would reject me with 
 indignation and scorn, as she ought to do. There, then, is 
 your project for accomplishing my selfish and dishonest 
 apostacy given to the winds. Your daughter, sir, is too 
 pure in all her moral feelings, and too noble-minded, to take 
 to her arms a renegade husband — a renegade, too, not from 
 conviction, but from selfish and mercenary purposes." 
 
 11 Confound the thing, this is but splitting hairs, Reilly, 
 and talking big for effect. Speak, however, for yourself ; 
 as for Helen, I know very well that, in spite of your heroics 
 and her's, she'd be devilish glad you'd become a Protestant 
 and marry her." 
 
 "Iara sorry to say, sir, that you don't know your own 
 daughter ; but as for me, Mr. Folliard, if one word of 
 your's, or of her's, could place me on the British throne, I 
 would not abandon my religion. Under no circumstances 
 would I abandon it ; but least of all, now that it is so bar- 
 barously persecuted by its enemies. This, sir, is my final 
 determination." 
 
 But do you know the alternative ?" 
 
 11 No, sir, nor do you." 
 
 "Don't I, faith? Why, the alternative is simply this — 
 either marriage or hanging !" 
 
 "Be it so ; in that case I will die like a man of honor 
 and a true Christian and Catholic, as I hope I am." 
 
 "Asa true fool, Reilly — as a true fool. I took this step 
 privately, out of respect for your character. See how many 
 of your creed become Protestants for the sake of mere prop- 
 erty ; think how many of them join oar Church for the 
 purpose of ousting their own fathers and relatives from their 
 estates ; and what is it all, on their parts, but the conse-
 
 WILLY RE ILLY 361 
 
 quence of an enlightened judgment that shows them the 
 errors of their old creed, and the truth of ours ? I think, 
 Reilly, you are loose about the brains." 
 
 14 That may be, sir, but you will never find me loose 
 about my principles." 
 
 44 Are you aware, sir, that Helen is to appear against you 
 as an evidence ?" 
 
 44 No, sir, I am not, neither do I believe it. But now, 
 sir, I beg you to terminate this useless and unpleasant in- 
 terview. I can look into my own conscience with satisfac- 
 tion, and am prepared for the worst. If the scaffold is to 
 be my fate, I cannot but remember that many a noble spirit 
 has closed the cares of an unhappy life upon it. I wish you 
 good-day, Mr. Folliard." 
 
 44 By the Boyne ! you are the most obstinate blockhead 
 that ever lived ; but I've done ; I did all in my power to 
 save you — yet to no purpose. Upon my soul, I'll come to 
 your execution." 
 
 44 And if you do, you will see me die like a man and a 
 gentleman ; may I humbly add, like a Christian !" 
 
 The squire, on his way home, kept up a long, low whistle, 
 broken only by occasional soliloquies, in which Reilly's 
 want of common-sense, and neglect not only of his temporal 
 interests, but of his life itself, were the prevailing senti- 
 ments. He regretted his want of success, which he imputed 
 altogether to Reilly's obstinacy, instead of his integrity, 
 firmness, and honor. 
 
 This train of reflection threw him into one of those capri- 
 cious fits of resentment so peculiar to his unsteady temper, 
 and as he went along he kept lashing himself up into a red 
 heat of indignation and vengeance against that unfortunate 
 gentleman. After dinner that day he felt somewhat puzzled 
 as to whether he ought to communicate to his daughter the 
 result of his interview with Reilly or not. Upon consider- 
 ation, however, he deemed it more prudent to avoid the 
 subject altogether, for he felt apprehensive that, however 
 she might approve of her lover's conduct, the knowledge of 
 his fate, which depended on it, would only plunge her into 
 deeper distress. The evening consequently passed without 
 any allusion to the subject, unless a peculiar tendency to 
 melody, on his part, might be taken to mean something ; to 
 this we might add short abrupt ejaculations unconsciously
 
 362 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 uttered — such as — "Whew, whew, whew-o-whew-o — hang 
 the fellow ! Whew, whew-o-whew — he's a cursed goose, 
 but an obstinate — whew, whew-o-whew-o. Ay, but no mat- 
 ter — well — whew, whew-o, whew, whew ! Helen, a cup of 
 tea. Now, Helen, do you know a discovery I have made — 
 but how could you ? No, you don't, of course ; but listen 
 and pay attention to me, because it deeply affects myself. ' ' 
 
 The poor girl, apprehensive that he was about to divulge 
 some painful secret, became pale and a good deal agitated ; 
 she gave him a long, inquiring look, but said nothing. 
 
 " Yes, Helen, and the discovery is this : I find from 
 experience that tea and Burgundy — or, indeed, tea and 
 any kind of wine — don't agree with my constitution : curse 
 the fel — whew, whew, whew, whew-o-whew ; no, the con- 
 founded mixture turns my stomach into nothing more nor 
 less than a bag of aquafortis — if he had but common — 
 whew — " 
 
 11 Well, but, papa, why do you take tea, then ?" 
 
 11 Because I'm an old fool, Helen ; and if I am, there are 
 some young ones besides ; but it can't be helped now — 
 whew, whew — it was done for the best. ' ' 
 
 In this manner he went on for a considerable time, ejacu- 
 lating mysteries and enigmas, until he finished the second 
 bottle, after which he went to bed. 
 
 It may be necessary to state here that, notwithstanding 
 the incredible force and tenderness of his affection for his 
 daughter, he had, ever since her elopement with Reilly, kept 
 her under the strictest surveillance, and in the greatest se- 
 clusion — that is to say, as the proverb has it, " he locked 
 the stable door when the steed was stolen;" or if he did 
 not realize the aphorism, he came very near it. 
 
 Time, however, passes, and the assizes were at hand, a 
 fearful Avatar of judicial power to the guilty. The struggle 
 between the parties who were interested in the fate of 
 Whitecraft, and those who felt the extent of his unparalleled 
 guilt, and the necessity not merely of making him an exam- 
 ple but of punishing him for his enormous crimes, was dread- 
 ful. The infatuation of political rancor on one side, an in- 
 fatuation which could perceive nothing but the virtue of 
 high and resolute Protestantism in his conduct, blinded his 
 supporter to the enormity of his conduct, and, as a matter 
 of course, they left no stone unturned to save his life. As
 
 IVILLY REILLY. 363 
 
 we said, however, they were outnumbered ; but still they 
 did not despair. R.eilly's friends had been early in the 
 legal market, and succeeded in retaining some of the ablest 
 men at the bar, his leading counsel being the celebrated ad- 
 vocate Fox, who was at that time one of the most distin- 
 guished men at the Irish bar. Helen, as the assizes ap- 
 proached, broke down so completely in her health that it 
 was felt, if she remained in that state, that she would be un- 
 able to attend ; and although Reilly's trial was first on the 
 list, his opposing counsel succeeded in getting it postponed 
 for a day or two, in order than an important witness, then 
 ill, he said, might be able to appear on their part. 
 
 It is not our intention to go through the details of the trial 
 of the Red Rapparee. The evidence of Mary Mahon, Fer- 
 gus O'Reilly, and the sheriff, was complete ; the chain was 
 unbroken ; the change of apparel — the dialogue in Mary 
 Mahon's cabin, in which he avowed the fact of his having 
 robbed the sheriff — the identification of his person by the 
 said sheriff in the farmer's house, as before stated, left 
 nothing for the jury to do but to bring in a verdict of guilty. 
 Mercy was out of the question. The hardened ruffian — the 
 treacherous ruffian — who had lent himself to the bloodthirsty 
 schemes of Whitecraft — and all this came out upon his trial, 
 not certainly to the advantage of the baronet — this hardened 
 and treacherous ruffian, we say, who had been a scourge to 
 that part of the country for years, now felt, when the ver- 
 dict of guilty was brought in against him, just as a smith's 
 anvil might feel when struck by a feather. On hearing it, 
 he growled a hideous laugh, and exclaimed : 
 
 " To the divil I pitch you all ; I wish, though, that I had 
 Tom Bradley, the prophecy man, here, who tould me that 
 I'd never be hanged, and that the rope was never born for 
 me." 
 
 " If the rope was not born for you," observed the judge, 
 11 I fear I shall be obliged to inform you that you were born 
 for the rope. Your life has been an outrage upon civilized 
 society." 
 
 11 Why, you ould dog!" said the Rapparee, "you can't 
 hang me ; haven't I a pardon ? didn't Sir Robert Whitecraft 
 get me a pardon from the Government for turnin' against 
 the Catholics, and tellin' him where to find the priests ? 
 Why, you joulter-headed ould dog, you can't hang me, or,
 
 364 WILLY RELLLY. 
 
 if you do, I'll leave them behind me that will put such a 
 half ounce pill into your guts as will make you turn up the 
 whites of your eyes like a duck in tundher. You'll hang 
 me for robbery, you ould sinner ! But what is one half the 
 world doin' but robbin' the other half ? and what is the 
 other half doin' but robbin' them ? As for Sir Robert 
 Whitecraft, if he desaved me by lies and falsehoods, as I'm 
 afraid he did, all I say is, that if I had him here for one 
 minute I'd show him a trick he'd never tell to mortal. 
 Now go on, big-wig." 
 
 Notwithstanding the solemnity of the position in which 
 this obdurate ruffian was placed, the judge found it nearly 
 impossible to silence the laughter of the audience and pre- 
 serve order in the court. At length he succeeded, and con- 
 tinued his brief address to the Rapparee : 
 
 " Hardened and impenitent reprobate, in the course of 
 my judicial duties, onerous and often painful as they are 
 and have been, I must say that, although it has fallen to my 
 lot to pronounce the awful sentence of death upon many an 
 unfeeling felon, I am bound to say that a public malefactor 
 so utterly devoid of all the feelings which belong to man, 
 and so strongly impregnated with those of the savage animal 
 as you are, has never stood in a dock before me, nor 
 probably before any other judge, living or dead. Would it 
 be a waste of language to enforce upon you the necessity of 
 repentance ? I fear it would ; but it matters not ; the guilt 
 of impenitence be on your own head, still I must do my 
 duty ; try, then, and think of death, and a far more awful 
 judgment than mine. Think of the necessity you have for 
 supplicating mercy at the throne of your Redeemer, who 
 himself died for you, and for all of us, between two thieves. ' ' 
 
 " That has nothing to do with my case ; I never was a 
 thief ; I robbed like an honest man on the king's highways ; 
 but as for thievin', why, you ould sinner, I never stole a 
 farthing's worth in my life. Don't, then, pitch such beggarly 
 comparisons into my teeth. I never did what you and your 
 class often did ; I never robbed the poor in the name of the 
 blessed laws of the land ; I never oppressed the widow or 
 the orphan ; and for all that I took from those that did op- 
 press them, the divil a grain of sorrow or repentance. I fed 
 for it, nor ever will feel for it. Oh ! mother of Moses ! if 
 I had a glass of whiskey !"
 
 WILLY RELLLY. 3 6 5 
 
 The judge was obliged to enforce silence a second time ; 
 for, to tell the truth, there was something so ludicrously im- 
 penitent in the conduct of this hardened convict that the 
 audience could not resist it, especially when it is remembered 
 that the sympathies of the lower Irish are always with such 
 culprits. 
 
 " Well," continued the judge, when silence was again re- 
 stored, " your unparalleled obduracy has gained one point ; 
 it was my intention to have ordered you for execution to- 
 morrow at the hour of twelve o'clock ; but, as a Christian 
 man, I could not think for a moment of hurrying you into 
 eternity in your present state. The sentence of the court 
 then is that you be taken from the dock in which you now 
 stand to the prison from whence you came, and that from 
 thence you be brought to the place of execution on next 
 Saturday, and there be hanged by the neck until you be 
 dead, and may God have mercy on your soul !" 
 
 The Rapparee gazed at him with a look of the most hard- 
 ened effrontery, and exclaimed, " Is it in earnest you are ?" 
 after which he was once more committed to his cell, loaded 
 with heavy chains, which he wore, by the way, during his 
 trial. 
 
 Now, in order to account for his outrageous conduct, we 
 must make a disclosure to the reader. There is in and 
 about all jails a certain officer yclept a hangman — an officer 
 who is permitted a freer ingress and egress than almost 
 any other person connected with those gloomy establish- 
 ments. This hangman, who resided in the prison, had a bro- 
 ther whom Sir Robert Whitecraft had hanged, and, it was 
 thought, innocently. Be this as it may, the man in ques- 
 tion was heard to utter strong threats of vengeance against 
 Sir Robert for having his brother, whose innocence he as- 
 serted, brought to execution. In some time after this a 
 pistol was fired one night at Sir Robert from behind a hedge, 
 which missed him ; but as his myrmidons were with him, 
 and the night was light, a pursuit took place, and the guilty 
 wretch was taken prisoner, with the pistol on his person, 
 still warm after having been discharged. The consequence 
 was that he was condemned to death. But it so happened 
 that at this period, although there were five or six execu- 
 tions to take place, yet there was no hangman to be had, 
 that officer having died suddenly, after a fit of liquor, and
 
 3^6 WILLY RELLLY. 
 
 the sheriff would have been obliged to discharge the office 
 with his own hands unless a finisher of the law could be 
 found. In brief, he was found, and in the person of the 
 individual alluded to, who, in consequence of his consenting 
 to accept the office, got a pardon from the Crown. Now 
 this man and the Rapparee had been old acquaintances, and 
 renewed their friendship in prison. Through the means of 
 the hangman O'Donnel got in as much whiskey as he 
 pleased, and we need scarcely say that they often got in- 
 toxicated together. The secret, therefore, which we had to 
 disclose to the reader, in explanation of the Rapparee's con- 
 duct at his trial, was simply this, that the man was three 
 quarters drunk. 
 
 After trial he was placed in a darker dungeon than be- 
 fore ; but such was the influence of the worthy executioner 
 with every officer of the jail, that he was permitted to go 
 either in or out without search, and as he often gave a 
 " slug," as he called it, to the turnkeys, they consequently 
 allowed him, in this respect, whatever privileges he wished. 
 Even the Rapparee's dungeon was not impenetrable to him, 
 especially as he put the matter on a religious footing, to wit, 
 that as the unfortunate robber was not allowed the spiritual 
 aid of his own clergy, he himself was the only person left to 
 prepare him for death, which he did with the whiskey- 
 bottle. 
 
 The assizes on that occasion were protracted to an un- 
 usual length. The country was in a most excited state, and 
 party feeling ran fearfully high. Nothing was talked of but 
 the two trials, par excellence, to wit, that of Whitecraft and 
 Reilly ; and scarcely a fair or market, for a considerable 
 time previous, ever came round in which there was not a 
 battle on the subject of either one or the other of them, and 
 not unfrequently of both. Nobody was surprised at the 
 conviction of the Red Rapparee ; but, on the contrary, every 
 one was glad that the country had at last got rid of him. 
 
 Poor Helen, however, was not permitted to remain quiet, 
 as she had expected. When Mr. Doldrum had furnished the 
 leading counsel with his brief and a list of the witnesses, the 
 latter gentleman was surprised to see the name of Helen 
 Folliard among them. 
 
 11 How is this ?" he inquired ; "is not this the celebrated 
 beauty who eloped with him ?"
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 367 
 
 " It is, sir," replied Doldrum. 
 
 11 But," proceeded the other, " you have not instructed 
 me in the nature of the evidence she is prepared to give." 
 
 11 She is deeply penitent, sir, and in a very feeble state of 
 health ; so much so that we were obliged to leave the ten- 
 dency of her evidence to be brought out on the trial." 
 
 " Have you subpoenaed her ?" 
 
 " No', sir." 
 
 "And why not, Mr. Doldrum? Don't you know that 
 there is no understanding the caprices of women ? You 
 ought to have subpoenaed her, because, if she be a leading 
 evidence, she may still change her mind and leave us in the 
 lurch." 
 
 "I certainly did not subpoena her," replied Doldrum, 
 11 because, when I mentioned it to her father, he told me 
 that if I attempted it he would break my head. It was 
 enough, he said, that she had given her promise — a thing, 
 he added, which she was never known to break." 
 
 " Go to her again, Doldrum ; for unless we know what 
 she can prove we will be only working in the dark. Try 
 her, at all events, and glean what you can out of her. Her 
 father tells me she is somewhat better, so I don't apprehend 
 you will have much difficulty in seeing her." 
 
 Doldrum did see her, and was astonished at the striking 
 change which had, in so short a time, taken place in her ap- 
 pearance. She was pale, and exhibited all the symptoms of 
 an invalid, with the exception of her eyes, which were not 
 merely brilliant, but dazzling, and full of a fire that flashed 
 from them with something like triumph whenever her atten- 
 tion was directed to the purport of her testimony. On this 
 subject they saw that it would be quite useless, and probably 
 worse than useless, to press her, and they did not, conse- 
 quently, put her to the necessity of specifying the purport 
 of her evidence. 
 
