"How?" said the man. vernment of the country?

"Is it for serving the goThat is dangerous talk." "Whether for the government or against it," she replied, "every spy is a villain, and none but a villain would be a spy for any party; but what do I care about that? I ask again, where, in God's name, are you bringing me?"

"There is no use in telling you, my poor girl! I and those that are with me must do our duty."

"Duty!" she replied, indignantly, "Do you call dragging an unoffending girl, in the clouds of the night, away from her family, an act that comes within the duty of a soldier? If you be a man, you ought to blush for it. Why, what is the conduct of a spy to this? For God's sake let me go home-say I escaped, and that you could not find me in the darkness. If you do, and that you come to my father's house, he will reward you well for it."

They had been at this time a little in advance of the rest of the party, and the dragoon to whom she spoke put his horse to an easier pace, and was about, as she thought, to make some reply to this proposal, when the others, whether from accident or design, trotted up and joined them.

66

for?"

Sergeant," said one of them, "what do you stop

"Why, to get my snuff-box," he replied, "and to have a pinch. I'm danged but my nose is lost for the want of one."

"Very well," replied the ruffian, "take it, and remember that we have a sharp look out behind you here." They then proceeded, but he continued gradually to advance a little ahead of them, after which Rose heard him say, as if in soliloquy :

"No, no-it can't be done-I dare not risk it. My dear girl," he added, “do not talk to me— e-I feel that it is out of my power to assist you. All I can say is, put your trust in God; but at the best it is a bad business, and I am sorry I had any hand in it."

"I am afraid," she replied, weeping bitterly, "that that is all that is left me- but it may be enough. I am innocent of any crime, and my faith in the Almighty is stronger than my fear of men; besides, if the worst comes to the worst, it may be that I carry my own remedy as well as his punishment about me-that is, if my suspicions are right, as I fear they are."

In due time they reached Armagh, where, with the exception of two or three, they separated, and contrived to get into the barracks one at a time. That they were not challenged on entering the gate resulted from the fact that Lucas had contrived to place upon guard some of his own favourite men, who were his creatures on similar occasions. In order to prevent all possibility of noise, Rose was hurried in between two men, one of whom tied a thick handkerchief over her mouth, in order to prevent her from crying out. The outrage, indeed, was a daring one, and at a first view as foolish and incautiously contrived as it was daring. The fact, however, was, that the barracks at the time were nearly vacant, not more than one or two companies being then

in occupation of them. The consequence was that Lucas, who knew that there were spare rooms enough in which to shut her up, had selected one in a remote position, and to which- -as it and the others adjoining it were at the time uninhabited, though well furnishedhe resolved to commit her, as being free from any intercourse with the inmates of the place. An old woman -a confidential wretch of his-was prepared to attend upon her, and under her guidance, and that of the two ruffians who had brought her into the barracks, she was hurried to the lonely room we have mentioned. Here she found candles, a fire, and every thing laid out for supper, not omitting two decanters of wine that stood upon the table. By the time she entered the room, she felt herself nearly suffocated, and would have swooned for want of breath had she not-now that her hands were free-at once removed the handkerchief from her mouth. Having done so, she panted violently several times, until at length she found herself able to breathe without difficulty, upon which she looked at the old crone, and her first words were—

"Are you a woman? have you the heart and feelings of a woman? Can you see such an outrage as this committed upon a young, inoffensive creature of your own sex? No; I can't think it possible. Oh you surely will have compassion upon me, I implore you, in the name of that God who is to judge you, to pity Oh enable me to escape from the villany of this As you hope for mercy, enable me to escape! My father is a wealthy man, and will reward you well if you do."

me. man.

The vile old creature gave a grin, at first, by way of reply, but after a little she answered:

you.

"Foolish girl, don't stand there crying and wringing your hands; what are you afraid of?-is it of one of the handsomest young gentlemen in his majesty's service? Pity! troth I have neither pity nor compassion for you, nor the good fortune that's waiting for I only wish I was your age, and as handsome as you are, and maybe I wouldn't think myself the happy girl if I was in your place. Here now, take a glass of wine, and it will comfort you and put you in good spirits. What's father or mother to the like of such a beautiful young fellow as Cornet Lucas? Come, my pretty girl, take this glass of wine and it will cheer you."

