“i will not hear your apology, brother,” said the tall 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 heretics 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 he 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 dined with them, partaken of their hospitality, joined in there 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 caverns 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 were 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 welfare 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 precious 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 frequently 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 influence which he has possessed over them for the protection and advantage and safety of his catholic friends and neighbors, 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 directed by the spirit of peace, and of the word of god itself, can afford your lordship a guarantee of the high and christian principles by which this young man's heart is actuated, then i may with confidence recommend him to your clemency.”

“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; “explain yourself!”

the good priest then gave a succinct account of the circumstances 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 service, 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 words, 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 remember 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 whenever it is violated the fault is not that of the creed, but the man.”

“under any circumstances,” said the bishop, declining to reply to this, and placing his open hand across his forehead, as if he felt confusion or pain—“under any circumstances, this person must take the oath of secrecy with respect to the existence of this cave. call him up.”

reilly, as we have said, saw at once that an angry discussion 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 subterranean 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 imputation against his integrity, now accompanied the priest in a state of indignation that was nearly a match for that of the bishop.

“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.”

the bishop gave a stem 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 maguire; “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 religion 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 persecution?”

“you may,” replied reilly, “but i shall decline to answer 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 suppress, 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 unconsciously 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 forefathers.”

“it is false,” replied reilly; “false, if it proceeded from the lips of the pope himself; and if his lips uttered to me what you now have done, i would fling 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 concerns?”

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 nay 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 replied 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 reiliy, “there appear to be fifteen or 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 towards the stalactites in a manner somewhat wild and violent, so much so, indeed, that from an apprehension of his receiving 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 unhappy 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 severe 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 maguire, 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 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 secluded position, the dampness of the place, and their absence from free air, rendered very necessary and gratifying.

“here!” exclaimed father maguire, 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 shakedown 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 he had not been many minutes until he fell into a profound sleep, a fact which 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 feverish 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 exceedingly sharpened by the savory smell sent forth throughout the apartment by the contents of whatsoever was contained 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 judgment or penetration in re culinaria, 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.

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 costumes of the incongruous society in which, to his astonishment, 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 frightfully 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 apprehension of ecclesiastics, and for the punishment of such humane magistrates as were reluctant to enforce laws so unsparing and oppressive. increased rewards were also offered to spies and informers, with whom the country unfortunately 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 having 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 sacraments 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, who never forgot any duty connected with his position—be that where it might—now went over to the large pot, exclaiming:

“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 spoonful ever went into our mouths but they'd have practised the doctrine of tithe upon. come, darlings—here, now, is a little 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 affection 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 innocent slumbers.

“now, gentlemen, that we have eaten a better meal than we could expect in this miserable place, thanks to the kindness 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, addressing 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 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 people, that ever disgraced the country. but it must be admitted 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 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 corpulent, had, by some means or other, procured the garb of a recruiting sergeant, which fitted him so admirably that the illusion was complete; and, what bore it out still more forcibly, was the presence of a smart-looking little friar, who kept the sergeant in countenance in the uniform of a drummer. 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 overwhelmed or scattered them. still, in the intervals of devotion, they indulged in that reasonable cheerfulness and harmless mirth which were necessary to support their spirits, depressed as they must have been by this dreadful and melancholy 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 cheerful 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 unhappy men to pass away the tedious monotony of their imprisonment in this strange lurking-place. the only man who kept aloof and took no part in these amusing recreations was hennessy, who seemed moody and sullen, but who, nevertheless, was frequently detected in making stolen visits to the barrel.

notwithstanding all this, however, the sight was a melancholy 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 ceremonies and mysteries of their church. before he went to his couch of heather, however, he called father maguire aside, and thus addressed him:

“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 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 in our conversation. 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 sometimes 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 jurisdiction 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 undergone 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.

chaptee xi.—the squire's dinner and his guests.

we now return to cooleen bawn, who, after her separation 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 sustain a domestic warfare with her father, as the result of having 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 circumstance—if, indeed, an occasional muttering of some unintelligible 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.

“well, 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 rascal!)”

“i cannot say that i slept as well as usual, sir. i felt headache.”