 11 I have already stated," said she, " that I shall attend 
 the trial ; that ought, and must be, sufficient for you. I 
 beg, then, you will withdraw, sir. My improved health will 
 enable me to attend, and you may rest assured that if I 
 have life I shall be there, as I have already told you ; but, 
 I say, that if you wish to press me for the nature of my evi- 
 dence, you shall have it," and, as she spoke, her eyes 
 flashed fearfully, as they were in the habit of doing whenever
 
 3^3 WILL Y REILL Y. 
 
 she felt deeply excited. Folliard himself became apprehen- 
 sive of the danger which might result from the discussion of 
 any subject calculated to disturb her, and insisted that she 
 should be allowed to take her own way. In the meantime, 
 after they had left her, at her own request, her father in- 
 formed the attorney that she was getting both strong and 
 cheerful, in spite of her looks. 
 
 11 To be sure," said he, " she is pale ! but that's only 
 natural, after her recent slight attack, and all the excitement 
 and agitation she has for some time past undergone. She 
 sings and plays now, although I have heard neither a song 
 nor a tune from her for a long time past. In the evening, 
 too, she is exceedingly cheerful when we sit together in the 
 drawing-room ; and she often laughs more heartily than 
 I ever knew her to do before in my life. Now, do you 
 think, Doldrum, if she was breaking her heart about Reilly 
 that she would be in such spirits ?" 
 
 " No, sir ; she would be melancholy and silent, and 
 would neither sing, nor laugh, nor play ; at least I felt so 
 when I was in love with Miss S withers, who kept me in a 
 state of equilibrium for better than two years ; but that 
 wasn't the worst of it, for she knocked the loyalty clean out 
 of me besides — indeed, so decidedly so that I never once 
 sang ' Lillibullero' during the whole period of my attach- 
 ment, and be hanged to her." 
 
 " And what became of her ?" 
 
 " Why, she married my clerk, who used to serve my love- 
 letters upon her ; and when I expected to come in by execu- 
 tion — that is, by marriage — that cursed little sheriff, Cupid, 
 made a return of nulla bona. She and Sam Snivel — a kind 
 of half Puritan — entered a ^appearance, and I never saw 
 them since ; but I am told they are in America. From 
 what you tell me, sir, I have no doubt but Miss Folliard 
 will make a capital witness. In fact, Reilly ought to feel 
 proud of the honor of being hanged by her evidence ; she 
 will be a host in herself." 
 
 We have already stated that the leading counsel against 
 Reilly had succeeded in getting his trial postponed until 
 Miss Folliard should arrive at a sufficient state of health to 
 appear against him. In the meantime, the baronet's trial, 
 which was in a political, indeed, we might say, a national 
 point of view, of far more importance than Reilly 's, was to
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 369 
 
 come on next day. In the general extent of notoriety or 
 fame, Reilly had got in advance — though not much — of his 
 implacable rival. The two trials were, in fact, so closely 
 united by the relative position of the parties that public 
 opinion was strangely and strongly divided between them. 
 Reilly and his Cooleen Bawn had, by the unhappy peculi- 
 arity of their fate, excited the interest of all the youthful 
 and loving part of society — an interest which was necessarily 
 reflected upon Whitecraft, as Reilly's rival, independently 
 of the hold which his forthcoming fate had upon grave and 
 serious politicians. Reilly's leading counsel, Fox, a man 
 of great judgment and ability, gave it as his opinion that in 
 consequence of the exacerbated state of feeling produced 
 against the Catholics by the prosecution of Whitecraft — to 
 appease whom, the opinion went that it was instituted — it 
 seemed unlikely that Reilly had a single chance. Had his 
 trial, he said, taken place previous to that of Whitecraft's, 
 he might have escaped many of the consequences of White- 
 craft's conviction ; but now, should the latter be convicted, 
 the opposing party would die in the jury-box rather than let 
 Reilly escape. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 PREPARATIONS — JURY OF THE OLDEN TIME — THE SCALES 
 OF JUSTICE. 
 
 AT last the trial came on, and Sir Robert Whitecraft, 
 the great champion of Protestantism — a creed which 
 he did not believe — was conducted into the court-house and 
 placed in the dock. He was dressed in his best apparel, in 
 order to distinguish himself from common culprits, and to 
 give this poor external evidence of his rank, with a hope 
 that it might tell, to a certain extent at least, upon the feel- 
 ing of the jury. When placed in the dock, a general buzz 
 and bustle agitated the whole court. His friends became 
 alert, and whispered to each other with much earnestness, 
 and a vast number of them bowed to him, and shook hands 
 with him, and advised him to be cool, and keep up his spir- 
 its. His appearance, however, was any thing but firm ; his
 
 37° WILLY REILLY. 
 
 face was deadly pale, his eyes dull and cowardly, his knees 
 trembled so much that he was obliged to support himself 
 on the front of the dock. 
 
 At length the trial commenced, and the case having been 
 opened by a young lawyer, a tall, intellectual-looking man, 
 about the middle age, of pale but handsome features, and an 
 eye of singular penetration and brilliancy, rose ; and after 
 pulling up his gown at the shoulders, and otherwise adjust- 
 ing it, proceeded to lay a statement of this extraordinary 
 case before the jury. 
 
 He dwelt upon " the pain which he felt in contemplating 
 a gentleman of rank and vast wealth occupying the degraded 
 position of a felon, but not, he was sorry to say, of a com- 
 mon felon. The circumstances, my lord, and gentlemen of 
 the jury, which have brought the prisoner before you this 
 day, involve a long catalogue of crimes that as far tran- 
 scend, in the hideousness of their guilt, the offences of a 
 common felon as his rank and position in life do that of the 
 humblest villain who ever stood before a court of justice. 
 
 " The position, gentlemen, of this country has for a long 
 series of years been peculiar, anomalous, and unhappy. 
 Divided as it is, and has been, by the bitter conflict between 
 two opposing creeds and parties, it is not to be wondered at 
 that it should be a melancholy scene of misery, destitution, 
 famine, and crime ; and, unhappily, it presents to us the 
 frightful aspect of all these. The nature, however, of the 
 conflicts between those creeds and parties, inasmuch as it 
 bears upon the case of the prisoner, gentlemen, who now 
 stands for trial and a verdict at your hands, is such as forces 
 me, on that account, to dwell briefly upon it. In doing so, 
 I will have much, for the sake of our common humanity, to 
 regret and to deplore. It is a fundamental principle, gen- 
 tlemen, in our great and glorious Constitution, that the para- 
 mount end and object of our laws is to protect the person, 
 the liberty, and the property of the subject. But there is 
 something, gentlemen, still dearer to us than either liberty, 
 person, or property ; something which claims a protection 
 from those laws that stamps them with a nobler and a loftier 
 character, when it is afforded, and weaves them into the 
 hearts and feelings of men of all creeds, when this divine 
 mission of the law is fulfilled. I allude, gentlemen, to the 
 inalienable right of every man to worship God freely, and
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 371 
 
 according to his own conscience — without restraint — with- 
 out terror — without oppression, and, gentlemen of the jury, 
 without persecution. A man, or a whole people, worship 
 God, we will assume, sincerely, according to their notions 
 of what is right, and, I say, gentlemen, that the individual 
 who persecutes that man, or those people, for piously wor- 
 shipping their Creator, commits blasphemy against the Al- 
 mighty — and stains, as it were, the mercy-seat with blood. 
 
 11 Gentlemen of the jury, let me ask you what has been 
 the state and condition of this unhappy and distracted coun- 
 try ? I have mentioned two opposing creeds, and conse- 
 quently two opposing parties, and I have also mentioned 
 persecution ; but let me also ask you again on which side 
 has the persecution existed ? Look at your Roman Catho- 
 lic fellow-subjects, and ask yourselves to what terrible out- 
 burst of political and religious vengeance have they not been 
 subjected ? But it is said they are not faithful and loyal 
 subjects, and that they detest the laws. Well, let us con- 
 sider this — let us take a cursory view of all that the spirit 
 and operation of the laws have left them to be thankful for 
 — have brought to bear upon them for the purpose, we must 
 suppose, of securing their attachment and their loyalty. 
 Let us, . gentlemen, calmly and solemnly, and in a Christian 
 temper, take a brief glance at the advantages which the free 
 and glorious spirit of the British Constitution has held out 
 to them, in order to secure their allegiance. In the first 
 place, their nobles and their gentry have been deprived of 
 their property, and the right of tenure has been denied even 
 to the people. Ah, my lord, and gentlemen of the jury, 
 what ungrateful and disloyal miscreant could avoid loving a 
 Constitution, and hugging to his grateful heart laws which 
 showered down such blessings upon him, and upon all these 
 who belong to a creed so favored ? But it would seem to 
 have been felt that these laws had still a stronger claim upon 
 their affections. They would protect their religion as they 
 did their property ; and in order to attach them still more 
 strongly, they shut up their places of worship — they pro- 
 scribed and banished and hung their clergy — they hung or 
 shot the unfortunate people who fled to worship God in the 
 desert — in mountain fastnesses and in caves, and threw their 
 dead bodies to find a tomb in the entrails of the birds of the 
 air, or the dogs which even persecution had made mad with
 
 372 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 hunger. But again — for this pleasing panorama is not yet 
 closed, the happy Catholics, who must have danced with 
 delight, under the privileges of such a Constitution, were 
 deprived of the right to occupy and possess all civil offices 
 — their enterprise was crushed — their industry made subser- 
 vient to the rapacity of their enemies, and not to their own 
 prosperity* But this is far from being all. The sources of 
 knowledge — of knowledge which only can enlighten and 
 civilize the mind, prevent crime, and promote the progress of 
 human society — these sources of knowledge, I say, were 
 sealed against them ; they were consequently left to igno- 
 rance, and its inseparable associate — vice. All those noble 
 principles which result from education, and which lead 
 youth into those moral footsteps in which they should tread, 
 were made criminal in the Catholic to pursue, and impossi- 
 ble to attain ; and having thus been reduced by ignorance 
 to the perpetration of those crimes which it uniformly pro- 
 duces — the people were punished for that which oppressive 
 laws had generated, and the ignorance which was forced 
 upon them was turned into a penalty and a persecution. 
 They were first made ignorant by one Act of Parliament, 
 and then punished by another for those crimes which igno- 
 rance produces. 
 
 14 And now, my lord, and gentlemen of the jury, it 
 remains for me to take another view of the state and condi- 
 tion of this wretched country. Perhaps there is not in the 
 world so hideously a penal code of laws as that which apper- 
 tains to the civil and religious rights of our unfortunate Ro- 
 man Catholic countrymen. It is not that this»code is fierce, 
 inhuman, unchristian, barbarous, and Draconic, and con- 
 ceived in a spirit of blood — because it might be all this, and 
 yet, through the liberality and benevolence of those into 
 whose hands it ought to be entrusted for administration, 
 much of its dreadful spirit might be mitigated. And I am 
 bound to say that a large and important class of the Protest- 
 ant community look upon such a code nearly with as much 
 horror as the Catholics themselves. Unfortunately, how- 
 ever, in every state of society and of law analogous to ours, 
 a certain class of men, say rather of monsters, is sure to 
 spring up, as it were, from hell, their throats still parched 
 and heated with that insatiable thirst which the guilty glut- 
 ton felt before them, and which they now are determined to
 
 WILLY RELLLY. 373 
 
 slake with blood. For some of these men the apology of 
 selfishness, an anxiety to raise themselves out of the strug- 
 gles of genteel poverty, and a wolfish wish to earn the wages 
 of oppression, might be pleaded ; although, heaven knows, 
 it is at best but a desperate and cowardly apology. On the 
 other hand, there are men not merely independent, but 
 wealthy, who, imbued with a fierce and unreasoning big- 
 otry, and stained by a black and unscrupulous ambition, 
 start up into the front ranks of persecution, and carry fire 
 and death and murder as they go along, and all this for the 
 sake of adding to their reprobate names a title — a title 
 earned by the shedding of innocent blood — a title earned by 
 the oppression and persecution of their unresisting fellow- 
 subjects — a title, perhaps that of baronet j if I am mistaken 
 in this, the individual who stands before you in that dock 
 could, for he might, set me right. 
 
 11 In fact, who are those who have lent themselves with 
 such delight to the execution of bad laws ? of laws that, for 
 the sake of religion and Christianity, never ought to have 
 been enacted ? Are they men of moral and Christian lives ? 
 men whose walk has been edifying in the sight of their fel- 
 lows ? are they men to whom society could look up as ex- 
 amples of private virtue and the decorous influence of relig- 
 ion ? are they men who, on the Sabbath of God, repair with 
 their wives and families to his holy worship ? Alas ! no. 
 These heroic persecutors, who hunt and punish a set of dis- 
 armed men, are, in point of fact, not only a disgrace to that 
 religion in whose name they are persecutors, and on whose 
 merciful precepts they trample, but to all religion, in what- 
 ever light true religion is contemplated. Vicious, ignorant, 
 profligate, licentious, but cunning, cruel, bigoted, and sel- 
 fish, they make the spirit of oppressive laws, and the miser- 
 able state of the country, the harvest of their gain. Look 
 more closely at the picture, gentlemen of the jury, and make, 
 as I am sure you will, the dismal and terrible circumstances 
 which I will lay before you your own. Imagine for a mo- 
 ment that those who are now, or at least have been, the ob- 
 jects of hot and blood-scenting persecution, had, by some 
 political revolution, got the power of the State and of the 
 laws into their own hands ; suppose, for it is easily sup- 
 posed, that they had stripped you of your property, de- 
 prived you of your civil rights, disarmed you of the means
 
 374 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 of self-defence, persecuted yourselves and proscribed your 
 religion, or, vice versa, proscribed yourselves and perse- 
 cuted your religion, or, to come at once to the truth, pro- 
 scribed and persecuted both ; suppose your churches shut 
 up, your pious clergy banished, and that, when on the bed 
 of sickness or of death, some of your family, hearing your 
 cries for the consolations of religion, ventured out, under 
 the clouds of the night, pale with sorrow, and trembling 
 with apprehension, to steal for you, at the risk of life, that 
 comfort which none but a minister of God can effectually 
 bestow upon the parting spirit ; suppose this, and suppose 
 that your house is instantly surrounded by some cruel but 
 plausible Sir Robert Whitecraft, or some drunken and 
 ruffianly Captain Smellpriest, who, surrounded and sup- 
 ported by armed miscreants, not only breaks open that 
 house, but violates the awful sanctity of the deathbed itself, 
 drags out the minister of Christ from his work of mercy, 
 and leaves him a bloody corpse at your threshold. I say, 
 change places, gentlemen of the jury, and suppose in your 
 own imaginations that all those monstrous persecutions, all 
 those murderous and flagitious outrages, had been inflicted 
 upon yourselves, with others of an equally nefarious charac- 
 ter ; suppose all this, and you may easily do so, for you have 
 seen it all perpetrated in the name of God and the law, or, 
 to say the truth, in the hideous union of mammon and mur- 
 der ; suppose all this, and you will feel what such men as 
 he who stands in that dock deserves from humanity and 
 natural justice ; for, alas ! I cannot say, from the laws of 
 his country, under the protection of which, and in the name 
 of which, he and those who resemble him have deluged that 
 country with innocent blood, laid waste the cabin of the 
 widow and the orphan, and carried death and desolation 
 wherever they went. But, gentlemen, I shall stop here, as 
 I do not wish to inflict unnecessary pain upon you, even by 
 this mitigated view of atrocities which have taken place be- 
 fore your own eyes ; yet I cannot close this portion of my 
 address without referring to so large a number of our fellow- 
 Protestants with pride, as I am sure their Roman Catholic 
 friends do with gratitude. Who were those who, among the 
 Protestant party, threw the shield of their name and influ- 
 ence over their Catholic neighbors and friends ? Who, need 
 I ask ? The pious, the humane, the charitable, the liberal,
 
 WILLY REILLY. 375 
 
 the benevolent, and the enlightened. Those were they 
 who, overlooking the mere theological distinctions of par- 
 ticular doctrines, united in the great and universal creed of 
 charity, held by them as a common principle on which they 
 might meet and understand and love each other. And in- 
 deed, gentlemen of the jury, there cannot be a greater proof 
 of the oppressive spirit which animates this penal and inhu- 
 man code than the fact that so many of those, for whose 
 benefit it was enacted, resisted its influence, on behalf of 
 their Catholic fellow-subjects, as far as they could, and left 
 nothing undone to support the laws of humanity against 
 those of injustice and oppression. When the persecuted 
 Catholic could not invest his capital in the purchase of prop- 
 erty, the generous Protestant came forward, purchased the 
 property in his own name, became the bona fide proprietor, 
 and then transferred its use and advantages to his Catholic 
 friend. And again, under what roof did the hunted Catho- 
 lic priest first take refuge from those bloodhounds of perse- 
 cution ? In most cases under that of his charitable and Chris- 
 tian brother, the Protestant clergyman. Gentlemen, could 
 there be a bitterer libel upon the penal laws than the notori- 
 ous facts which I have the honor of stating to you ? 
 