There are some individuals-especially old women, when they happen to be wicked, as was the case here— upon whose features and whole person there is legible and visible to the most inexperienced eye, such an unquestionable and diabolical spirit of iniquity, that by one glance at them we are as capable of understanding their character as being an acquaintance for years. The tones of her voice, too, afforded as strong and as decided a proof of her depravity as did her features. Altogether poor Rose felt that so far as the fiendish old wretch was concerned, there was no hope for her. She accordingly sat down on a chair, and maintained an unbroken silence to everything she said—a mode of proceeding which annoyed the vicious old crone to the quick. She felt that she was now treated with contempt, as well as with

hatred and indignation. Respect for the taste of our readers prevents us from detailing the infamous tendency of her conversation, and the vile scope of her arguments, in attempting to undermine the pure principles of this virtuous and beautiful creature. Rose, when she saw and felt the spirit of the female devil she had to deal with, never once opened her lips to her, as we have said. Neither did she now shed a tear. She saw there was a terrible trial before her, and her whole spirit was absorbed in its result. The girl was in despair, or very near it; but despair, even in cowards, has a courage that is often desperate: what, then, must it not be in a person who possesses strong natural courage, as was the case with her? Her tears, and the weakness which occasioned them, abandoned her; nay, her very fears, to a certain degree, left her, and she felt prepared, and almost anxious, for the coming trial, with a hope that it might end in her favour. Such, indeed, is true courage, especially when founded upon virtue and resolution; and shall we not add to this her strong confidence in the protection of God? At length the vicious old sibyl left her, and after having locked the door outside, Rose could hear her hated footsteps wending along the passage as she departed. Human nature is a strange mystery. Now that the wretch, bad as she was, had gone, Rose felt as if a portion of her strength and defence had departed with her. She did not think that anything in the shape of her own sex could be aught but a protection to her; and the terror which she had partially subdued, again returned upon her. The solitude of her position, and its remoteness from all human assistance, depressed her woefully. But again the thought of the Almighty, and a sense of His overruling providence, once more came to her support, and whilst in this state of mind she knelt down and prayed fervently to God, and with bitter tears of supplication besought His assistance. Having risen from her knees, she looked around the room and examined the windows, to try whether any mode of escape might present itself; but alas, the scrutiny was hopeless. The windows were secured and immoveable, so far as she could ascertain, and resisted all her attempts to open them. Finding the melancholy and hopeless nature of her imprisonment she sat down, and again her courage and resolution returned to her. It seemed that her situation resembled the horrors of some troubled dream, and once or twice she pressed her temples, looked at her hands, rose up and sat down again, with a hope that it might be one of those dreadful phantasms which sometimes persecute us in our sleep, and which we feel as a reality until we escape and are relieved from them by awaking. These experiments satisfied her, however, that it was neither a dream nor an illusion, but a frightful and horrible truth. Whilst this awful agony wrought so terribly in her spirit, she heard the key of the door gently insinuating itself into the lock-she heard it turn-she heard the bolt shoot back, and the next moment Lucas entered the apartment. He immediately locked the door and put the key in his pocket.

"My dear girl," said he, "what good angel brought

you here? If I knew his name I would pray to him."

"A better angel, sir," she replied, "will take me, I trust, safer out of this."

"He must be a very good one, then, and a great deal stronger than mine; for you are now in my power, and I would be glad to see the angel that would take you out of it: you repulsed me once successfully, but you will not do it a second time."

"Don't be too sure of that, sir," she replied; "keep your distance," for he was approaching her. Sir," she added, "keep your distance. I wish I could address you as a gentleman and a soldier. I entreat you, Sir, if you be either, to set me at liberty, and allow me to return in safety to my sorrowing and outraged family."

"I have not the slightest notion of it, I assure you,” he replied; "but, listen, I would rather win you by love and affection than have recourse to violence."

"Violence! you surely dare not have recourse to violence; you know what the consequences must be to yourself. I entreat you, then, if you be either a gentleman or a soldier, to set me at liberty, and let me go home to my parents. They are not without friends who will bring you to an account for any violence you may dare to offer me. The Johnstons of the Fews are particular friends to my family. They are our landlords; and you may believe me when I tell you, that if you even attempt to insult or injure me, they will bring you to a short and a sharp account for it."