“ay, headache—was it? (heartache, rather. the villain.) 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. well, who next? 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.”

“does this habit proceed from stupidity, papa?”

“not 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 joram. 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—ahem—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. however, helen, those foolish days are gone, and we have nothing 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.”

“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 activity 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 continued 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 repentance, 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,” observed 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 politics or religion.”

“religion! papa.”

“oh—hem-i don't mean exactly that. oh, no; i except 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 resembled 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 addressed 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 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 ee 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 cowardly scoundrel as sir robert—ugh—ugh—ugh—that went against my breath, helen. well, come here, i say, you old sinner; they burned the place, you say?”

“sir robert and his men did, sir.”

“i'm not doubting that, you old house-leek. i know sir robert too well—i know the infernal—ahem; a most excellent 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.”

“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?”

“none of your mumping, you old snapdragon; but tell me the truth, have they secured him hard and fast?”

“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 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 abundantly, 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, or obesity prevailed. where the sheriff had made his capture 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 inveterate 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 additional 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 on 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 literally 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 pretence, 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.

“why don't you marry again, my lord?—will you ever marry?”

“no, madam, i got enough of it,” a reply which, somehow, 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 general and loving sympathy between husband and wife; and here 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 instance, 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 hobnobbed, of course, and indulged in that kind of promiscuous conversation which cannot well be reported. from a feeling 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 outrage. indeed, they were induced to conclude that this latter view of it was that which he was most likely to take, in consequence of the following proposal, which, from any other man, would have been an extraordinary one:

“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 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!”*

* 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 with 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 introduced—where we

said, “from any other man would have been an extraordinary

one.” i may also refer to mrs. brown's reply.

“as a 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, “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. folliard, 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 lady who respects herself will turn down her glass as i do.”

mrs. hastings and helen immediately followed her example, 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.

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 feelings.

“but, in the meantime,” proceeded the squire, “i am not without support. here is lady joram and mrs. smellpriest and mrs. oxley—and they are a host in themselves—each of them willing and ready to support me.”

“i don't see,” said lady joram, “why a lady, any more 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—“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 something 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 anything.”

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 ladyship couldn't have honored it with a fuller bumper. and, smellpriest, your wife did the thing handsomely as well as 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.”

“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, however, 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 instructions 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 sportsman, how does it happen that reilly continues to escape you?”

“why does he continue to escape yourself, captain?” replied the baronet.

“why,” said the other, “because i am more in the ecclesiastical 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.”

“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.”

“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.”

“well, and what do you think occasionally?”

“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 becomes of the man?” asked the baronet, with a diabolical sneer. “as for me, smellpriest, i make no such distinctions; 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.”

“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.”

“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 church. you know not how those rascals can disguise themselves.”

“and 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 papists 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 secure 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 upstairs, and left the other gentlemen to their liquor, which they 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 thee very sufficient reason that he did not know them himself.

“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, “and i wonder, sir, you would make any exception to such a toast.”

“i drink it,” said smellpriest, “including the rascal priest.”

“and i drink it,” said the sheriff, “as it has been proposed.”

“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 resolution to that effect.

“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 robert; we must hang you high and dry.”

“but, deilmacare,” said the squire, “we should only transport him.”

“very good,” exclaimed his lordship, emptying a bumper; “we shall only transport you, sir robert.”

“hang him, deilmacare!”

“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 drawing-room, found helen in a state of inexpressible distress. a dispute upon the prevailing morals of all modern young lidies 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 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—”

“but, my dear mrs. oxley,” said her ladyship, interrupting 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.”

“wy not?” replied mrs. oxley; “the squires are often wealthier than the haris-tocracy; 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, provided that she forms no disgraceful attachments to papists and rebels and low persons of that 'ere class. no, my lady, i don't at all agree with you in your view of 'igh life.”

“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 i'gate, and i'gate is known to be the 'igh-est place about the metropolis of lunnon—it and st. paul's are upon a bevel.”

“level, perhaps, you mean, ma'am?”

“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 rebel; 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,” observed mrs. 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 prevent them from exercising the duties which their religion imposes upon them.”