 " The facts which have placed the prisoner at the bar be- 
 fore you are these, and in detailing them I feel myself placed 
 in circumstances of great difficulty, and also of peculiar deli- 
 cacy. The discharge, however, of a public duty, which 
 devolves upon me as leading law officer of the Crown, forces 
 me into a course which I cannot avoid, unless I should 
 shrink from promoting and accomplishing the ends of public 
 justice. In my position, and in the discharge of my solemn 
 duties here to-day, I can recognize no man's rank, no man's 
 wealth, nor the prestige of any man's name. So long as he 
 stands at that bar, charged with great and heinous crimes, I 
 feel it my duty to strip him of all the advantages of his birth 
 and rank, and consider him simply a mere subject of the 
 realm. 
 
 11 In order to show you, gentlemen of the jury, the animus 
 under which the prisoner at the bar acted, in the case before 
 us, I must go back a little — a period of some months. At 
 that time a highly respectable gentleman of an ancient and 
 honored family in this country was one evening on his way 
 home from this town, attended, as usual, by his servant.
 
 3/6 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 At a lonely place on a remote and antiquated road, which 
 they took as a shorter way, it so happened that, in conse- 
 quence of a sudden mist peculiar to those wild moors, they 
 lost their path, and found themselves in circumstances of 
 danger and distress. The servant, however, whistled, and 
 his whistle was answered ; a party of men, of freebooters, 
 of robbers, headed by a person called the Red Rapparee, 
 who has been convicted at these assizes, and who has been 
 the scourge of the country for years, came up to them, and 
 as the Rapparee had borne this respectable gentleman a 
 deadly and implacable enmity for some time past, he was 
 about to murder both master and man, and actually had his 
 musket levelled at him, as others of his gang had at his aged 
 servant, when a person, a gentleman named Reilly — [here 
 there was a loud cheer throughout the court, which, how- 
 ever, was soon repressed, and the Attorney-General pro- 
 ceeded] — this person started out from an old ruin, met the 
 robber face to face, and, in short, not only saved the lives 
 of the gentleman and his servant, but conducted them safely 
 home. This act of courage and humanity, by a Roman 
 Catholic to a Protestant, had such an effect upon the old 
 gentleman's daughter, a lady whose name has gone far and 
 wide for her many virtues and wonderful beauty, that an 
 attachment was formed between the young gentleman and 
 her. The prisoner at the bar, gentlemen, was a suitor for 
 her hand ; but as the young and amiable lady was ac- 
 quainted with his character as a priest-hunter and persecu- 
 tor, she, though herself a Protestant, could look upon him 
 only with abhorrence. At all events, after the rescue of her 
 father's life, and her acquaintance with Mr. Reilly, the pris- 
 oner at the bar was rejected with disdain, as he would have 
 been, it seems, if Reilly never had existed. Now, gentle- 
 men of the jury, observe that Reilly was a Catholic, which 
 was bad enough in the eyes of the prisoner at the bar ; but 
 he was more ; he was a rival, and were it not for the state of 
 the law, would, it appears, for there is no doubt of it now, 
 have been a successful one. From henceforth the prisoner 
 at the bar marked Mr. Reilly for vengeance, for destruc- 
 tion, for death. At this time he was in the full exercise of 
 irresponsible authority ; he could burn, hang, shoot, with- 
 out being called to account ; and as it will appear before 
 you, gentlemen, this consciousness of impunity stimulated
 
 WILLY REILLY. 3/7 
 
 him to the perpetration of such outrages as, in civil life, 
 and in a country free from civil war, are unparalleled in the 
 annals of crime and cruelty. 
 
 " But, gentlemen, what did this man do ? this man, so 
 anxious to preserve the peace of the country ; this man, the 
 terror of the surrounding districts ; what did he do, I ask ? 
 Why, he took the most notorious robber of his day, the 
 fierce and guilty Rapparee — he took him into his councils, 
 in order that he might enable him to trace the object of his 
 vengeance, Reilly, in the first place, and to lead him to the 
 hiding-places of such unfortunate Catholic priests as had 
 taken refuge in the caves and fastnesses of the mountains. 
 Instead of punishing this notorious malefactor, he took him 
 into his own house, made him, as he was proud to call 
 them, one of his pricstJiounds, and induced him to believe 
 that he had procured him a pardon from Government. 
 Reilly' s name he had, by his foul misrepresentations, got 
 into the Hue-and-Cry, and subsequently had him gazetted as 
 an outlaw ; and all this upon his own irresponsible author- 
 ity. I mention nothing, gentlemen, in connection with this 
 trial which we are not in a capacity to prove. 
 
 " Having forced Reilly into a variety of disguises, and 
 hunted him like a mad dog through the country ; having 
 searched every lurking-place in which he thought he might 
 find him, he at length resolved on the only course of ven- 
 geance he could pursue. He surrounded his habitation, and, 
 after searching for Reilly himself, he openly robbed him of 
 all that was valuable of that gentleman's furniture, then set 
 fire to the house, and in the clouds of the night reduced that 
 and every out-office he had to ashes — a capital felony. It 
 so happens, however, that the house and offices were, in 
 point of fact, not the property of Reilly at all, but of a 
 most respectable Protestant gentleman and magistrate, Mr. 
 Hastings, with whose admirable character I have no doubt 
 you are all acquainted ; and all that remains for me to say 
 is, that he is the prosecutor in this case. 
 
 " And now, gentlemen, we expect a calm, deliberate, and 
 unbiassed verdict from you. Look upon the prisoner at the 
 bar as an innocent man until you can, with a clear con- 
 science, find him guilty of the charges which we are in a 
 condition to prove against him ; but if there be any doubt 
 upon your minds, I hope you will give him the benefit of it."
 
 37 s WILLY REILLY. 
 
 Sir Robert Whitecraft, in fact, had no defence, and could 
 procure no witnesses to counteract the irresistible body of 
 evidence that was produced against him. Notwithstanding 
 all this, his friends calculated upon the prejudices of a Pro- 
 testant jury. His leading counsel made as able a speech in 
 his defence as could be made under the circumstances. It 
 consisted, however, of vague generalities, and dwelt upon 
 the state of the country and the necessity that existed for 
 men of great spirit and Protestant feeling to come out 
 boldly, and, by courage and energy, carry the laws that had 
 passed for the suppression of Popery into active and whole- 
 some operation. " Those laws were passed by the wisest 
 and ablest assembly of legislators in the world, and to what 
 purpose could legislative enactments for the preservation of 
 Protestant interests be passed if men of true faith and loy- 
 alty could not be found to carry them into effect. There 
 we're the laws ; the prisoner at the bar did not make those 
 laws, and if he was invested with authority to carry them 
 into operation, what did he do but discharge a wholesome 
 and important duty ? The country was admitted, on all 
 sides, to be in a disturbed state ; Popery was attempting for 
 years most insidiously to undermine the Protestant Church, 
 and to sap the foundation of all Protestant interests ; and 
 if, by a pardonable excess of zeal, of zeal in the right direc- 
 tion, and unconscious lapse in the discharge of what he 
 would call, those noble but fearful duties had occurred, was 
 it for those who had a sense of true liberty, and a manly 
 detestation of Romish intrigue at heart, to visit that upon 
 the head of a true and loyal man as a crime. Forbid it, the 
 spirit of the British Constitution — forbid it, heaven — forbid 
 it, Protestantism. No, gentleman of the jury," etc., etc. 
 
 We need not go further, because we have condensed in 
 the few sentences given the gist of all he said. 
 
 "W hen the case was closed, the jury retired to their room, 
 and as Sir Robert Whitecraft' s fate depends upon their ver- 
 dict, we will be kind enough to avail ourselves of the open 
 sesame of our poor imagination to introduce our readers in- 
 visibly into the jury-room. 
 
 "Now,'' said the foreman, ''what's to be done? Are 
 we to sacrifice a Protestant champion to Popery ?" 
 
 "To Popery! To the deuce," replied another. "It's 
 not Pjpery that is prosecuting him. Put down Popery by
 
 WILLY REILLY. 379 
 
 argument, by fair argument, but don't murder those that 
 profess it, in cold blood. As the Attorney-General said, let 
 us make it our own case, and if the Papishes treated us as 
 we have treated them, what would we say ? By jingo, I'll 
 hang that fellow. He's a Protestant champion, they say ; 
 but I say he's a Protestant bloodhound, and a cowardly ras- 
 cal to boot." 
 
 11 How is he a cowardly rascal, Bob ? Hasn't he proved 
 himself a brave man against the Papishes ? eh ?" 
 
 V A brave man ! deuce thank him for being a brave man 
 against poor devils that are allowed nothing stouter than a 
 horse-rod to defend themselves with — when he has a party 
 of well-armed bloodhounds at his back. He's the worst 
 landlord in Ireland, and, above all things, he's a tyrant to 
 his Protestant tenants, this champion of Protestantism. 
 Ay, and fierce as he is against Popery, there's not a Papish 
 tenant on his estate that he's not like a father to." 
 
 " And how the deuce do you know that ?" 
 
 11 Because I was head bailiff to him for ten years." 
 
 11 But doesn't all the world know that he hates the Pa- 
 pists, and would have them massacred if he could ?" 
 
 " And so he does — and so he would ; but it's all his cow- 
 ardice, because he's afraid that if he was harsh to his Popish 
 tenants some of them might shoot him from behind a hedge 
 some fine night, and give him a leaden bullet for his sup- 
 per." 
 
 " I know he's a coward," observed another, " because he 
 allowed himself to be horsewhipped by Major Bingham, and 
 didn't call him out for it." 
 
 " Oh, as to that," said another, " it was made up by their 
 friends ; but what's to be done ? All the evidence is 
 against him, and we are on our oaths to find a verdict ac- 
 cording to the evidence." 
 
 " Evidence be hanged," said another ; " I'll sit here till 
 doom's-day before I find him guilty. Are we, that are all 
 loyal Protestants, to bring out a varjuice to please the 
 Papishes ? Oh, no, faith ; but here's the thing, gentlemen ; 
 mark me j here now, I take off my shoes, and I'll ait them 
 before I find him guilty ;" and as he spoke he deliberately 
 slipped of his shoes, and placed them on the table, ready for 
 his tough and loyal repast. 
 
 11 By Gog," said another, " I'll hang him, in spite of
 
 3§j WILLY REILLY. 
 
 your teeth ; and, afther aiten your brogues, you may go bare- 
 footed if you like, /have brogues to ait as well as you, and 
 one of mine is as big as two of yours." 
 
 This was followed by a chorus of laughter, after which 
 they began to consider the case before them, like admirable 
 and well-reasoning jurors, as they were. Two hours passed 
 in wrangling and talking and recriminating, when, at last, 
 one of them, striking the table, exclaimed with an oath : 
 
 11 All Europe won't save the villain. Didn't he seduce 
 my sister's daughter, and then throw her and her child back, 
 with shame and disgrace, on the family, without support ?" 
 
 " Look at that," said the owner of the shoe, holding it 
 up triumphantly ; " that's my supper to-night, and my 
 argument in his defence. I say our Protestant champion 
 mustn't hang, at least until I starve first." 
 
 The other, who sat opposite to him, put his hand across 
 the table, and snatching the shoe, struck its owner between 
 the two eyes with it and knocked him back on the floor. A 
 scene of uproar took place, which lasted for some minutes, 
 but at length, by the influence of the foreman, matters were 
 brought to a somewhat amicable issue. In this way they 
 spent the time for a few hours more, when one of the usual 
 messengers came to know if they had agreed ; but he was 
 instantly dismissed to a very warm settlement, with the 
 assurance that they had not. 
 
 11 Come," said one of them, pulling out a pack of cards, 
 " let us amuse ourselves at any rate. Who's for a hand at 
 the Spoil Five?" 
 
 The cards were looked upon as a godsend, and in a few 
 moments one half the jury were busily engaged at that in- 
 teresting game. The other portion of them amused them- 
 selves, in the meantime, as well as they could. 
 
 " Tom," said one of them, " were you ever on a special 
 jury in a revenue case ?" 
 
 " No," replied Tom, " never. Is there much fun ?" 
 
 11 The devil's own fun ; because if we find for the de- 
 fendant, he's sure to give us a splendid feed. But do you 
 know how we manage when we find that we can't agree ?" 
 
 " No. How is it ?" 
 
 " Why, you see, when the case is too clear against him, 
 and that to find for him would be too barefaced, we get 
 every man to mark down on a slip of paper the least amount
 
 WILLY REILLY. 381 
 
 of damages he is disposed to give against him ; when 
 they're all down, we tot them up, and divide by twelve — " * 
 
 " Silence," said another, " till we hear John Dickson's 
 song." 
 
 The said John Dickson was at the time indulging them 
 ivith a comic song, which was encored with roars of laugh- 
 ter. 
 
 " Hallo !" shouted one of those at the cards, " here's 
 Jack Brereton has prigged the ace of hearts." 
 
 " Oh, gentlemen," said Jack, who was a greater knave at 
 the cards than any in the pack, ' ' upon my honor, gentle- 
 men, you wrong me." 
 
 11 There — he has dropped it," said another ; " look under 
 the table." 
 
 The search was made, and up was lugged the redoubtable 
 ace of hearts from under one of Jack's feet, who had 
 hoped, by covering it, to escape detection. Detected, how- 
 ever, he was, and, as they all knew him well, the laughter 
 was loud accordingly, and none of them laughed louder 
 than Jack himself. 
 
 11 Jack," said another of them, " let us have a touch of 
 the legerdemain." 
 
 "Gentlemen, attention," said Jack. "Will any of you 
 lend me a halfpenny ?" 
 
 This was immediately supplied to him, and the first thing 
 he did was to stick it on his forehead — although there had 
 been brass enough there before— to which it appeared to 
 have been glued ; after a space he took it off and placed it 
 in the palm of his right hand, which he closed, and then, 
 extending both his hands, shut, asked those about him in 
 which hand it was. Of course they all said in the right ; 
 but, upon Jack's opening the said hand, there was no half- 
 penny there. 
 
 In this way they discussed a case of life or death, until 
 another knock came, which " knock" received the same an- 
 swer as before. 
 
 "Faith," said a powerful-looking farmer from near the 
 town of Boyle — the very picture of health, " if they don't 
 soon let us out I'll get sick. It's I that always does the 
 sickness for the jury when we're kept in too long." 
 
 * By no means an uncommon proceeding in revenue cases, even 
 at the present day.
 
 3S2 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 " Why, then, Billy Bradley," asked one of them, " how 
 could you, of all men living, sham sickness on a doctor .?" 
 
 "Because," said Billy, with a grin, "I'm beginning to 
 feel a divarsion of blood to the head, for want of a beef- 
 steak and a pot o' porther. My father and grandfather 
 both died of a divarsion of blood to the head." 
 
 " I rather think," observed another, " that they died by 
 taking their divarsion at the beefsteak and the pot of por- 
 ter." 
 
 11 No matther, " said Billy, " they died at all events, and 
 so will we all, plaise God." 
 
 " Come," said one of them, " there is Jack Brereton and 
 his cane — let us come to business. What do you say, Jack, 
 as to the prisoner ?" 
 
 Jack at the time* had the aforesaid cane between his legs, 
 over which he was bent like a bow, with the head of it in 
 his mouth. 
 
 " Are you all agreed ?" asked Jack. 
 
 " All for a verdict of guilty, with the exception of this 
 fellow and his shoes. 
 
 Jack Brereton was a handsome old fellow, with a red 
 face and a pair of watery eyes ; he was a little lame, and 
 hirpled as he walked, in consequence of a hip complaint, 
 which he got by a fall from a jaunting-car ; but he was now 
 steady enough, except the grog. 
 
 "Jack, what do you say?" asked the foreman; "it's 
 time to do something." 
 
 " Why, "replied Jack, " the scoundrel engaged me to put 
 down a pump for him, and I did it in such a manner as was 
 a credit to his establishment. To be sure, he wanted the 
 water to come whenever it was asked ; but I told him that 
 that wasn't my system ; that I didn't want to make a good 
 thing too cheap ; but that the water would come in genteel 
 time — that is to say, whenever they didn't want it ; and 
 faith the water bore me out." And here Jack laughed 
 heartily. " But no matter," proceeded Jack, " he's only a 
 bujeen ; sure it was his mother nursed me. Where's that 
 fellow that's going to eat his shoes ? Here, Xed Wilson, 
 you flaming Protestant, I have neither been a grand juror 
 nor a petty juror of the county of Sligo for nothing. Where 
 are you ? Take my cane, place it between your knees as 
 you saw me do, put your mouth down to the head of ir,
 
 WILLY RELLLY. 383 
 
 suck up with all your strength, and you'll find that God will 
 give you sense afterwards." 
 