The knowledge of this fact staggered the young. villain for a few moments, and he seemed to pause for a while and become thoughtful. While he is thinking, we will say a few words about that once remarkable family. The Johnstons of the Fews, then, were the most celebrated and active men of their day as Tory-hunters, and had won a reputation as extensive as the kingdom itself, for pursuing, capturing, and bringing to justice those unprincipled banditti who robbed and murdered in all directions, and kept the whole country in a state of terror and ferment. The activity, courage, and perseverance of this family were astonishing; and in truth both the country and the government were under great obligations to them. They were also strong, but open, opponents to persons of the Catholic creed; but their principles as landlords were decidedly feudal. Of course they had a vast number of Roman Catholic tenantry under them; and although they proclaimed themselves bitter enemies to the Church of Rome and her adherents, yet, as the Catholics on their property were their Catholics, woe betide the man-no matter what his rank or condition might be-who happened to offend or injure any one of them. The consequence was, that their violence was looked upon, especially by the Catholics of the day, as "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing;" and if any person of that religion, living on their property, felt oppressed or aggrieved, the first individual of might or rank to whom they applied, was certain to be some one of the "Johnstons of the Fews."

Our readers will now understand the force of Rose's

argument, when she pleaded their relation as landlords to her family.

66 Well," said he, "let the Johnstons of the Fews rest, there is no one going to interfere with them; but, in the mean time, I don't see why I should not prove myself a hospitable Irishman-why I should not shake hands with my beautiful guest, and welcome her to the place I have provided for her. There is no harm in that I hope. I mean it all in love and affection."

As he spoke he was again approaching her. "Stand back, sir," she replied, quickly and resolutely drawing an Irish skean, or dagger, out of her bosom : "there's only two lives between us-advance another step and one of them will be taken. Give up your villanous design at once, for if you approach another step, I will plunge this skean into your body, and if I fail in that, I will plunge it into my own; so that in whatever way it may end you will lose your object. Stand back then; for as God who sees my heart and knows my determination, I will keep my word. In whatever way it may end, this will be a black night to you."

"You know," said he, "I might bring in assistance, and have you disarmed; you know that, so you may as well throw your skean aside, for I will do it."

"You may," she replied; "but the first glimpse I catch of any assistance coming with you, that moment will I stab myself to the heart. In any sense, in every sense, I defy you then; and besides I trust in the protection of God, who is stronger than you and all your wicked instruments."

"Very well," he replied, "I shall take another course. Be assured I shall subdue you yet, although I would rather do it by kindness and affection, as I have said, than otherwise. "Did you never hear of such a thing as 'starving the garrison?'

"I have some notion of what you mean," she returned; "but, even so, I have my own remedy, thank God, and will use it sooner than ever you should gain your vile and cowardly purpose."

"Very well," said he, "we shall see the upshot. As I have life, I shall starve you here until you will not be able to use your dagger. I now leave you, and remember that you will find my words prophetic and true."

"And so shall you mine," she replied; "but think of the consequences of this conduct-what will they be to you? It cannot pass without discovery, and when it is known you will be dragged to disgrace and punishment. You will die a shameful death if you persevere in your wickedness."

"I leave you now," said he; "but out of my hands you never shall escape until you are subdued and overcome."

"I have told you before," she replied, "that it cannot be. You are bringing your own fate upon your own head."

"Time will tell," said he; "but I now leave you." He accordingly withdrew, locking the door after him, and in a few minutes the old crone returned, and, without uttering a syllable, carried off with her every particle of food and every drop of drink that was in the

room, with the exception of one decanter of wine. She locked the door as before, and poor Rose was left in solitude and silence, in such a state of mind as it is not necessary for us to describe to our readers.

She was a brave and great girl, but there are hundreds of thousands as brave and as great throughout the respectable peasant homesteads of our country. Whilst Lucas was in conversation with her, and indeed so long as he remained in the room, her beautiful form seemed as it were transfigured into the very spirit of resolution and courage; her cheeks and temples glowed with the determined purpose of her heart, and her beautiful eyes flashed with a fire that shot from them like lightning, and gave unquestionable proof that the dreadful resolution she had threatened she would most assuredly execute.

