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 these circumstances, he resolved to pay a visit to mr. brown. after some trouble he was admitted to the presence of that gentleman, who could scarcely satisfy himself of his identity; but, at length, he felt assured, 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 lieutenant, 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—harmless and loyal men, and whom he pursues with unsatiable 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 harbored, 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 substantial 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, and 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 disguises, 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 i 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 intention 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, because 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 a country lout as ever you looked upon. my disguise consists, 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, however, has promised to get some buttons for them and sew them on. the waistcoat is altogether indescribable; because, 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 beautifully 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 without a black eye or a broken pate. this, i suppose, accounts for the droop in the leaf, which covers the left eye so completely, as well as for the ventilator, which so admirably 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 cooleen 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 connaught-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 between 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 instructions 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 appearance 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 chickens, in case she had them not herself, he then returned to the farmer's, where he remained quietly and without disturbance 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 bawn 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 bawn 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 creature to fall in love with you—and you a catholic, an' her a protestant! may i never, if i think there's her angil 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.”

“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 husth,' says i, 'before i sell you the chickens, let me ax is the cooleen bawn at home?' 'she is,' says he, lookin' me 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 business.' '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?' 'betherahin,' 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 master'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 master and she forgot the gospel between them. indeed 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. buckley,” said reilly. “did you see the cooleen bawn?”

“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 the 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 conversation with a person like myself, he took the alarm at once. 'how, helen? who is this you are speaking to'? no 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 lanigan, 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 old acquaintance, 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, lanigan—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. '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 chickens. here, you bitter old randle-tree, there are three thirteens 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 message 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.”

“well, but did you not see her afterwards? and did she send no message?”

“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 ambassadress 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 scotchman, “e'en because you will not allow me an under gerdener. no one man could manage your gerden, and it canna be managed without some clever chiel, what understands 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 requires baith skeel and knowledge, and feelosophy.”

“why, confound you, sir, again, what kind of doctrine is this?”

“it's vera true doctrine, sir. you have large and spacious 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 were-na for the aid of miss folliard, i wouldna been able to keep the green-hoose e'en in its present state. she has trailed the passionflower wi' her ain hands until it is nourishing. then she has a beautiful little plot of forget-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.”

“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 bawn's 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.

“well,” replied lanigan, who had been made aware of the intended visit, “it's wonderful, in these hard times, the number of 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 apprised 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 degree recognizing him, “what do you want with me?”

“lanigan,” replied reilly, “don't you know me?”

“know you! how the devil should i know you?—i never saw you before. what do you want with me?”

“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?”

“merciful father!” said the cook, “i'm in a doldrum; can i be sure that you don't come from sir robert whitecraft, the notorious blackguard?”

“lanigan, i 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 i 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 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.

“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 something 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 shrank back instinctively. 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!”

“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 person.”

“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 soliloquy—'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 of that villain. i declare solemnly, i would rather die than witness a union between you and him.”

“but what, think you, should i feel? you would be only a spectator of the sacrifice, whereas i should be the victim.”

“do not be cast down, my love; whilst i have life, and a strong arm, it snail never be. before i go i shall make arrangements with lanigan when and where to see you again.”

“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 motions.”

“how is that?” inquired reilly. “are you not under the protection of your father, who, when occasion is necessary, has both pride and spirit?”

“but my poor credulous father is, notwithstanding, easily imposed 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 connor, 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 immediately 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 throwing 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.”

“what is the name of your present maid?” asked reilly, musing.

“oh,” replied miss folliard, “i have three maids altogether, but she has been installed as own 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 less than one of his—but i will not pain your pure and delicate 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 sending 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 miss 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 surprise. 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!”

“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 you, cook. i'm certain it's an elopement.”

“indeed, i wouldn't be surprised to find,” replied lanigan, “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 errand 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 arrange 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 cooleen bawn to her own room.

“come into the pantry, poor man,” said good-natured lanigan, addressing our hero, “till i give you' something to eat and drink.”

“many thanks to you, sir,” replied he; “troth and whaix, i didn't taste a morshel for the last fwhour—hugh—hugh-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 employment 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 assistant. to be sure, his dress and appearance were both decidedly against him; but still they relied upon the knowledge which reilly confidently assured the cook that he possessed. 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 charity to the—hugh—hugh—hugh—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 with grace!”

“would you take employment from the master, his honor mr. folliard, if you got it?”

“arrah now, shir, you gave me my skinful of what was gud; but don't be luakin' 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 i 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' gerdening. dinna ye ken that the founder o' the hail human race was a gerdener?-hout awa, moil; speak o' it wi' 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 lanigan here, and we'll see what you ken about the sceentific profession.”

they accordingly went to the garden, and it is unnecessary 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.