 Wilson, who had taken such a fancy for eating his shoes, 
 in order to show his loyalty, was what is called a hard-goer, 
 and besides a great friend of Jack's. At all events, he fol- 
 lowed his advice — put the head of the huge cane into his 
 mouth, and drew up accordingly. The cane, in fact, was 
 hollow all through, and contained about three half-pints of 
 strong whiskey. There was some wrangling with the man 
 for a little time after this ; but at length he approached 
 Jack, and handing him the empty cane, said : 
 
 " What's your opinion, Jack ?" 
 
 "Why, we must hang him," replied Jack. "He de- 
 frauded me in the pump ; and I ask you did you ever put 
 your nose to a better pump than thatV * 
 
 " Give me your hand, Jack, we're agreed — he swings !" 
 
 At this moment an officer came to ask the same question, 
 when, in reply, the twelve jurymen came out, and, amidst 
 the most profound silence, the foreman handed down the 
 issue paper to the Clerk of the Crown. 
 
 11 Gentlemen," said that officer, after having cast his eye 
 over it, " have you agreed in your verdict ?" 
 
 " We have." 
 
 " Is the prisoner at the bar guilty, or not guilty ?" 
 
 11 Guilty !" 
 
 Let us pause here a moment, and reflect upon the precari- 
 ous tenure of life, as it is frequently affected by such scenes 
 as the above, in the administration of justice. Here was a 
 criminal of the deepest dye, shivering in the dock with the 
 natural apprehension of his fate, but supported, notwith- 
 standing, by the delay of the jury in coming to a verdict. 
 He argued reasonably enough, that in consequence of that 
 very delay he must necessarily have friends among them 
 who would hold out to the last. The state of suspense, 
 however, in which he was held must have been, and was, 
 dreadful. His lips and throat became parched by excite- 
 
 * We have been taken to task about this description of the jury- room ; 
 but we believe, and have good reason to believe, that every circum- 
 stance mentioned in it is a fact. Do our readers remember the his- 
 tory of Orr's trial, where three fourths of the jurors who convicted him 
 were drunk — a fact to which they themselves confirmed upon oath 
 afterwards ?
 
 3 3 4 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 mcnt, and he was obliged to drink three or four glasses of 
 water. Being unable to stand, he was accommodated with 
 a chair, on which, while he sat, the perspiration flowed from 
 his pallid face. Yet, with the exception of his own clique, 
 there was scarcely an individual present who did not hope 
 that this trial would put an end to his career of blood. Af- 
 ter all, there was something of the retributive justice of 
 Providence even in the conduct and feelings of the jury ; 
 for, in point of fact, it was more on account of his private 
 crimes and private infamy that they, however wrongly, 
 brought in their verdict. Here was he, encircled by their 
 knowledge of his own iniquities, apart from his public acts ; 
 and there, standing in that dock, from which he might have 
 gone out free, so far as regarded his political exploits, he 
 found, although he did not know it, the black weight of his 
 private vices fall upon his head in the shape of the verdict 
 just delivered. It would be impossible to describe his ap- 
 pearance on hearing it ; his head fell down upon his breast 
 listless, helpless, and with a character of despair that was 
 painful to contemplate. 
 
 When the verdict was handed down, the judge immedi- 
 ately put on the black-cap ; but Whitecraft's head was rest- 
 ing on his breast, and he did not for some time see it. At 
 length, stirred into something like life by the accents of the 
 judge, he raised his head with an effort. The latter ad- 
 dressed him as thus : 
 
 "Sir Robert Whitecraft, you have been convicted this 
 day by as enlightened a jury as ever sat in a jury-box. You 
 must be aware yourself, by the length of time, and conse- 
 quently the deep and serious investigation which they be- 
 stowed—and, it is evident, painfully bestowed— upon your 
 unhappy case, that your conviction is the deliberate result 
 of their conscientious opinion. It is obvious, as I said, 
 from the length of time occupied in the jury-room, that the 
 evidence in your case was sifted closely, and canvassed with 
 the ability and experience of able and honest men. In the 
 verdict they have returned the Court perfectly concurs ; and 
 it now only remains forme to pass upon you that awful sen- 
 tence of the law which is due to your cruel life and flagitious 
 crimes. Were you a man without education, nurtured in 
 ignorance, and the slave of its debasing consequences, some 
 shade of compassion might be felt for you on that account.
 
 WILLY REILLY. 385 
 
 But you cannot plead this ; you cannot plead poverty, or 
 that necessity which urges many a political adventurer to 
 come out as a tyrant and oppressor upon his fellow-subjects, 
 under the shield of the law, and in the corrupt expectation 
 of reward or promotion. You were not only independent 
 in your own circumstances, but you possessed great wealth ; 
 and why you should shape yourself such an awful course of 
 crime can only be attributed to a heart naturally fond of 
 persecution and blood. I cannot, any more than the learned 
 Attorney-General, suffer the privileges of rank, wealth, or 
 position to sway me from the firm dictates of justice. You 
 imagined that the law would connive at you — and it did so 
 too long, but, believe me, the sooner or later it will abandon 
 the individual that has been provoking it, and, like a tiger 
 when goaded beyond patience, will turn and tear its victim 
 to pieces. It remains for me now to pronounce the awful 
 sentence of the law upon y ou ; but before I do so, let me 
 entreat you to turn your heart to that Being who will never 
 refuse mercy to a repentant sinner ; and I press this upon 
 you the more because you need not entertain the slightest 
 expectation of finding it in this world. In order, therefore, 
 that you may collect and compose your mind for the great 
 event that is before you, I will allow you four days, in order 
 that you may make a Christian use of your time, and pre- 
 pare your spirit for a greater tribunal than this. The sen- 
 tence of the Court is that, on the fifth day after this, you be, 
 etc., etc., etc.; and may God have mercy on your soul !" 
 
 At first there was a dead silence in the Court, and a por- 
 tion of the audience was taken completely by surprise on 
 hearing both the verdict and the sentence. At length a 
 deep, condensed murmur, which rose by degrees into a yell 
 of execration, burst forth from his friends, whilst, on the 
 other hand, a peal of cheers and acclamations rang so loudly 
 through the court that they completely drowned the indig- 
 nant vociferations of the others. In the meantime silence 
 was restored, and it was found that the convict had been 
 removed during the confusion to one of the condemned 
 cells. "What now were his friends to do ? AYas it possible 
 to take any steps by which he might yet be saved from such 
 a disgraceful death ? Pressed as they were for time, they 
 came to the conclusion that the only chance existing in his 
 favor was for a deputation of as many of the leading Pro-
 
 3§6 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 testants of the county, as could be prevailed upon to join in 
 the measure, to proceed to Dublin without delay. Imme- 
 diately, therefore, after the trial, a meeting of the baronet's 
 friends was held in the head inn of Sligo, where the matter 
 was earnestly discussed. Whitecraft had been a man of pri- 
 vate and solitary enjoyments — in social and domestic life, as 
 cold, selfish, inhospitable, and repulsive as he was cruel 
 and unscrupulous in his public career. The consequence 
 was that he had few personal friends of either rank or influ- 
 ence, and if the matter had rested upon his own personal 
 character and merits alone, he would have been left, with- 
 out an effort, to the fate which had that day been pro- 
 nounced upon him. The consideration of the matter, how- 
 ever, was not confined to himself as an individual, but to 
 the Protestant party at large, and his conviction was looked 
 upon as a Popish triumph. On this account many persons 
 of rank and influence, who would not otherwise have taken 
 any interest in his fate, came forward for the purpose, if 
 possible, of defeating the Popish party — who, by the way, 
 had nothing whatsoever to do in promoting his conviction 
 — and of preventing the stigma and deep disgrace which his 
 execution would attach to their own. A very respectable 
 deputation was consequently formed, and in the course of 
 the next day proceeded to Dublin, to urge their claims in 
 his favor with the Lord Lieutenant. This nobleman, though 
 apparently favorable to the Catholic people, was neverthe- 
 less personally and secretly a bitter enemy to them. The 
 state policy which he was instructed and called upon to ex- 
 ercise in their favor differed toto ccelo from his own impres- 
 sions. He spoke to them, however, sweetly and softly, 
 praised them for their forbearance, and made large promises 
 in their favor, whilst, at the same time, he entertained no 
 intention of complying with their request. 
 
 The deputation, on arriving at the castle, ascertained, to 
 their mortification, that the viceroy would not be at home 
 until the following day, having spent the last week with a 
 nobleman in the neighborhood ; they were consequently 
 obliged to await his arrival. After his return they were ad- 
 mitted to an audience, in which they stated their object in 
 waiting upon him, and urged with great earnestness the 
 necessity of arresting the fate of such a distinguished Protes- 
 tant as Sir Robert Whitecraft ; after which they entered into
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 387 
 
 a long statement of the necessity that existed for such active 
 and energetic men in the then peculiar and dangerous state 
 of the country. 
 
 To all this, however, he replied with great suavity, assur- 
 ing them that no man felt more anxious to promote Protest- 
 ant interests than he did, and added that the relaxation of 
 the laws against the Catholics was not so much the result of 
 his own personal policy or feeling as the consequence of 
 the instructions he had received from the English Cabinet. 
 He would be very glad to comply with the wishes of the 
 deputation if he could, but at present it was impossible. 
 This man's conduct was indefensible ; for, not content in 
 carrying out the laws against the Catholics with unnecessary 
 rigor, he committed a monstrous outrage against a French 
 subject of distinction, in consequence of which the French 
 Court, through their Ambassador in London, insisted upon 
 his punishment. 
 
 " Very well, my lord," replied the spokesman of the depu- 
 tation, " I beg to assure you, that if a hair of this man's 
 head is injured there will be a massacre of the Popish popu- 
 lation before two months ; and I beg also to let you know, 
 for the satisfaction of the English Cabinet, that they may 
 embroil themselves with France, or get into whatever politi- 
 cal embarrassment they please, but an Irish Protestant will 
 never hoist a musket, or draw a sword, in their defence. 
 Gentlemen, let us bid his Excellency a good-morning." 
 
 This was startling language, as the effect proved, for it 
 startled the viceroy into a compliance with their wishes, 
 and they went home post-haste, in order that the pardon 
 might arrive in time. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 RUMOR OF COOLEEN BAWN's TREACHERY — HOW IT AP- 
 PEARS — REILLY STANDS HIS TRIAL — CONCLUSION. 
 
 LIFE, they say, is a life of trials, and so may it be said 
 of this tale — at least of the conclusion of it ; for we 
 feel that it devolves upon us once more to solicit the pres-
 
 383 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 ence of our readers to the same prison in which the Red 
 Rapparee and Sir Robert Whitecraft received their sentence 
 of doom. 
 
 As it is impossible to close the mouth or to silence the 
 tongue of fame, so we may assure our readers, as we have 
 before, that the history of the loves of those two celebrated 
 individuals, to wit, Willy Reilly and the far-famed Cooleen 
 Bawn, had given an interest to the coming trial such as was 
 never known within the memory of man, at that period, nor 
 perhaps equalled since. The Red Rapparee, Sir Robert 
 W hitecraft, and all the other celebrated villains of that time, 
 have nearly perished out of tradition itself, whilst those of 
 our hero and heroine are still fresh in the feelings of the 
 Connaught and Northern peasantry, at whose hearths, dur- 
 ing the winter evenings, the rude but fine old ballad that 
 commemorated that love is still sung with sympathy, and 
 sometimes, as we can testify, with tears. This is fame. 
 One circumstance, however, which deepened the interest felt 
 by the people, told powerfully against the consistency of the 
 Cooleen Bawn, which was, that she had resolved to come 
 forward that day to bear evidence against her lover. Such 
 was the general impression received from her father, and the 
 attorney Doldrum, who conducted the trial against Reilly, 
 although our readers are well aware that on this point they 
 spoke without authority. The governor of the prison, on 
 going that morning to conduct him to the bar, said : 
 
 "lam sorry, Mr. Reilly, to be the bearer of bad news ; 
 but as the knowledge of it may be serviceable to you or your 
 lawyers, I think I ought to mention it to you." 
 
 11 Pray, what is it ?" asked Reilly. 
 
 1 ' Why, sir, it is said to be a fact that the Cooleen Bawn 
 has proved false and treacherous, and is coming this day to 
 bear her testimony against you." 
 
 Reilly replied, with a smile of confidence, which the dark- 
 ness of the room prevented the other from seeing, " Well, 
 Mr. O'Shaughnessy, even if she does, it cannot be helped ; 
 have you heard what the nature of her evidence is likely to 
 be?" 
 
 " No ; it seems her father and Doldrum the attorney 
 asked her, and she would not tell them ; but she said she had 
 made her mind up to attend the trial and see justice done. 
 Don't be cast down, Mr. Reilly, though, upon my soul, I
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 389 
 
 think she ought to have stood it out in your favor to the 
 last." 
 
 " Come," said Reilly, "I am ready ; time will tell, Mr. 
 O'Shaughnessy, and a short time too ; a few hours now, and 
 all will know the result." 
 
 11 I hope in God it may be in your favor, Mr. Reilly." 
 
 " Thank you, O'Shaughnessy ; lead on ; I am ready to 
 attend you." 
 
 The jail was crowded even to suffocation ; but this was 
 not all. The street opposite the jail was nearly as much 
 crowded as the jail itself,, a moving, a crushing mass of 
 thousands having been collected to abide and hear the issue. 
 It was with great difficulty, and not without the aid of a 
 strong military force, that a way could be cleared for the 
 judge as he approached the prison. The crowd was silent 
 and passive, but in consequence of the report that the Coo- 
 ken Baum was to appear against Reilly, a profound melan- 
 choly and an expression of deep sorrow seemed to brood 
 over it. Immediately after the judge's carriage came that 
 of the squire, who was accompanied by his daughter, Mrs. 
 Brown, and Mrs. Hastings, for Helen had insisted that her 
 father should procure their attendance. A private room in 
 the prison had, by previous arrangement, been prepared for 
 them, and to this they were conducted by a back way, so as 
 to avoid the crushing of the crowd. It was by this way 
 also that the judge and lawyers entered the body of the 
 court-house, without passing through the congregated mass. 
 
 At length the judge, having robed himself, took his seat 
 on the bench, and, on casting his eye over the court-house, 
 was astonished at the dense multitude that stood before him. 
 On looking at the galleries, he saw that they were crowded 
 with ladies of rank and fashion. Every thing having been 
 now ready, the lawyers, each with his brief before him, and 
 each with a calm, but serious and meditative aspect, the 
 Clerk of the Crown cried out, in a voice which the hum 
 of the crowd rendered necessarily loud : 
 
 11 Mr. Jalier, put William Reilly to the bar." 
 
 At that moment a stir, a murmur, especially among the 
 ladies in the gallery, and a turning of faces in the direction 
 of the bar, took place as Reilly came forward, and stood 
 erect in front of the judge. The very moment he made his 
 appearance all eyes were fastened on him, and whatever the
 
 390 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 prejudices may have been against the Coolecn Bawn for fall- 
 ing in love with a Papist, that moment of his appearance 
 absolved her from all — from every thing. A more noble or 
 majestic figure never stood at that or any other bar. In the 
 very prime of manhood, scarcely out of youth, with a figure 
 like that of Antinous, tall, muscular, yet elegant, brown hair 
 of the richest shade, a lofty forehead, features of the most 
 manly cast, but exquisitely formed, and eyes which, but for 
 the mellow softness of their expression, an eagle might have 
 envied for their transparent brilliancy. The fame of his 
 love for the Coolecn Bawn had come before him. The judge 
 surveyed him with deep interest ; so did every eye that could 
 catch a view of his countenance ; but, above all, were those 
 in the gallery riveted upon him with a degree of interest — 
 and, now that they had seen him, of sympathy — which we 
 shall not attempt to describe. Some of them were so deeply 
 affected that they could not suppress their tears, which, by 
 the aid of their handkerchiefs, they endeavored to conceal as 
 well as they could. Government, in this case, as it was not 
 one of political interest, did not prosecute. A powerful bar 
 was retained against Reilly, but an equally powerful one was 
 engaged for him, the leading lawyer being, as we have 
 stated, the celebrated advocate Fox, the Curran of his day. 
 
 The charge against him consisted of only two counts — that 
 of robbing Squire Folliard of family jewels of immense 
 value, and that of running away with his daughter, a ward 
 of Chancery, contrary to her consent and inclination, and to 
 the laws in that case made and provided. 
 