On that night Patchy the Baccah-whom our readers, we presume, may already suspect of playing a double game between the Rapparees and the military-came to the resolution of discovering, if possible, the place of concealment to which the unfortunate girl might be committed. With this intention he crossed the country towards Armagh, which he reached some short time previous to the arrival of the party. He had been permitted to sleep occasionally in some unoccupied lumberroom in the barracks, and, not unfrequently, was allowed to spend his nights in the guard-room, where he amused the men with wonderful narratives of his adventures while in the Irish army. The sol liers knew that he was under the protection and in the confidence of the officers, and on this account he was admitted freely and at all hours. On the night in question he presented himself, and was received with that good-humoured but contemptuous banter to which he was well accustomed, and to which he always replied to with very amusing drollery. "Well, Patchy, what good news to-night, you lame old rebel ?"

"Why," replied Patchy, "do you call me an onld rebel? I look oulder than I am I know, but maybe if you were afther harrowing all that I plowed, you'd have three wrinkles in your face for my oue. Ould! a man at forty-two is only in his prime of life, and if it were not for this lameness, I'd tache some of you what activity manes. Sure I often danced a hornpipe upon a soapbubble widout ever breakin' it. Mavrone! but I was nearly cotch by the same lameness though the night the bloody Rapparees gave me the chivvey-chase. To think of the villains followin me to within a hundred yards of the barracks!"

66

The ground must have swallowed them, then, Patchy; for when we turned out to pursue them, there wasn't a man of the scoundrels to be found.”

"But sure they say their Captain can make himself invisible whenever he likes, and that he carries bracken seed about him for the very purpose."

"Faith and they must all have carried it about them on that night; for devil a man of them was visible at all. Well, but have you no news in particular tonight ?"

"Troth, some," he replied significantly, "has good news to-night, and some has but indifferent. I missed

my set this time at the Raps; but you know the worse luck now the better again. It'll go hard wid me or I'll have them yet, especially the Captain. Och, I'm tired and starved, and must go and throw myself on some shake down in the ould lumber-room."

Instead of going to the lumber-room, however, he kept dodging about the barracks until the troopers arrived, when he planted himself opposite the windows in order to reconnoitre their proceedings, and to ascertain, if possible, how they might dispose of the unhappy girl, in whose fate he felt deeply and intensely interested.

"I will watch the windows," thought he, "and who knows but I may find out where they will place her. That's all I want: for I know the man that will take her out of the heart's blood of the barracks, if he only knows where to find her."

The night was fortunately very dark, and he kept walking up and down opposite the windows. He felt no surprise on seeing Lucas's room lighted-for he was well aware of its position-but on seeing another apartment in a remote part of the building, which he knew to have been, up until that night, unoccupied for a considerable time past, he began to entertain a strong suspicion that it might be that which they had selected as her place of captivity, at least until her ruin should be accomplished. Here he remained until Rose had been left to herself, and from this position he observed her attempting to ascertain if any kind of escape were available by the windows In making the experiment she had placed the candle on the window-ledge, so that he had such a distinct view of her as at once satisfied him of her identity, and the place of her imprisonment. To communicate with her, however, without the risk of discovery, he felt to be out of the question; but he thanked God that he had at least ascertained the locality of the room in which they had immured her; and to prevent any possibility of mistake, he reckoned the windows from the fourth point of the range, until he came to that of the apartment which contained her, and placed a mark of three round stones close to the wall directly beneath it, lest there might be any mistake in his reckoning. Having accomplished so much, he felt that to leave the barracks at that unseasonable hour, after having so recently returned to them, might occasion suspicion. He accordingly retired to the lumber-room already mentioned, which was his usual place of rest when among the military: and as he really felt much fatigued after his difficult and harassing journey across the country, he soon sank into a sleep, at once deep and refreshing. The next morning he awoke late, but active and recruited in strength. Having dressed himself—if we may say so, considering the habiliments he worehe joined one of the soldiers' messes, where he amused them, and breakfasted besides to his heart's content. He then prepared to leave the barracks, but on his way out was met by Cornet Lucas.