“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 mrs. 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 ungenerous, 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. i 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 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 question—but reilly's life and safety. if he were safe, i should feel comparatively happy; happiness, in its full extent, 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 hearing 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 wrhat 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.

chaptee xii.—sir robert meets a brother sportsman

—draws his nets, but catches nothing.

“'tis conscience that makes cowards of us all,” said 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, without any authority from government for the act, he felt himself guilty of—the reader may understand the nature and extent of his terrors on his way home. the distance between 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 perhaps 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 the 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 assistance; i am somewhat of your own kidney—a bit of a priest-hunter, on a small scale. i used to get 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 gentleman, 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.”

“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 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 lonesome and dangerous, as a priest-hunter myself i think it an act of duty not to leave you.”

“thank you,” said sir robert, “you are a civil person, and i will accept your escort.”

“whatever danger you may run, sir robert, i will stand by your side and partake of it.”

“thank you, friend,” replied sir robert; “there is a lonely place before us, where a ghost is said to be seen—the ghost of a priest whom i hunted for a long time; smellpriest, 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, ordered 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?”

“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 practice, 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 warrants 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 government. 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 secretary's office would not nor could not save him. old folliard 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 her who wishes to have some private conversation with you.”

“what kind of a woman is she?” asked the baronet.

“faith, your honor, a sturdy and strapping wench, somewhat 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 recognized, under the disguise of a woman, the celebrated informer, the rev. mr. hennessy, a wretch whose criminal course of life, as we said before, was so gross and reprobate 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.”

“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.

“drum,” said he, “you have now an opportunity of essentially serving not only me, but the government of the country. this lady turns out to be a popish priest in disguise, 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 cavern, 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.”

“and perhaps never return, unless with your heels foremost, 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 thirsting 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 ambuscade; 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 anxious for your safety.”

“well, then,” said sir robert, “you shall go upon this 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, i will make 't out.” rowland drum accordingly set out upon his mission, and having arrived at the cavern, with which he was so well acquainted, he entered it with the usual risk. his voice, however, was recognized, and he got instant admittance.

“my dear friends,” said he, after he had entered the inner part of it, “you must disperse immediately. hennessy has betrayed you, and if you remain here twenty-four hours longer, sir kobert 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.”

“but how did you become acquainted with sir kobert 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 frustrate hennessy's treachery, and to counteract his own designs.”

“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 bloodthirsty tiger and persecutor of the faithful.”

“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.”

“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 my life, if necessary, for the faith that is in me. you all know what i have already suffered, and you know that persecution drives a wise man mad. my children,” 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 futurity of happiness, let us lead spotless and irreproachable lives, such as will enable ur 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 account of our lives. it would be mere wantonness to throw yourselves into the hands of our persecutors. reserve yourselves; 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 striving 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 consolation. 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 established 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.”

“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 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 possession of the rev. mr. brown, the amiable rector of the parish.”

“but he is a heretic,” said a red-faced little man, dressed in leather breeches, top boots, and a huntsman's cap; 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 salvation 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, 'i understand italian too;' and to my astonishment 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 instruction, 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 necessities of the irish population. under those circumstances, men of good and virtuous character, who understood something 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 protestant laity also. we now separate, 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 without a shepherd. i leave you with tears—but they are tears of affection, and not of despair. i shall endeavor to be useful wherever i may abide. let each of you do all the spiritual 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 cavern.

“my lord,” said reilly, who still entertained apprehensions 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 retreat.”

“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 directed the vengeance of the law with such a bloodthirsty and 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 another 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.

“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?”

“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.

“he told me,” replied the baronet, “that his name was drum.”

“could you give me a description, sir robert, of his person?”

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 preventing 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 barracks were within a few hundred yards of his house. a party of military were immediately called out, and in a short time they arrived, under the guidance of hennessy, to the very mouth of the cavern, which he disclosed to them. it is unnecessary to detail the particulars of the search. the soldiers 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 hennessy; but would have given a trifle to renew his acquaintance with mr. rowland drum, by whose ingenuity he was so completely outwitted. as it was, they scoured the country 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, however, 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.