 The first witness produced was the sheriff — and, indeed, 
 to state the truth, a very reluctant one was that humane 
 gentleman on the occasion. Having been sworn, the lead- 
 ing counsel proceeded : 
 
 " You are the sheriff of this county ?" 
 
 " I am." 
 
 " Are you aware that jewellery to a large amount was 
 stolen recently from Mr. Folliard ?" 
 
 "lam not." 
 
 " You are not ? Now, is it not a fact, of which you were 
 an eye-witness, that the jewellery in question was found 
 upon the person of the prisoner at the bar, in Mr. Folliard' s 
 house ?" 
 
 11 I must confess that I saw him about to be searched,
 
 WILLY REILLY. 391 
 
 and that a very valuable case of jewellery was found upon his 
 person." 
 
 " Yes, found upon his person — a very valuable case of 
 jewellery, the property of Mr. Folliard, found upon his per- 
 son ; m?rk that, gentlemen of the jury." 
 
 " Pardon me," said the sheriff, " I saw jewellery found 
 upon him ; but I cannot say en my oath whether it be- 
 longed to Mr. Folliard or not ; all I can say is, that Mr. 
 Folliard claimed the jewels as his." 
 
 " As his — just so. Nobody had a better right to claim 
 them than the person to whom they belonged. What took 
 place on the occasion ?" 
 
 11 Why, Mr. Folliard, as I said, claimed them, and Mr. 
 Reilly refused to give them up to him." 
 
 " You hear that, gentlemen — refused to surrender him the 
 property of which he had robbed him, even in his own 
 house." 
 
 " And when you searched the prisoner ?" 
 
 " We didn't search him ; he refused to submit to a 
 search." 
 
 " Refused to submit to a search ! No wonder, I think ! 
 But, at the time he refused to submit to a search, had he the 
 jewellery upon his person ?" 
 
 " He had." 
 
 " He had ? You hear that, gentlemen — at the time he 
 refused to be searched he had the jewellery upon his person. ' ' 
 
 The sheriff was then cross-examined by Fox, to the fol- 
 lowing effect : 
 
 " Mr. Sheriff, have you been acquainted, or are you ac- 
 quainted, with the prisoner at the bar ?" 
 
 11 Yes ; I have known him for about three years — almost 
 ever since he settled in this county." 
 
 " What is your opinion of him ?" 
 
 " My opinion of him is very high." 
 
 " Yes — your opinion of him is very high," with a signifi- 
 cant glance at the jury — " I believe it is, and I believe it 
 ought to be. Now, upon your oath, do you believe that 
 the prisoner at the bar is capable of the theft or robbery im- 
 puted to him ? " 
 
 " I do not." 
 
 11 You do not ? What did he say when the jewels were 
 found upon him ?"
 
 392 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 11 He refused to surrender them to Mr. Folliard as hav- 
 ing no legal claim upon them, and refused, at first, to place 
 them in any hands but Miss Folliard's own ; but, on under- 
 standing that she was not in a state to receive them from 
 him, he placed them in mine. ' ' 
 
 " Then he considered that they were Miss Folliard's per- 
 sonal property, and not her father's ?" 
 
 11 So it seemed to me from what he said at the time." 
 
 " That will do, sir ; you may go down." 
 
 11 Alexander Folliard !" and the father then made his ap- 
 pearance on the table ; he looked about him, with a restless 
 eye, and appeared in a state of great agitation, but it was 
 the agitation of an enraged and revengeful man. He turned 
 his eyes upon Reilly, and exclaimed with bitterness : 
 " There you are, Willy Reilly, who have stained the repu- 
 tation of my child, and disgraced her family." 
 
 " Mr. Folliard," said his lawyer, " you have had in your 
 possession very valuable family jewels." 
 
 " I had." 
 
 " Whose property were they ?" 
 
 11 W T hy, mine, I should think." 
 
 " Could you identify them ?" 
 
 " Certainly I could." 
 
 " Are these the jewels in question ?" 
 
 The old man put on his spectacles, and examined them 
 closely. 
 
 " They are ; I know every one of them." 
 
 " They were stolen from you ?" 
 
 " They were." 
 
 " On whose person, after having been stolen, were thev 
 found?" 
 
 " On the person of the prisoner at the bar." 
 
 " You swear that ?" 
 
 " I do ; because I saw him take them out of his pocket in 
 my own house after he had been made prisoner and de- 
 tected." 
 
 " Then they are your property ?" 
 
 " Certainly — I consider them my property ; who else's 
 property could they be." 
 
 " Pray, is not your daughter a minor ?" 
 
 " She is." 
 
 11 And a ward in the Court of Chancery ?"
 
 WILLY REILLY. 393 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " That will do, sir." 
 
 The squire was then about to leave the table, when Mr. 
 Fox addressed him : 
 
 11 Not yet, Mr. Folliard, if you please ; you swear the 
 jewels are yours ?" 
 
 11 I do ; to whom else should they belong ?" 
 
 " Are you of opinion that the prisoner at the bar robbed 
 you of them ?' ' 
 
 " I found them in his possession." 
 
 11 And you now identify them as the same jewels which 
 you found in his possession ?" 
 
 " Hang it, haven't I said so before ?" 
 
 " Pray, Mr. Folliard, keep your temper, if' you please, 
 and answer me civilly and as a gentleman. Suffer me to ask 
 you are there any other family jewels in your possession ?" 
 
 " Yes, the Folliard jewels." 
 
 " The Folliard jewels ! And how do they differ in de- 
 nomination from those found upon the prisoner ?" 
 
 " Those found upon the prisoner are called the Bingham 
 jewels, from the fact of my wife, who was a Bingham, hav- 
 ing brought them into our family." 
 
 11 And pray, did not your wife always consider those 
 jewels as her own private property ?" 
 
 M Why, I believe she did." 
 
 11 And did she not, at her death -bed, bequeath those very 
 jewels to her daughter, the present Miss Folliard, on the 
 condition that she too should consider them as her private 
 property ?" 
 
 " Why, I believe she did ; indeed, I am sure of it, be- 
 cause I was present at the time." 
 
 11 In what part of the house were those jewels deposited ?" 
 
 "Ina large oak cabinet that stands in a recess in my 
 library." 
 
 11 Did you keep what you call the Folliard jewels there ?" 
 
 11 Yes, all our jewellery was kept there." 
 
 11 But there was no portion of the Folliard jewellery 
 touched ?" 
 
 11 No ; but the Bingham sets were all taken, and all found 
 upon the prisoner." 
 
 " What was your opinion of the prisoner's circumstances ?" 
 
 11 I could form no opinion about them."
 
 394 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 " Had he not the reputation of being an independent 
 man ?" 
 
 " I believe such was the impression." 
 
 " In what style of life did he live ?" 
 
 11 Certainly in the style of a gentleman." 
 
 11 Do you think, then, that necessity was likely to tempt 
 a man of independence like him to steal your daughter's 
 jewels ?" 
 
 11 I'd advise you, Sergeant Fox, not to put me out of 
 temper ; I haven't much to spare just now. What the 
 deuce are you at ?" 
 
 11 Will you answer my question ?" 
 
 11 No, I don't think it was." 
 
 " If the Bingham jewellery had been stolen by a thief, do 
 you think that thief would have left the Folliard jewellery 
 behind him ?" 
 
 " I'll take my oath you wouldn't, if you had been in the 
 place of the person that took them. You'd have put the 
 Bingham jewellery in one pocket, and balanced it with the 
 Folliard in the other. But," he added, after a slight pause, 
 " the villain stole from me a jewel more valuable and dearer 
 to her father's heart than all the jewellery of the universal 
 world put together. He stole my child, my only child," 
 and as he spoke the tears ran slowly down his cheeks. The 
 court and spectators were touched by this, and Fox felt that 
 it was a point against them. Even he himself was touched, 
 and saw that, with respect to Reilly's safety, the sooner he 
 got rid of the old man, for the present at least, the better. 
 
 " Mr. Folliard," said he, " you may withdraw now. 
 Your daughter loved, as what woman has not ? There 
 stands the object of her affections, and I appeal to your own 
 feelings whether any living woman could be blamed for lov- 
 ing such a man. You may go down, sir, for the present." 
 
 The prosecuting counsel then said : " My lord, we pro- 
 duce Miss Folliard herself to bear testimony against this 
 man. Crier, let Helen Folliard be called." 
 
 Now was the moment of intense and incredible interest. 
 There was the far-famed beauty herself, to appear against 
 her manly lover. The stir in the court, the expectation, 
 the anxiety to see her, the stretching of necks, the pressure 
 of one over another, the fervor of curiosity, was such as the 
 reader rmy possibly conceive, but such certainly as we can-
 
 WILLY REILLY. 395 
 
 not attempt to describe. She advanced from a side door, 
 deeply veiled ; but the tall and majestic elegance of her fig- 
 tire not only struck all hearts with admiration, but prepared 
 them for the inexpressible beauty with which the whole 
 kingdom rang. She was assisted to the table, and helped 
 into the witness's chair by her father, who seemed to tri- 
 umph in her appearance there. On taking her seat, the 
 buzz and murmur of the spectators became hushed into a 
 silence like that of death, and, until she spoke, a feather 
 might have been heard falling in the court. 
 
 11 Miss Folliard," said the judge, in a most respectful 
 voice, " you are deeply veiled — but perhaps you are not 
 aware that, in order to give evidence in a court of justice, 
 your veil should be up ; will you have the goodness to raise 
 it?" 
 
 Deliberately and slowly she raised it, as the court had 
 desired her — but, oh ! what an effulgence of beauty, what 
 wonderful brilliancy, what symmetry, what radiance, what 
 tenderness, what expression ! 
 
 But we feel that to attempt the description cf that face, 
 which almost had divinity stamped upon it, is beyond all 
 our powers. The whole court, every spectator, man and 
 woman, all for a time were mute, whilst their hearts drank 
 in the delicious draught of admiration which such beauty 
 created. After having raised her veil, she looked around 
 the court with a kind of wonder, after which her eyes rested 
 on Reilly, and immediately her lids dropped, for she feared 
 that she had done wrong in looking upon him. This made 
 many of those hearts who were interested in his fate sink, 
 and wonder why such treachery should be associated with 
 features that breathed only of angelic goodness and hu- 
 manity. 
 
 11 Miss Folliard," said the leading counsel engaged 
 against Reilly, "I am happy to hear that you regret some 
 past occurrences that took place with respect to you and 
 the prisoner at the bar ?" 
 
 11 Yes," she replied, in a voice that was melody itself, " I 
 do regret them." 
 
 Fox kept his eye fixed upon her, after which he whispered 
 something to one or two of his brother lawyers ; they shook 
 their heads, and immediately set themselves to hear and 
 note her examination.
 
 39 6 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 " Miss Folliard, you are aware of the charges which have 
 placed the prisoner at the bar of justice and his country ?" 
 
 11 Not exactly ; I have heard little of it beyond the fact 
 of his incarceration." 
 
 11 He stands there charged with two very heinous crimes 
 — one of them, the theft or robbery of a valuable packet of 
 jewels, your father's property." 
 
 "Oh, no," she replied, "they are my own exclusive 
 property — -not my father's. They were the property of my 
 dear mother, who, on her death-bed, bequeathed them to 
 me, in the presence of my father himself ; and I always con- 
 sidered them as mine. ' ' 
 
 11 But they were found upon the person of the prisoner ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ; but that is very easily explained. It is no 
 secret now, that, in order to avoid a marriage which my 
 father was forcing on me with Sir Robert Whitecraft, I 
 chose the less evil, and committed myself to the honor of 
 Mr. Reilly. If I had not done so I should have committed 
 suicide, I think, rather than marry Whitecraft — a man so 
 utterly devoid of principle and delicacy that he sent an 
 abandoned female into my father's house in the capacity of 
 my maid and also as a spy upon my conduct." 
 
 This astounding fact created an immense sensation 
 throughout the court, and the lawyer who was examining 
 her began to feel that her object in coming there was to give 
 evidence in favor of Reilly, and not against him. He deter- 
 mined, however, to try her a little farther, and proceeded : 
 
 " But, Miss Folliard, how do you account for the fact of 
 the Bingham jewels being found upon the person of the 
 pihoner ?" 
 
 " It is the simplest thing in the world," she replied. " I 
 brought my own jewels with me, and finding, as we pro- 
 ceeded, that I was likely to lose them, having no pocket 
 sufficiently safe in which to carry them, I asked Reilly to 
 take charge of them, which he did. Our unexpected cap- 
 ture, and the consequent agitation, prevented him from 
 returning them to me, and they were accordingly found 
 upon his person ; but, as for stealing them, he is just as 
 guilty as his lordship on the bench." 
 
 " Miss Folliard," proceeded the lawyer, " you have taken 
 us by surprise to-day. How does it happen that you volun- 
 teered your evidence against the prisoner, and, now that
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 397 
 
 you have come forward, every word you utter is in his 
 favor ? Your mind must have recently changed — a fact which 
 takes very much away from the force of that evidence." 
 
 " I pray you, sir, to understand me, and not suffer your- 
 self to be misled. I never stated that I was about to come 
 here to give evidence against Mr. Reilly ; but I said, when 
 strongly pressed to come, that I would come, and see justice 
 done. Had they asked me my meaning, I would have in- 
 stantly told them ; because, I trust, I am incapable of false- 
 hood ; and I will say now, that if my life could obtain that 
 of William Reilly, I would lay it willingly down for him, as 
 I am certain he would lay down his for the preservation of 
 mine." 
 
 There was a pause here, and a murmur of approbation ran 
 through the court. The opposing counsel, too, found that 
 they had been led astray, and that to examine her any fur- 
 ther would be only a weakening of their own cause. They 
 attached, however, no blame of insincerity to her, but visit- 
 ed with much bitterness the unexpected capsize which they 
 had got, on the stupid head of Doldrum, their attorney. 
 They consequently determined to ask her no more ques- 
 tions, and she was about to withdraw, when Fox rose up, 
 and said : 
 
 " Miss Folliard, I am counsel for the prisoner at the bar, 
 and I trust you will answer me a few questions. I perceive, 
 madam, that you are fatigued of this scene ; but the ques- 
 tions I shall put to you will be few and brief. An attach- 
 ment has existed for some time between you and the pris- 
 oner at the bar ? You need not be ashamed, madam, to 
 reply to it." 
 
 "I am not ashamed," she replied proudly, "and it is 
 true." 
 
 11 Was your father aware of that attachment at any time ?" 
 
 " He was, from a very early period." 
 
 " Pray, how did he discover it ?" 
 
 11 I myself told him of my love for Reilly." 
 
 " Did your father give his consent to that attachment ?" 
 
 " Conditionally he did." 
 
 " And pray, Miss Folliard, what were the conditions ?" 
 
 11 That Reilly should abjure his creed, and then no fur- 
 ther obstacles should stand in the way of our union, he 
 said."
 
 398 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 " Was ever that proposal mentioned to Reilly ?" 
 
 "Yes, I mentioned it to him myself; but, well as he 
 loved me, he would suffer to go into an early grave, he said, 
 sooner than abandon his religion ; and I loved him a thou- 
 sand times better for his noble adherence to it." 
 
 " Did he not save your father s life V* 
 
 1 ' He did, and the life of a faithful and attached old ser- 
 vant at the same time. 
 
 " Now, although this fact was generally known, yet the 
 statement of it here occasioned a strong expression of indig- 
 nation against the man who could come forward and prosecute 
 the individual, to whose courage and gallantry he stood in- 
 debted for his escape from murder. The uncertainty of 
 Folliard's character, however, was so well known, and his 
 whimsical changes of opinion such a matter of proverb 
 among the people, that many persons said to each other : 
 
 " The cracked old squire is in one of his tantrums now ; 
 he'll be a proud man if he can convict Reilly to-day ; and 
 perhaps to-morrow, or in a month hence, he'll be cursing 
 himself for what he did — for that's his way." 
 
 "Well, Miss Folliard," said Fox, "we will not detain 
 you any longer ; this to you must be a painful scene ; you 
 may retire, madam." 
 
 She did not immediately withdraw, but taking a green silk 
 purse out of her bosom, she opened it, and, after inserting 
 her long, white, taper fingers into it, she brought out a valu- 
 able emerald ring, and placing it in the hands of the crier, 
 she said : 
 
 " Give that ring to the prisoner : I know not, William, ' ' she 
 added, " whether I shall ever see you again or not. It may 
 so happen that this is the last time my eyes can ever rest 
 upon 'you with love and sorrow." Here a few bright tears 
 ran down her lovely cheeks. " If you should be sent to a 
 far-off land, wear this for the sake of her who appreciated 
 your virtues, your noble spirit, and your pure and disinter- 
 ested love ; look upon it when, perhaps, the Atlantic may 
 roll between us, and when you do, think of your Cooleen 
 Bawn, and the love she bore you ; but if a still unhappier 
 fate should be yours, let it be placed with you in your grave, 
 and next that heart, that noble heart, that refused to sacri- 
 fice your honor and your religion even to your love for me. 
 I will now go."
 