"Well, Patchy," said that gentleman, "how the devil does it happen that you are in barracks this morning?" "Faith, for my own safety, your honour," replied Patchy; "but how the devil did it happen that you or

dhered me to go to Brien Callan's last night, where a party of your men came to take me prisoner as a spy to the Rapparees? Doesn't your honour know the hunt they give me about a month ago, almost to the very gate of the barracks, and that mortal man never had such an escape as I had ?"

"What party, Patchy? No party from these barracks was out last night. I believe you know all the mea here, and you can say whether any of them was at Callan's."

"Faith, I can say no such thing," replied Patchy, "for the best raison in the world, bekase I didn't see them."

"You didn't see them? That is unfortunate-how did it happen that you didn't see them ?"

"Why, sir, bekaise when I heard they were lookin' for me, I tuck to my scrapers."

"Did they commit any outrage?"

"Not, sir, that I am aware of, barrin drivin' me out of my warm bed, the thieves, when I was tould they were lookin' for me."

"Patchy, my man, I never thought you a blockhead until now. Don't you understand it ?"

"The devil a bit, your honour; it's Greek to me so far."

"Why, Patchy, the villains must have been the Rapparees. You know yourself they're not over head and ears in love with you."

"Faith you've hot it there, sir, nor with your honour either," replied Patchy; "but what I wish to know is, why you sent me there last night, sir ?"

"Simply, Patchy, to bring about what has happened. I now know the Rapparees are in this immediate part of the country. They must have seen you going to Callan's, and your presence there it was which occasioned their midnight visit to his house. I hope they offered no violence to his family," he added, keenly scrutinising Patchy's countenance as he spoke; "they say their Captain is in love with Miss Callan."

"That may be, sir, but it's the first time I ever heard of it; but why did you send me to where I stood a hundred chances to one of falling into their hands? Don't you know, sir, they're on the look-out for me night and day; and, besides, by sendin' me there, you prevented me from makin' good my set upon them. But why did you send me at all, sir ?"

66

Why, to satisfy myself that they are in the neighbourhood and besides I depended upon your own ingenuity in escaping them. You see I was right; but I wish you had seen them, that you might give me some account of their personal appearance."

Why,

"Personal appearance, inagh, (forsooth). doesn't your honour know they never appear the same thing two days runnin', or rather two nights runnin'; and as for their Captain, he can change himself in such a way-face, dress, discourse, and all that-his own men often doesn't know him from Adam."

"So they say, indeed. In the mean time I hope they have offered no violence to Callan's family. Yes, you are right, Patchy, for it is well known that they some

times assume the uniform of his Majesty's British soldiers, and commit the most atrocious depredations in their name. It is very probable that if they committed any outrage upon poor Callan's family last night, they had recourse to the same disguises. Now, go and try your hand at tracing their whereabouts-it is clear that they are in the neighbourhood. You know the reward that is offered by Government for their leader, and that if you enable us to secure him, you will get an ample share of it."

"Isn't that what I'm thinkin' of, sir, day and night: but, to tell you the truth, the people-I mane the Catholics, your honour-are beginnin', I think, to suspect me; and if it 'ud be agreeable to you, sir, to give me a few lines from undher your own hand, by way of probation, jist to recommend all loyal subjects to prevent me, as far as they can, from receivin' any injury from the rebelly papists, it would be of great use to me. About a fortnight ago I met one of those terrible men, the Johnstons of the Fews, and he was very near sendin' me to jail as a rebel that had fought against King William at the Boyne and the siege of Limerick, and only I referred him to Colonel Caterson, he would have done it. I'm not safe, sir, from either party, I tell you, without some such protection."

"Very well, Patchy; stay where you are for a few minutes, and I will return with the document you want. It may serve you certainly, at least with the magistrates, and the loyal portion of the community, and you shall have it. In the meantime, don't conceal any outrage that the Rapparees may have committed last night from the people; that is, if they have committed any, which I hope they did not."

In a few minutes he returned with the following document, which he presented to Patchy, who, after having received it. immediately left the barracks. It was to the following effect:

"This is to certify that the bearer, Patchy M'Quade, commonly called Patchy Baccah, is a loyal subject, and consisidered worthy the protection of the Garrison of Armagh, and all other loyal men in this His Majesty's kingdom of Ireland."

Signed,

"WILLIAM LUCAS,

"Cornet in His Majesty's 3rd Dragoons."

Patchy, who was no scholar, put the paper carefully in an inside pocket, feeling perfectly aware that its discovery upon him by those of his own creed, who were ignorant of his peculiar position between the Rapparees and the military, might look upon him as a spy for the Government—a character which, at that time, was attended with anything but security. He was possessed, however, of great cunning and ingenuity, and the reader will soon see the purpose to which he applied this document, and his object in procuring it.

(TO BE CONTINUED IN OUR NEXT.)

THE O'DONNELLS IN EXILE.

BY JOHN O'DONOVAN, ESQ., LL.D., M.R.I.A.
(Continued from page 56.)

O'DONEL having been bred in these parts from his infancy, was perfectly well acquainted with the country, and therefore projected where to intercept and cut off the enemie; not thinking they were so numerous as the panic fear of the people had represented them, and not beleeving from General Ginkel's letter before mentioned, that this invasion was by his orders. Know. ing besides that he was on his march to Lymerick with his army, from whence it was not likely he would make so considerable a de. tachment; since the profitt must be shared amongst the whole, and that neither this nor the reputation of the action could be much, to be gained from unarmed people dispersed here and there about.

Pursuant to these thoughts, without more loss of time, he went away with the few men that convoyed him the day before. And at last, after 14 miles march, overtooke the enemy, in a defile of a marsh, where the ambarras of the way made them halt. As he went along the leaders of those very keeriaghts joined him, and with their assistance he recovered the booty, killing some and takeing others prisoners.

Hee first sent away the conductors of the keeriaghts, and commanded them to return the prey to the severall proprietors, and ordered them to extend themselves for the convenience of pasture, because his troops from Yetherconnaght [Jarconnaught] began to arrive, who could defend them from any insult of the enemy, dispatching away others with the same advice to those who were in a manner penned up within the mountains.

Next day he sent some prisoners with a drum, and a letter for Generall Ginkel, to the next garrison of the enemys, the tenor of which was that he was surprised after what he had written to him, that such acts of hostility should be committed against the poor people under his care. That it was easy for him to do great damages to those under his protection, but he was so farr from doeing any; that he sent him back the prisoners he had taken; and prayed him that in return he woud sincerely lett him know, whether he would continue the proposed suspension of arms or noe; that for the future they might be satisfyed what they had to do, and not be in any apprehension of a surprize.

Some time after he received an answer of this letter, wherein the generall assured him, that this injury was not done by his orders, nor of any of the cheife commanders of the army; that the proprietors of those estates were the aggressors; that he had suspended and imprisoned the three subaltern officers, who with their men had joyned them; and that they shou'd so remain, till he should order what further punishment he pleased; that he would take care for the future that neither the soldiers nor the country people should molest any within his precincts. But with all that he was astonished, he made him no mention of the capitulation he had proposed; which he desired might be concluded before it was too late, and not in his power to have the pleasure of doing him any service.

At the same time the governor of Sligo and his officers sent a letter to O'Donel, acquainting him that a body of the army, joyned with some of the militia of Ulster, had beseeged them and plundered all the country, and that being unprovided of all things for a defence, they agreed to surrender the fort as soon as the deputyes of both sides sent to Lymerick should return with my Lord Lucan's approbation; but if within 10 dayes, they could receive such succour, as would oblige the enemie to retire, the capitulation was to be null. Uppon this occasion O'Donel began his march, and arrived within the time limited, within 5 or 6 miles of the enemie, who thereuppon raised the siege, and retired without comeing to a battle.

Some dayes after, those who were sent to Lymerick with the capitulation, returned with it approved by the Lieutenant-Generall Lucan, and as they were on their way thither, they met with orders precedent to the siege, to abandon this fort, as a place not possible to be defended.

And as it is the comon custom among commanders of armys to encourage their own side, and dishearten the others, so General