 T1IK TRIAL.
 
 WILLY REILLY. 399 
 
 There is nothing so brave and fearless as innocence. 
 Her youth, the majesty of her beauty, and the pathos of her 
 expressions, absolutely flooded the court with tears. The 
 judge wept, and hardened old barristers, with hearts like the 
 nether millstone, were forced to put their handkerchiefs to 
 their eyes ; but as they felt that it might be detrimental to 
 their professional characters to be caught weeping, they 
 shaded off the pathos under the hypocritical pretence of 
 blowing their noses. The sobs from the ladies in the gal- 
 lery were loud and vehement, and Reilly himself was so 
 deeply moved that he felt obliged to put his face upon his 
 hands, as he bent over the bar, in order to conceal his emo- 
 tion. He received the ring with moist eyes, kissed it, and 
 placed it in a small locket which he put in his bosom. 
 " Now," said the Coolcen Bawn, " I am ready to go." 
 She was then conducted to the room to which we have 
 alluded, where she met Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Hastings, 
 both of whom she found in tears — for they had been in the 
 gallery, and witnessed all that had happened. They both 
 embraced her tenderly, and attempted to console her as well 
 as they could ; but a weight like death, she said, pressed 
 upon her heart, and she begged them not to distract her by 
 their sympathy, kind and generous as she felt it to be, but 
 to allow her to sit, and nurture her own thoughts until she 
 could hear the verdict of the jury. Mrs. Hastings returned 
 to the gallery, and arrived there in time to hear the touching 
 and brilliant speech of Fox, which we are not presumptuous 
 enough to imagine, much less to stultify ourselves by attempt- 
 ing to give. He dashed the charge of Reilly's theft of the 
 jewels to pieces — not a difficult task, after the evidence that 
 had been given ; and then dwelt upon the loves of this cele- 
 brated pair with such force and eloquence and pathos that 
 the court was once more melted into tears. The closing 
 speech by the leading counsel against Reilly was bitter ; 
 but the gist of it turned upon the fact of his having eloped 
 with a ward of Chancery, contrary to law ; and he informed 
 the jury that no affection — no consent upon the part of any 
 young lady under age was either a justification of, or a pro- 
 tection against, such an abduction as that of which Reilly 
 had been guilty. The state of the law at the present time, 
 he assured them, rendered it a felony to marry a Catholic
 
 400 WILL Y REILL Y. 
 
 and a Protestant together ; and he then left the case in the 
 hands, he said, of an honest Protestant jury. 
 
 The judge's charge was brief. He told the jury that they 
 could not convict the prisoner on the imputed felony of the 
 jewels ; but that the proof of his having taken away Miss 
 Folliard from her father's house, with — as the law stood — her 
 felonious abduction, for the purpose of inveigling her into 
 an unlawful marriage with himself, was the subject for their 
 consideration. Even had he been a Protestant, the law 
 could afford him no protection in the eye of the Court of 
 Chancery. 
 
 The jury retired ; but their absence from their box was 
 very brief. Unfortunately, their foreman was cursed with a 
 dreadful hesitation in his speech, and, as he entered, the 
 Clerk of the Crown said : 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, have you agreed in your verdict ?" 
 
 There was a solemn silence, during which nothing was 
 heard but a convulsive working about the chest and glottis 
 of the foreman, who at length said : 
 
 4 ' We — we — we — we have. ' ' 
 
 11 Is the prisoner at the bar guilty or not guilty ?" 
 
 Here the internal but obstructed machinery of the chest 
 and throat set to work again, and at last the foreman was 
 able to get out — " Guilty — " 
 
 Mrs. Hastings had heard enough, and too much ; and, as 
 the sentence was pronounced, she instantly withdrew ; but 
 how to convey the melancholy tidings to the Cooleen Bawn 
 she knew not. In the meantime the foreman, who had not 
 fully delivered himself of the verdict, added, after two or 
 three desperate hiccups — " on the second count." 
 
 This, if the foreman had not labored under such an extra- 
 ordinary hesitation, might have prevented much suffering, 
 and many years of unconscious calamity to one of the un- 
 happy parties of whom we are writing, inasmuch as the 
 felony of the jewels would have been death, whilst the 
 elopement with a ward of Chancery was only transportation. 
 
 When Mrs. Hastings entered the room where the Cooleen 
 Bawn was awaiting the verdict with a dreadful intensity of 
 feeling, the latter rose up, and, throwing her arms about her 
 neck, looked into her face, with an expression of eagerness 
 and wildness, which Mrs. Hastings thought might be best 
 allayed by knowing the worst, as the heart, in such circum-
 
 WILLY REILLY. 40* 
 
 stances, generally collects itself, and falls back upon its own 
 resources. 
 
 Well, Mrs. Hastings, well — the verdict 
 
 " Collect yourself, my child — be firm — be a woman. 
 Collect yourself — for you will require it. The verdict — 
 Guilty !" 
 
 The Cooleen Bawn did not faint — nor become weak — but 
 she put her fair white hand to her forehead — then looked 
 around the room, then upon Mrs. Brown, and lastly upon 
 Mrs. Hastings. They also looked upon her. God help 
 both her and them ! Yes, they looked upon her counte- 
 nance — that lovely countenance — and then into her eyes — ■ 
 those eyes ! But, alas ! where was their beauty now ? 
 Where their expression ? 
 
 11 Miss Folliard ! my darling Helen !" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Hastings, in tears — " great God, what is this, Mrs. Brown ? 
 Come here and look at her." 
 
 Mrs. Brown, on looking at her, whispered, in choking 
 accents, " Oh ! my God, the child's reason is overturned ; 
 what is there now in those once glorious eyes but vacancy ? 
 Oh, that I had never lived to see this awful day ! Helen, 
 the treasure, the delight of all who ever knew you, what is 
 wrong ? Oh, speak to us — recognize us — your own two 
 best friends — Helen — Helen ! speak to us." 
 
 She looked upon them certainly ; but it was with a dead 
 and vacant stare which wrung their hearts. 
 
 "Come," said she, "tell me where is William Reilly ? 
 Oh, bring me to William Reilly ; they have taken me from 
 him, and I know not where to find him." 
 
 The two kind-hearted ladies looked at one another, each 
 stupefied by the mystery of what they witnessed. 
 
 " Oh," said Mrs. Hastings, " her father must be instantly 
 sent for. Mrs. Brown, go to the lobby — there is an offi- 
 cer there — desire him to go to Mr. Folliard and say that — but 
 we had better not alarm him too much," she added, " say 
 that Miss Folliard wishes to see him immediately." 
 
 The judge, we may observe here, had not yet pronounced 
 sentence upon Reilly. The old man, who, under all possi- 
 ble circumstances, was so affectionately devoted and atten- 
 tive to his daughter, immediately proceeded to the room, in 
 a state of great triumph and exultation, exclaiming, 
 11 Guilty, guilty ; we have noosed him at last." He
 
 402 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 even snapped his fingers, and danced about for a time, until 
 rebuked by Mrs. Hastings. 
 
 11 Unhappy and miserable old man," she exclaimed, with 
 tears, " what have you done ? Look at the condition of 
 your only child, whom you have murdered. She is now a 
 maniac." 
 
 "What," he exclaimed, rushing to her, "what, what is 
 tins ? What do you mean ? Helen, my darling, my child 
 — my delight — what is wrong with you ? Recollect your- 
 self, my dearest treasure. Do you not know me, your own 
 father ? Oh, Helen, Helen ! for the love of God speak to 
 me ? Say you know me — call me father — rouse yourself — 
 recollect me — don't you know who I am ?" 
 
 There, however, was the frightfully vacant glance, but no 
 reply. 
 
 " Oh," she said, in a low, calm voice, " where is William 
 Reilly ? They have taken me from him, and I cannot find 
 him ; bring me to William Reilly." 
 
 11 Don't you know me, Helen ? don't you know your lov- 
 ing father ? Oh, speak to me, child of my heart ! speak but 
 one word as a proof that you know me." 
 
 She looked on him, but that look filled his heart with un- 
 utterable anguish ; he clasped her to that heart, he kissed 
 her lips, he strove to soothe and console her — but in vain. 
 There was the vacant but unsettled eye, from which the 
 bright expression of reason was gone ; but no recognition — 
 no spark of reflection or conscious thought — nothing but 
 the melancholy inquiry from those beautiful lips of — 
 " Where's William Reilly ? They have taken me from him 
 — and will not allow me to see him. Oh, bring me to Wil- 
 liam Reilly!" 
 
 11 Oh, wretched fate f" exclaimed her distracted father, 
 11 I am — I am a murderer, and faithful Connor was right — 
 Mrs. Brown — Mrs. Hastings — hear me, both — I was warned 
 of this, but I would not listen either to reason or remon- 
 strance, and now I am punished, as Connor predicted. 
 Great heaven, what a fate both for her and me — for her the 
 innocent, and for me the guilty !" 
 
 _ It is unnecessary to dwell upon the father's misery and 
 distraction ; but, from all our readers have learned of his 
 extraordinary tenderness and affection for that good and 
 lovely daughter, they may judge of what he suffered. He
 
 WILLY REILLY. 403 
 
 immediately ordered his carriage, and had barely time to 
 hear that Reilly had been sentenced to transportation for 
 seven years. His daughter was quite meek and tractable ; 
 she spoke not, nor could any ingenuity on their part extract 
 the slightest reply from her. Neither did she shed a single 
 tear, but the vacant light of her eyes had stamped a fatui- 
 tous expression on her features that was melancholy and 
 heartbreaking beyond all power of language to describe. 
 
 No other person had seen her since the bereavement of 
 her reason, except the officer who kept guard on the lobby, 
 and who, in the hurry and distraction of the moment, had 
 been dispatched by Mrs. Brown for a glass of cold water. 
 Her father's ravings, however, in the man's presence, added 
 to his own observation, and the distress of her female 
 friends were quite sufficient to satisfy him of the nature of 
 her complaint, and in less than half an hour it was through 
 the whole court-house, and the town besides, that the Coo- 
 leen Baw?i had gone mad on hearing the sentence that was 
 passed upon her lover. Her two friends accompanied her 
 home, and remained with her for the night. 
 
 Such was the melancholy conclusion of the trial of Willy 
 Reilly ; but even taking it at its worst, it involved a very 
 different fate from that of his vindictive rival, Whitecraft. 
 It appeared that that worthy gentleman and the Red Rap- 
 paree had been sentenced to die on the same day, and at the 
 same hour. It is true, Whitecraft was aware that a deputa- 
 tion had gone post-haste to Dublin Castle to solicit his par- 
 don, or at least some lenient commutation of punishment. 
 Still, it was feared that, owing to the dreadful state of the 
 roads, and the slow mode of travelling at that period, there 
 was a probability that the pardon might not arrive in time 
 to be available ; and indeed there was every reason to ap- 
 prehend as much. The day appointed for the execution of 
 the Red Rapparee and him arrived — nay, the very hour had 
 come ; but still there was hope among his friends. The 
 sheriff, a firm, but fair and reasonable man, waited beyond 
 the time named by the judge for his execution. At length 
 he felt the necessity of discharging his duty ; for, although 
 more than an hour beyond the appointed period had now 
 elapsed, yet this delay proceeded from no personal regard 
 he entertained for the felon, but from respect for many of 
 those who had interested themselves in his fate.
 
 40| WILL V REII.L Y. 
 
 After an unusual delay the sheriff felt himself called upon 
 to order both the Rapparee and the baronet for execution. 
 In waiting so long for a pardon, he felt that he had trans- 
 gressed his duty, and he accordingly ordered them out for 
 the last ceremony. The hardened Rapparee died sullen 
 and silent ; the only regret he expressed being that he could 
 not live to see his old friend turned off before him. 
 
 "Troth," replied the hangman, "only that the sheriff 
 has ordhered me to hang your first as bein' the betther man, 
 I would give you that same satisfaction ; but if you're not 
 in a very great hurry to the warm corner you're goin' to, 
 and if you will just take your time for a few minutes, I'll 
 engage to say you will soon have company. God speed 
 you, any way," he exclaimed as he turned him off ; " only 
 take your time, and wait for your neighbors. Now, Sir 
 Robert," said he, " turn about, they say, is fair play — it's 
 your turn now ; but you look unbecomin' upon it. Hould 
 up your head, man, and don't be cast down. You'll have 
 company where you're goin' ; for the Red Rapparee tould 
 me to tell you that he'd wait for you. Hallo ! — what's 
 that ?" he exclaimed as he cast his eye to the distance and 
 discovered a horseman riding for life, with a white handker- 
 chief, or flag of some kind, floating in the breeze. The ele- 
 vated position in which the executioner was placed enabled 
 him to see the signal before it could be perceived by the 
 crowd. " Come, Sir Robert," said he, " stand where I'll 
 place you — there's no use in asking you to hould up your 
 head, for you're not able ; but listen. You hanged my bro- 
 ther that you knew to be innocent ; and now I hang you 
 that I know to be guilty. Yes, I hang you, with the white 
 flag of the Lord Lieutenant's pardon for you wavin' in the 
 distance; and listen again, remember Willy Reilly ;" and 
 with these words he launched him into eternity. 
 
 The uproar among his friends was immense, as was the 
 cheering from the general crowd, at the just fate of this bad 
 man. The former rushed to the gallows, in order to cut 
 him down, with a hope that life might still be in him, a pro- 
 cess which the sheriff, after perusing his pardon, permitted 
 them to carry into effect. The body was accordingly taken 
 into the prison, and a surgeon procured to examine it ; but 
 altogether in vain ; his hour had gone by, life was extinct, 
 and all the honor they could now pay Sir Robert Whitecraft
 
 WILLY REILLY. 405 
 
 was to give him. a pompous funeral, and declare him a mar- 
 tyr to Popery — both of which they did. 
 
 On the day previous to Reilly's departure his humble 
 friend and namesake, Fergus, at the earnest solicitation of 
 Reilly himself, was permitted to pay him a last melancholy 
 visit. After his sentence, as well as before it, every atten- 
 tion had been paid to him by O'Shaughnessy, the jailer, 
 who, although an avowed Protestant, and a brand plucked 
 from the burning, was, nevertheless, a lurking Cathoilc at 
 heart, and felt a corresponding sympathy with his prisoner. 
 When Fergus entered his cell he found him neither fettered 
 nor manacled, but perfectly in the enjoyment at least of 
 bodily freedom. It is impossible, indeed, to say how far 
 the influence of money may have gone in securing him the 
 comforts which surrounded him, and the attentions which 
 he received. On entering his cell, Fergus was struck by 
 the calm and composed air with which he received him. 
 His face, it is true, was paler than usual, but a feeling of 
 indignant pride, if not of fixed but stern indignation, might 
 be read under the composure into which he forced himself, 
 and which he endeavored to suppress. He approached 
 Fergus, and extending his hand with a peculiar smile, very 
 difficult to be described, said : 
 
 1 ' Fergus, I am glad to see you ; I hope you are safe — at 
 least 1 have heard so." 
 
 " I am safe, sir, and free," replied Fergus ; " thanks to 
 the Red Rapparee and the sheriff for it." 
 
 11 Well," proceeded Reilly, " you have one comfort — the 
 Red Rapparee will neither tempt you nor trouble you again ; 
 but is there no danger of his gang taking up his quarrel and 
 avenging him ?" 
 
 "His gang, sir? Why, only for me he would a' be- 
 trayed every man of them to Whiteraft and the Government, 
 and had them hanged, drawn, and quartered — ay, and their 
 heads grinning at us in every town in the county." 
 
 " Well, Fergus, let his name and his crimes perish with 
 him ; but, as for you, what do you intend to do ?" 
 
 11 Troth, sir," replied Fergus, " it's more than I rightly 
 know. I had my hopes, like others ; but, somehow, luck 
 has left all sorts of lovers of late — from Sir Robert White- 
 craft to your humble servant."
 
 40 6 WILLY J? LILLY. 
 
 " But you may thank God," said Reilly, with a smile, 
 " that you had not Sir Robert Whitecraft's luck." 
 
 " Faith, sir," replied Fergus archly, " there's a pair of 
 us may do so. You went nearer his luck — such as it was — 
 than 1 did." 
 
 "True enough," replied the other, with a serious air; 
 " I had certainly a narrow escape ; but I wish to know, as I 
 said, what you intend to do ? It is your duty now, Fergus, 
 to settle industriously and honestly." 
 
 " Ah, sir, honestly. I didn't expect that from you, Mr. 
 Reilly." 
 
 " Excuse me, Fergus," said Reilly, taking him by the 
 hand ; when I said honestly I did not mean to intimate 
 any thing whatsoever against your integrity. I know, unfor- 
 tunately, the harsh circumstances which drove you to asso- 
 ciate with that remorseless villain and his gang ; but I wish 
 you to resume an industrious life, and, if Ellen Connor is 
 disposed to unite her faith with yours, I have provided the 
 means — ample means for you both to be comfortable and 
 happy. She who was so faithful to her mistress will not fail 
 to make you a good wife." 
 
 " Ah," replied Fergus, " it's I that knows that well ; 
 but, unfortunately, I have no hope there." 
 
 " No hope ; how is that ? I thought your affection was 
 mutual." 
 
 " So it is, sir — or, rather, so it was ; but she has affection 
 for nobody now, barring the Cooleen Bawn." 
 
 Reilly paused, and appeared deeply moved by this. 
 " What," said he, "will she not leave her ? But I am not 
 surprised at it." 
 
 " No, sir, she will not leave her, but has taken an oath to 
 stay by her night and day, until — better times come." 
 
 We may say here that Reilly's friends took care that 
 neither jailer nor turnkey should make him acquainted with 
 the unhappy state of the Cooleen Bawn ; he was conse- 
 quently ignorant of it, and, fortunately, remained so until 
 after his return home. 
 
 " Fergus," said Reilly, " can you tell me how the Cooleen 
 Bawn bears the sentence which sends me to a far country ?" 
 
 " How would she bear it, sir ? You needn't ask : Con- 
 nor, at all events, will not part from her — not, anyway, un- 
 til you come back."
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 407 
 
 "Well, Fergus," proceeded Reilly, "I have, as I said, 
 provided for you both ; what that provision is I will not 
 mention now. Mr. Hastings will inform you. But if you 
 have a wish to leave this unhappy and distracted country, 
 even without Connor, why, by applying to him, you will be 
 enabled to do so ; or, if you wish to stay at home and take 
 a farm, you may do so." 
 
 " Divil a foot I'll leave the country," replied the other. 
 " Ellen may stick to the Cooleen Bawn, but, be my sowl, 
 I'll stick to Ellen, if I was to wait these seven years. I'll 
 be as stiff as she is stout ; but, at any rate, she's worth wait- 
 in' for." 
 
 " You may well say so," replied Reilly, " and I can quar- 
 rel neither with your attachment nor your patience ; but you 
 will not forget to let her know the provision which I have 
 left for her in the hands of Mr. Hastings, and tell her it is a 
 slight reward for her noble attachment to my dear Cooleen 
 Bawn. Fergus," he proceeded, "have you ever had a 
 dream in the middle of which you awoke, then fell asleep 
 and dreamt out the dream ?" 
 
 11 Troth had I, often, sir ; and, by the way, talkin' of 
 dreams, I dreamt last night that I was wantin' Ellen to marry 
 me, and she said, ' not yet, Fergus, but in due time.' " 
 
 " Well, Fergus," proceeded Reilly, " perhaps there is but 
 half my dream of life gone ; who knows when I return — if 
 I ever do — but irfy dream may be completed ? and happily, 
 too ; I know the truth and faith of my dear Cooleen Bawn. 
 And, Fergus, it is not merely my dear Cooleen Bawn that I 
 feel for, but for my unfortunate country. I am not, how- 
 ever, without hope that the day will come — although it may 
 be a distant one — when she will enjoy freedom, peace, and 
 prosperity. Now, Fergus, good-by, and farewell ! Come, 
 come, be a man," he added, with a melancholy smile, whilst 
 a tear stood even in his own eye — " corne, Fergus, I will 
 not have this ; I won't say farewell for ever, because I ex- 
 pect to return and be happy yet — if not in my own country, 
 at least in some other, where there is more freedom and 
 less persecution for conscience' sake." 
 
 Poor Fergus, however, when the parting moment arrived, 
 was completely overcome. He caught Reilly in his arms — 
 wept over him bitterly — and, after a last and sorrowful em- 
 brace, was prevailed upon to take his leave.
 
 4oS WILLY REILLY. 
 
 The history of the Cooleen Bawn's melancholy fate soon 
 went far and near, and many an eye that had never rested 
 on her beauty gave its tribute of tears to her undeserved 
 sorrows. There existed, however, one individual who was 
 the object of almost as deep a compassion ; this was her 
 father, who was consumed by the bitterest and most pro- 
 found remorse. His whole character became changed by 
 his terrible and unexpected shock, by which his beautiful 
 and angelic daughter had been blasted before his eyes. He 
 was no longer the boisterous and convivial old squire, 
 changeful and unsettled in all his opinions, but silent, quiet, 
 and abstracted almost from life. 
 
 He wept incessantly, but his tears did not bring him com- 
 fort, for they were tears of anguish and despair. Ten times 
 a day he would proceed to her chamber, or follow her to the 
 garden where she loved to walk, always in the delusive hope 
 that he might catch some spark of returning reason from 
 those calm-looking but meaningless eyes, after which he 
 would weep like a child. With respect to his daughter, 
 every thing was done for her that wealth and human means 
 could accomplish, but to no purpose ; the malady was too 
 deeply seated to be effected by any known remedy, whether 
 moral or physical. From the moment she was struck into 
 insanity she was never known to smile, or to speak, unless 
 when she chanced to see a stranger, upon which she im- 
 mediatey approached, and asked, with clasped hands : 
 
 " Oh ! can you tell me where is William Reilly ? They 
 have taken me from him, and I cannot find him. Oh ! can 
 you tell me where is William Reilly ?" 
 
 There was, however, another individual upon whose heart 
 the calamity of the Cooleen Bawn fell like a blight that 
 seemed to have struck it into such misery and sorrow as 
 threatened to end only with life. This was the faithful and 
 attached Ellen Connor. On the day of Reilly's trial she 
 experienced the alternations of hope, uncertainty, and de- 
 spair, with such a depth of anxious feeling, and such fever- 
 ish excitement, that the period of time which elapsed ap- 
 peared to her as if it would never come to an end. She 
 could neither sit, nor stand, nor work, nor read, nor take 
 her meals, nor scarcely think with any consistency or clear- 
 ness of thought. We have mentioned hope — but it was the 
 faintest and the feeblest element in that chaos of distress
 
 WILLY RRILLY. 409 
 
 and confusion which filled and distracted her mind. She 
 knew the state and condition of the country too well — she 
 knew the powerful influence of Mr. Folliard in his native 
 county — she knew what the consequences to Reilly must be 
 of taking away a Protestant heiress ; the fact was there — 
 plain, distinct, and incontrovertible, and she knew that no 
 chance of impunity or acquittal remained for any one of his 
 creed guilty of such a violation of the laws — we say, she 
 knew all this — but it was not of the fate of Reilly she 
 thought. The girl was an acute observer, and both a close 
 and clear thinker. She had remarked in the Cooleen Bawn, 
 on several occasions, small gushes, as it were, of unsettled 
 thought, and of temporary wildness, almost approaching to 
 insanity. She knew, besides, that insanity was in the fam- 
 ily on her father's side ; * and, as she had so boldly and 
 firmly stated to that father himself, she dreaded the result 
 which Reilly' s conviction might produce upon a mind with 
 such a tendency, worn down and depressed as it had been 
 by all she had suffered, and more especially what she must 
 feel by the tumult and agitation of that dreadful day. 
 
 It was about two hours after dark when she was startled 
 by the noise of the carriage-wheels as they came up the ave- 
 nue. Her heart beat as if it would burst, the blood rushed 
 to her head, and she became too giddy to stand or walk ; 
 then it seemed to rush back to her heart, and she was seized 
 with thick breathing and feebleness ; but at length, strength- 
 ened by the very intensity of the interest she felt, she made 
 her way to the lower steps of the hall door in time to be 
 present when the carriage arrived at it. She determined, 
 however, wrought up as she was to the highest state of ex- 
 citement, to await, to watch, to listen. She did so. The 
 carriage stopped at the usual place, the coachman came 
 down and opened the door, and Mr. Folliard came out. 
 After him, assisted by Mrs. Brown, came Helen, who was 
 immediately conducted in between the latter and her father. 
 In the meantime poor Ellen could only look on. She was 
 incapable of asking a single question, but she followed them 
 up to the drawing-room where they conducted her mistress. 
 When she was about to enter, Mrs. Brown said : 
 
 * The reader must take this as the necessary material for our fiction. 
 There never was insanity in Helen's family ; and we make this note 
 to prevent them from taking unnecessary offence.
 
 4io WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 11 Ellen, you had better not come in ; your mistress is un- 
 well." 
 
 Mrs. Hastings then approached, and, with a good deal of 
 judgment and consideration, said : 
 
 " I think it is better, Mrs. Brown, that Ellen should see 
 her, or, rather, that she should see Ellen. Who can tell 
 how beneficial the effect may be on her ? We all know how 
 she was attached to Ellen." 
 
 In addition to those fearful intimations, Ellen heard in- 
 side the sobs and groans of her distracted father, mingled 
 with caresses and such tender and affectionate language as, 
 she knew by the words, could only be addressed to a person 
 incapable of understanding them. Mrs. Brown held the 
 door partially closed, but the faithful girl would not be 
 repulsed. She pushed in, exclaiming : 
 
 " Stand back, Mrs. Brown, I must see my mistress ! — if 
 she is my mistress, or anybody's mistress now" — and ac- 
 cordingly she approached the settee on which the Cooleen 
 Bawn sat. The old squire was wringing his hands, sob- 
 bing, and giving vent to the most uncontrollable sorrow. 
 
 "Oh, Ellen," said he, "pity and forgive me. Your 
 mistress is gone, gone ! — she knows nobody !" 
 
 " Stand aside," she replied ; " stand aside all of you ; let 
 vie to her. ' ' 
 
 She knelt beside the settee, looked distractedly, but 
 keenly, at her for about half a minute — but there she sat, 
 calm, pale, and unconscious. At length she turned her eyes 
 upon Ellen — for ever since the girl's entrance she had been 
 gazing on vacancy — and immediately said : 
 
 '*. Oh ! can you tell me where is William Reilly ? They 
 have taken me from him, and I cannot find him. Oh ! will 
 you tell me where is William Reilly ?" 
 
 Ellen gave two or three rapid sobs ; but, by a powerful 
 effort, she somewhat composed herself. 
 
 11 Miss Folliard," she said, in a choking voice, however, 
 11 darling Miss Folliard — my beloved mistress — Cooleen 
 Bawn — oh, do you not know me — me, your own faithful 
 Ellen, that loved you — and that loves you so well — ay, be- 
 yond father and mother, and all others living in this un- 
 happy world ? Oh, speak to me, dear mistress — speak to 
 your own faithful Ellen, and only say that you know me, or 
 only look upon me as if you did."
 
 WILLY REILLY. 41 * 
 
 Not a glance, however, of recognition followed those lov- 
 ing solicitations ; but there, before them all, she sat, with 
 the pale face, the sorrowful brow, and the vacant look. 
 Ellen addressed her with equal tenderness again and again, 
 but with the same melancholy effect. The fact was beyond 
 question — reason had departed ; the fair temple was there, 
 but the light of the divinity that had been enshrined in it 
 was no longer visible ; it seemed to have been abandoned 
 probably for ever. Ellen now finding that every effort to 
 restore her to rational consciousness was ineffectual, rose 
 up, and, looking about for a moment, her eyes rested upon 
 her father. 
 
 " Oh, Ellen !" he exclaimed, M spare me, spare me — you 
 know I'm in your power. I neglected your honest and 
 friendly warning, and now it is too late." 
 
 11 Poor man !" she replied, " it is not she, but you, that is 
 to be pitied. No ; after this miserable sight, never shall 
 my lips breathe one syllable of censure against you. Your 
 punishment is too dreadful for that. But when I look 
 upon her — look upon her now — oh, my God ! what is 
 this?"— 
 
 11 Help the girl," said Mrs. Brown quickly, and with 
 alarm. "Oh, she has fallen — raise her up, Mr. Folliard. 
 Oh, my God, Mrs. Hastings, what a scene is this !" 
 
 They immediately opened her stays, and conveyed her to 
 another settee, where she lay for nearly a quarter of an 
 hour in a calm and tranquil insensibility. With the aid of 
 the usual remedies, however, she was, but with some diffi- 
 culty, restored, after which she burst into tears, and wept 
 for some time bitterly. At length she recovered a certain 
 degree of composure, and, after settling her dress and luxu- 
 riant brown hair, aided by Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Hastings, 
 she arose, and once more approaching her lovely, but uncon- 
 scious, mistress, knelt down, and, clasping her hands, looked 
 up to heaven, whilst she said : 
 
 " Here, I take the Almighty God to witness, that from this 
 moment out I renounce father and mother, brother and sis- 
 ter, friend and relative, man and woman, and will abide by 
 my dear unhappy Cooleen Baivn — that blighted flower before 
 us — both by day and by night — through all seasons — through 
 all places wherever she may go, or be brought, until it may 
 please God to restore her to reason, or until death may
 
 412 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 close her sufferings, should I live so long, and have health 
 and strength to carry out this solemn oath ; so may God 
 hear me, and assist me in my intention." 
 
 She then rose, and, putting her arms around the fair girl, 
 kissed her lips, and poured forth a copious flood of tears 
 into her bosom. 
 
 " I am yours now," she said, caressing her mournfully : 
 " I am yours now, my ever darling mistress ; and from this 
 hour forth nothing but death will ever separate your own 
 Connor from you." 
 
 Well and faithfully did she keep that generous and heroic 
 oath. Ever, for many a long and hopeless year, was she to 
 be found, both night and day, by the side of that beautiful 
 but melancholy sufferer. No other hand ever dressed or 
 undressed her ; no other individual ever attended to her 
 wants, or complied with those little fitful changes and ca- 
 prices to which persons of her unhappy class are subject. 
 The consequence of this tender and devoted attachment was 
 singular, but not by any means incompatible, we think, 
 even with her situation. If Connor, for instance, was any 
 short time absent, and another person supplied her place, 
 the Cooleen Bawn, in whose noble and loving heart the 
 strong instincts of affection could never die, uniformly ap- 
 peared dissatisfied and uneasy, and looked around her, as if 
 for some object that would afford her pleasure. On Ellen's 
 reappearance a faint but placid smile would shed its fee- 
 ble light over her countenance, and she would appear calm 
 and contented ; but, during all this time, word uttered she 
 none, with the exception of those to which we have already 
 alluded. 
 
 These were the only words she was known to utter, and 
 no stranger ever came in her way to whom she did not 
 repeat them. In this way her father, her maid, and herself 
 passed through a melancholy existence for better than six 
 years, when a young physician of great promise happened to 
 settle in the town of Sligo, and her father having heard of it 
 had him immediately called in. After looking at her, how- 
 ever, he found himself accosted in the same terms we have 
 already given : 
 
 " Oh ! can you tell me where is William Reilly ?" 
 
 "William Reilly will soon be with you," he replied; 
 " he will soon be here."
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 413 
 
 A start — barely, scarcely perceptible, was noticed by the 
 keen eye of the physician ; but it passed away, and left no- 
 thing but that fixed and beautiful vacancy behind it. 
 
 " Sir," said the physician, " I do not absolutely despair 
 of Miss Folliard' s recovery : the influence of some deep ex- 
 citement, if it could be made accessible, might produce a 
 good effect ; it was by a shock it came upon her, and I am 
 of opinion that if she ever does recover it will be by some- 
 thing similar to that which induced her pitiable malady." 
 
 11 I will give a thousand pounds — five thousand — ten 
 thousand, to any man who will be fortunate enough to 
 restore her to reason," said her father. 
 
 " One course," proceeded the physician, " I would 
 recommend you to pursue ; bring her about as much as you 
 can ; give her variety of scenery and variety of new faces ; 
 visit your friends, and bring her with you. This course 
 may have some effect ; as for medicine, it is of no use here, 
 for her health is in every other respect good." 
 
 He then took his leave, having first received a fee which 
 somewhat astonished him. 
 
 His advice, however, was followed ; her -father and she, 
 and Connor, during the summer and autumn months, visit- 
 ed among their acquaintances and friends, by whom they 
 were treated with the greatest and most considerate kind- 
 ness ; but, so far as poor Helen was concerned, no symp- 
 tom of any salutary change became visible ; the long, dull 
 blank of departed reason was still unbroken. 
 
 Better than seven years and a half had now elapsed, when 
 she and her father came by invitation to pay a visit to a Mr. 
 Hamilton, grandfather to the late Dacre Hamilton of Mona- 
 ghan, who — the grandfather we mean — was one of the most 
 notorious priest-hunters of his day. We need not say that 
 her faithful Connor was still in attendance. Old Folliard 
 went riding out with his friend, for he was now so much de- 
 bilitated as to be scarcely able to walk abroad for any dis- 
 tance, when, about the hour of two o'clock, a man in the 
 garb, and with all the bearing of a perfect gentleman, 
 knocked at the door, and inquired of the servant who 
 opened it whether Miss Folliard were not there. The ser-
 
 o 
 
 4 J 4 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 vant replied in the affirmative, upon which the stranger 
 asked if he could see her. 
 
 " Why, I suppose you must be aware, sir, of Miss 
 Folliard's unfortunate state of mind, and that she can see 
 nobody ; sir, she knows nobody, and I have strict orders to 
 deny her to every one unless some particular friend of the 
 family." 
 
 The stranger put a guinea into his hand, and added, " I 
 had the pleasure of knowing her before she lost her reason, 
 and as I have not seen her since, I should be glad to see 
 her now, or even to look on her for a few minutes." 
 
 11 Come up, sir," replied the man, " and enter the draw- 
 ing-room immediately after me, or I shall be ordered to 
 deny her." 
 
 The gentleman followed him ; but why did his cheek be- 
 come pale, and why did his heart palpitate as if it would 
 burst_ and bound out of his bosom ? We shall see. On 
 entering the drawing-room he bowed, and was about to 
 apologize for his intrusion, when the Cooleen Bawn % recoj 
 nizing him as a stranger, approached him and said : 
 
 " Oh ! can you tell me where is William Reilly ? They 
 have taken me from him, and I cannot find him." Oh, can 
 you tell me any thing about William Reilly ?" 
 
 The stranger staggered at this miserable sight, but proba- 
 bly more at the contemplation of that love which not even 
 insanity could subdue. He felt himself obliged to lean for 
 support upon the back of a chair, during which brief space 
 he fixed his eyes upon her with a look of the most inexpres- 
 sible tenderness and sorrow. 
 
 " Oh !" she repeated, " can you tell me where is William 
 Reilly?" 
 
 " Alas ! Helen," said he, "lam William Reilly." 
 
 "You!" she exclaimed. "Oh, no, the wide, wide At- 
 lantic is between him and me." 
 
 "It was between us, Helen, but it is not now ; I am here 
 in life before you — your own William Reilly, that William 
 Reilly whom you loved so well, but so fatally. I am he : 
 do you not know me ?" 
 
 "You are not William Reilly," she replied; "if you 
 were, you would have a token." 
 
 "Do you forget that?" he replied, placing in her hand 
 the emerald ring she had given him at the trial. She started
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 415 
 
 on looking at it, and a feeble flash was observed to proceed 
 from her eyes. 
 
 "This might come to you," she said, "by Reilly's 
 death ; yes, this might come to you in that way ; but there 
 is another token which is known to none but himself and 
 me. ' ' 
 
 "Whisper," said he, and as he spoke he applied his 
 mouth to her ear, and breathed the token into it. She 
 stood back, her eyes flashed, her beautiful bosom heaved ; 
 she advanced, looked once more, and exclaimed, with a 
 scream, " It is he ! it is he !" and the next moment she was 
 insensible in his arms. Long but precious was that insensi- 
 bility, and precious were the tears which his eyes rained 
 down upon that pale but lovely countenance. She was 
 soon placed upon a settee, but Reilly knelt beside her, and 
 held one of her hands in his. After a long trance she 
 opened her eyes and again started. Reilly pressed her hand 
 and whispered in her ear, " Helen, I am with you at last." 
 
 She smiled on him and said, " Help me to sit up, until I 
 look about me, that I may be certain this is not a dream." 
 
 She then looked about her, and as the ladies of the family 
 spoke tenderly to her, and caressed her, she fixed her eyes 
 once more upon her lover, and said, "It is not a dream 
 then ; this is a reality ; but, alas ! Reilly, I tremble to think 
 lest they should take you from me again." 
 
 " You need entertain no such apprehension, my dear 
 Helen," said the lady of the mansion. " I have often heard 
 your father say that he would give twenty thousand pounds 
 to have you well, and Reilly's wife. In fact, you have 
 nothing to fear in that, or any other quarter. But there's 
 his knock ; he and my husband have returned, and I must 
 break this blessed news to him by degrees, lest it might be 
 too much for him if communicated without due and proper 
 caution." 
 
 She accordingly went down to the hall, where they were 
 hanging up their great coats and hats, and brought them into 
 her husband's study. 
 
 " Mr. Folliard," said she with a cheerful face, " I think, 
 from some symptoms of improvement noticed to-day in 
 Helen, that we needn't be without hope. 
 
 " Alas, alas !" exclaimed the poor father, " I have no 
 hope ; after such a length of time I am indeed without a
 
 4l6 WILLY REILLY. 
 
 shadow of expectation. If unfortunate Reilly were here, 
 indeed her seeing him, as that Sligo doctor told me, might 
 give her a chance. He saw her about a week before we 
 came down, and those were his words. But as for Reilly, 
 even if he were in the country, how could I look him in the 
 face ? What wouldn't I give now that he were here, that 
 Helen was well, and that one word of mine could make 
 them man and wife ?" 
 
 "Well, well," she replied, "don't be cast down; per- 
 haps I could tell you good news if I wished." 
 
 " You're beating about the bush, Mary, at all events," said 
 her husband, laughing. 
 
 " Perhaps, now, Mr. Folliard," she continued, " I could 
 introduce a young lady who is so fond of you, old and ugly 
 as you are, that she would not hesitate to kiss you tenderly, 
 and cry with delight on your bosom, you old thief." 
 
 They both started at her words with amazement, and her 
 husband said : " Egad, Alick, Helen's malady seems catch- 
 ing. What the deuce do you mean, Molly ? or must I, too, 
 send for a doctor ?" 
 
 " Shall I introduce you to the lady, though ?" she pro- 
 ceeded, addressing the father ; " but remember that, if I 
 do, you must be a man, Mr. Folliard I" 
 
 14 In God's name ! do what you like," said Mr. Hamil- 
 ton, " but do it at once. 
 
 She went upstairs, and said, "As I do not w T ish to bring 
 your father up, Helen, until he is prepared for a meeting 
 with Mr. Reilly, I will bring you down to him. The sight 
 of you noiv will give him new life." 
 
 11 Oh, come, then," said Helen, " bring me to my father ; 
 do not lose a moment, not a moment ! — oh, let me see him 
 instantly !" 
 
 The poor old man suspected something. "For a thou- 
 sand !" said he, " this is some good news about Helen !" 
 
 " Make your mind up for that," replied his friend ; " as 
 sure as you live it is ; and if it be, bear it stoutly." 
 
 In the course of a few minutes Mrs. Hamilton entered 
 the room with Helen, now awakened to perfect reason, smil- 
 ing, and leaning upon her arm. " Oh, dear papa !" she 
 exclaimed, meeting him, with a flood of tears, and resting 
 her head on his bosom. 
 
 " What, my darling ! — my darling ! And you know papa
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 417 
 
 once more ! — you know him again, my darling Helen ! 
 Oh, thanks be to God for this happy day !" And he kissed 
 her lips, and pressed her to his heart, and wept over her 
 with ecstasy and delight. It was a tender and tearful em- 
 brace. 
 
 11 Oh, papa !" said she, " I fear I have caused you much 
 pain and sorrow : something has been wrong, but I am well 
 now that he is here. I felt the tones of his voice in my 
 heart." 
 
 11 Who, darling, who ?" 
 
 " Reilly, papa." 
 
 " Hamilton, bring him down instantly ; but oh, Helen, 
 darling, how will I see him ? — how can I see him ? but he 
 must come, and we must all be happy. Bring him down." 
 
 " You know, papa, that Reilly is generosity itself." 
 
 11 He is, he is, Helen, and how could I blame you for 
 loving him ?" 
 
 Reilly soon entered ; but the old man, already overpow- 
 ered by what had just occurred, was not able to speak to 
 him for some time. He clasped and pressed his hand, how- 
 ever, and at length said : 
 
 " My son ! my son ! Now," he added, after he had 
 recovered himself, " now that I have both together, I will 
 not allow one minute to pass until I give you both my bless- 
 ing ; and in due time, when Helen gets strong, and when I 
 get a little stouter, you shall be married ; the parson and 
 the priest will make you both happy. Reilly, can you for- 
 give me ?" 
 
 " I have nothing to forgive you, sir," replied Reilly ; 
 11 whatever you did proceeded from your excessive affection 
 for your daughter ; I am more than overpaid for any thing I 
 may have suffered myself ; had it been ages of misery, this 
 one moment would cancel the memory of it for ever." 
 
 11 I cannot give you my estate, Reilly," said the old man, 
 " for that is entailed, and goes to the next male issue ; but I 
 can give you fifty thousand pounds with my girl, and that will 
 keep you both comfortable for life." 
 
 11 I thank you, sir," replied Reilly, " and for the sake of 
 your daughter I will not reject it ; but I am myself in inde- 
 pendent circumstances, and could, even without your gen- 
 erosity, support Helen in a rank of life not unsuitable to her 
 condition."
 
 41 3 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 It is well known that, during the period in which the inci- 
 dents of our story took place, no man claiming the charac- 
 ter of a gentleman ever travelled without his own servant to 
 attend him. After Reilly's return to his native place, his 
 first inquiries, as might be expected, were after his Coolecn 
 Bawn ; and his next, after those who had been in some de- 
 gree connected with those painful circumstances in which he 
 had been involved previous to his trial and conviction. He 
 found Mr. Brown and Mr. Hastings much in the same state 
 in which he left them. The latter, who had been entrusted 
 with all his personal and other property, under certain con- 
 ditions, that depended upon his return after the term of his 
 sentence should have expired, now restored to him, and 
 again reinstated him on the original terms into all his landed 
 and other property, together with such sums as had accrued 
 from it during his absence, so that he now found himself a 
 wealthy man. Next to Cooleen Bawn, however, one of his 
 first inquiries was after Fergus Reilly, whom he found domi- 
 ciled with a neighboring middleman as a head servant, or 
 kind of under steward. We need not describe the delight 
 of Fergus on once more meeting his beloved relative at per- 
 fect liberty, and free from all danger in his native land. 
 
 "Fergus," said Reilly, "I understand you are still a 
 bachelor — how does that come ?" 
 
 " Why, sir," replied Fergus, " now that you know every 
 thing about the unhappy state of the Cooleen Bawn, surely 
 you can't blame poor Ellen for not desartin' her. As for 
 me I cared nothing about any other girl, and I never could 
 let either my own dhrame, or what you said was yours, out 
 o' my head. I still had hope, and I still have, that she may 
 recover." 
 
 Reilly made no reply to this, for he feared to entertain 
 the vague expectation to which Fergus alluded. 
 
 "Well, Fergus," said he, "although I have undergone 
 the sentence of a convict, yet now, after my return, I am a 
 rich man. For the sake of old times — of old dangers and 
 old difficulties — I should wish you to live with me, and to 
 attend me as my own personal servant or man. I shall get 
 you a suit of livery, and the crest of O'Reilly shall be upon 
 it. I wish you to attend upon me, Fergus, because you 
 understand me, and because I never will enjoy a happy 
 heart, or one day's freedom from sorrow again. All hope
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 419 
 
 of that is past, but you will be useful to me — and that you 
 know." 
 
 Fergus was deeply affected at these words, although he v 
 was gratified in the highest degree at the proposal. In the 
 course of a few days he entered upon his duties, immedi- 
 ately after which Reilly set out on his journey to Mona- 
 ghan, to see once more his beloved, but unhappy, Cooleen 
 Bawn. On arriving at that handsome and hospitable town, he 
 put up at an excellent inn, called the ' ' Westenra Arms, ' ' kept 
 by a man who was the model of innkeepers, known by the 
 soubriquet of " honest Peter M' Philips. " We need not now 
 recapitulate that with which the reader is already acquaint- 
 ed ; but we cannot omit describing a brief interview which 
 took place in the course of a few days after the restoration 
 of the Cooleen Bawn to the perfect use of her reason, be- 
 tween two individuals, who, we think, have some claim upon 
 the good-will and good wishes of our readers. We allude 
 to Fergus Reilly and the faithful Ellen Connor. Seated in 
 a comfortable room in the aforesaid inn — now a respectable 
 and admirably kept hotel — with the same arms over the 
 door, were the two individuals alluded to. Before them 
 stood a black bottle of a certain fragrant liquor, as clear and 
 colorless as water from the purest spring, and, to judge of it 
 by the eye, quite as harmless ; but there was the mistake. 
 Never was hypocrisy better exemplified than by the contents 
 of that bottle. The liquor in question came, Fergus was 
 informed, from the green woods of Truagh, and more 
 especially from a townland named Derrygola, famous, be- 
 sides, for stout men and pretty girls. 
 
 " Well, now, Ellen darlin'," said Fergus, "if ever any 
 two bachelors * were entitled to drink their own healths, 
 surely you and I are. Here's to us — a happy marriage, 
 soon and sudden. As for myself, I've had the patience 
 of a Trojan." 
 
 Helen pledged him beautifully with her eyes, but very 
 moderately with the liquor. 
 
 " Bedad !" he proceeded, " seven years — ay, and a half 
 — wasn't a bad apprenticeship, at any rate ; but, as I tould 
 Mr. Reilly before he left the country — upon my sowl, says 
 
 * " Bachelor," in Ireland, especially in the country parts of it, 
 where English is not spoken correctly, is frequently applied to both 
 the sexes.
 
 420 WILLY RE ILLY. 
 
 I, Mr. Reilly, she's worth waitin' for ; and he admitted 
 it." 
 
 " But, Fergus, did ever any thing turn out so happy for 
 all parties ? To me it's like a dream ; I can scarcely be- 
 lieve it." 
 
 11 Faith, and if it be a dhrame, I hope it's one we'll never 
 waken from. And so the four of us are to be married on 
 the same day, and we're all to live with the squire." 
 
 1 ' We are, Fergus ; the Cooleen Bawn will have it so ; but, 
 indeed, her father is as anxious for it almost as she is. 
 Ah, no, Fergus, she could not part with her faithful Ellen, 
 as she calls me ; nor, after all, Fergus, would her faithful 
 Ellen wish to part with her ?" 
 
 "And he's to make me steward ; begad, and if I don't 
 make a good one, I'll make an honest one. Faith, at all 
 events, Ellen, we'll be in a condition to provide for the 
 childre', plaise God." 
 
 Ellen gave him a blushing look of reproach', and desired 
 him to keep a proper tongue in his head. 
 
 11 But what will we do with the five hundred, Ellen, that 
 the squire and Mr. Reilly made up between them ?" 
 
 " We'll consult Mr. Reilly about it," she replied, " and 
 no doubt but he'll enable us to lay it out to the best advan- 
 tage. Now, Fergus dear, I must go," she added; "you 
 know she can't bear me even now to be any length of time 
 away from her. Here's God bless them both, and continue 
 them in the happiness they now enjoy." 
 
 " Amen," replied Fergus, " and here's God bless our- 
 selves, and make us more lovin' to one another every day 
 we rise ; and here's to take a foretaste of it now, you thief." 
 
 Some slight resistance, followed by certain smacking 
 sounds, closed the interview ; for Ellen, having started to 
 her feet, threw on her cloak and bonnet, and hurried out of 
 the room, giving back, however, a laughing look at Fergus 
 as she escaped. 
 
 In a few months afterwards they were married, and lived 
 with the old man until he became a grandfather to two chil- 
 dren, the eldest a boy, and the second a girl. Upon the 
 same day of their marriage their humble but faithful friends 
 were also united ; so that there was a double wedding. 
 The ceremony, in the case of Reilly and his Cooleen Bawn, 
 was performed by the Reverend Mr. Brown first, and the
 
 WILLY RE ILLY. 42 1 
 
 parish priest afterwards ; Mrs. Strong, who had been for 
 several years conjoined to Mrs. Smellpriest, having been 
 rejected by both parties as the officiating clergyman upon 
 the occasion, although the lovely bride was certainly his 
 parishioner. Age and time, however, told upon the old 
 man ; and at the expiration of three years they laid him, 
 with many tears, in the grave of his fathers. Soon after 
 this Reilly and his wife, accompanied by Fergus and Ellen 
 — for the Cooleen Bawn would not be separated from the 
 latter — removed to the Continent, where they had a numer- 
 ous family, principally of sons ; and we need not tell our 
 learned readers, at least, that those young men distinguished 
 not only themselves, but their name, by acts of the most 
 brilliant courage in continental warfare. And so, gentle 
 reader, ends the troubled history of Willy Reilly and his 
 own Cooleen Bawn. 
 
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