CHAPTER XXIII. SUNDRY OCCURRENCES NARRATED-MR. BROWN AND HIS FRIENDS IN

TROUBLE.

_Murderer_. Safe in a ditch he bides,

With twenty trenched pashes on his head;

The least a death to nature.”

“Yolk-fellows in arms,

Let us to France!”

Shakspeare.

“You are late, my friend,” I said, as the gipsy stopped beside me and Mr. Hartley.

“I am too late to warn you against the attempt, but in good time to apprise you of the extent of the danger you have eseaped, and implore you, as you value life, to profit by it,” was the reply.

“You are then aware that I have been assailed, and providentially rescued?”

“I am.”

“Did you witness the attempt upon my young friend’s life?” asked Mr. Hartley.

“No; had I been near enough, the attempt would never have been made.”

“Then you must have obtained a knowledge of it in a marvellously short time after the occurrence.”

“I have,” replied the gipsy; “and, as time is precious, I shall at once tell the means by which I gained that information. I had received an intimation that certain agents would be employed, and, anxious to learn the plans that would be adopted, I repaired to a place where I was well aware the ruffians could be met with. Earlier it would have been useless to have sought them--crime and darkness are companions--and the boldest ruffian of the party dared not venture from his skulking-place in the broad light of day. I went and found them, not preparing for their murderous essay, but foiled in the attempt, and venting, in impotent execrations, their rage at disappointment. From one maimed wretch I heard the particulars of their night adventure, after his companions, leaving him to my charge, had gone to report their failure to the scoundrels who had employed them.”

“And after the danger’s past, you come to congratulate my young friend on his deliverance! Methinks, it would have been doing better service to have apprised him of his peril, and not entrusted his escape from the murderer’s knife to the accidental assistance rendered by some passing strangers.”

“Had I not already cautioned him sufficiently?” returned the gipsy. “If he allowed himself to be made the dupe of an artful woman--one with the semblance of purity and innocence veiling a heart that from infancy has been familiarized with crime--and whose beauty seems to be given so lavishly, only to render her a greater curse to the community--was I to blame? All that a woman’s art could do was done. Were he the offspring of first love, his safety eould not be dearer to a mother. Once more, Hector O’Halloran, I come to warn you. Danger is averted, but not passed; and I repeat my former admonition: regard every stranger who approaches you as an enemy!”

“But, woman, with the knowledge you possess, why not end this state of insecurity? Tell us whence danger is to come--denounce his assassins--and the laws of England are quite sufficient to protect my young friend from those who seek his life.”

“To save is one thing, to betray another; and I would preserve his life, if possible, without compromising that of one whom I know to be his deadliest enemy. But of one thing rest assured--should no other means succeed--the guilty shall be sacrificed and the innocent preserved. Farewell. Trust implicitly in me. Early to-morrow expect to hear from me; and stir not from home until my letter shall be delivered.”

She turned away; we heard her steps receding in the darkness. Presently the sounds became fainter until they died away, and we returned to our own hotel, very little wiser than when we left it.

“I cannot even fancy who our foemen are,” said Mr. Hartley, as he leaned thoughtfully against the mantel-pieee. “At times a vague suspicion crosses my mind. That monk, and his associate, who have enthralled your grandfather, and estranged the dotard from the child who should have been the solace of his age, they look no doubt upon you as a dangerous rival. But were their fears greater, and did they wish, even by violence, to rid themselves of one who might mar their schemes, still the villany would require some time ere it could be sufficiently matured for execution. The secret motives which actuate that mysterious woman are also impenetrable, but her fidelity is beyond a doubt. Well, Hector, we must needs be ever on the alert until time developes more than we know at present. And now, to bed.”

We separated for the night; and never did the slumbers of a private gentleman prove less refreshing than mine. I dreamed eternally of every thing abominable. One time, the gipsy was sounding into my attentive ear her mystic warnings; the next, with smiles, sweet enough to bother any saint in the whole calendar, that demon-girl was beckoning me along dark and dreary passages,--and I mechanically following, although perfectly conscious that she lured me to the grave. No wonder that next morning I rose with an aching head; and then, for the first time, ascertained the extent of the injury I had sustained. It is true the hurts were superficial; but from the number of bruises my arms and back exhibited, many blows had fallen on both, although at the time they were unfelt by me.

I was the last personage to present myself at the breakfast table. I found Isidora there, pale and agitated; for Mr. Hartley had just acquainted her with my narrow escape from assassination. To do him justice, he omitted every particular of my having undertaken to arrange Miss Julia Travers’ claims upon the government; and, as “good men blush at the record of a virtuous act,” I was delighted to find that my beneficent intentions regarding the soldier’s orphan were silently passed over. When I took her hand in mine, I felt it tremble; and, from the manner of both, had Mr. Hartley been ignorant of our attachment before, that morning’s meeting would have betrayed the secret to one far less discerning than he was.

As breakfast ended, the postman’s knock was heard; and presently Dominique presented several letters to Mr. Hartley and myself. His appeared to be full of interest, from the attention with which he perused their contents; and mine, to me, were equally important. One was from my father, and it apprised me that he expected to get me placed on the staff of one of his old friends, a general officer, commanding a brigade of the army now advancing towards the Pyrenees; and the other, a formal notification of my appointment, with an order for my departure forthwith for the Peninsula, by a sloop-of-war, which was to sail on the third day from Portsmouth for Passages, laden with money and military stores.

While I was reading my despatches, Mr. Hartley rose suddenly and left the room, to reply to one of his that required an immediate answer. More unwelcome intelligence never met the eye of a soldier of fortune, than the unexpected order to leave England now appeared to me. How differently the route for the Peninsula would have been regarded a fortnight since! Involuntarily I raised my eyes--and they encountered those of my gentle mistress. She had perceived that the letters I had just received contained news of no ordinary interest. I rose, and seated myself beside her, and gradually announced that the hour of parting was at hand.

I need not describe the scene that followed. Those who have loved as we did, can guess it well; and fancy what the “cold in blood” could never know nor feel. Isidora’s hand was locked in mine; and my flushed cheeks, and her tearful eyes, told too well, how agonizing the first severance of love is. Suddenly the door opened--Mr. Hartley entered--he paused a moment in surprise; and, while she was covered with blushes, and I astonished beyond the power of free agency, he advanced and stood before us.

“Soh!--what means this folly, may I ask?”

The tears flowed faster down his daughter’s cheeks, while I, unconsciously, still held her hand in mine, and merely pointed to the letters that were lying on the table.

Mr. Hartley read them hastily, and, without evincing any mark of displeasure at the discovery he had made, he beckoned gently to his daughter, and next moment she was seated on her father’s knee, her arms clasped fondly round his neck, and her head rested on his bosom.

“Isidora,” he said, in that soft tone of voice with which he always addressed his favourite, “I have been already prepared for this discovery; and had I been unfriendly to the growth of an attachment which I have witnessed with satisfaction, I would have discouraged the unrestricted intimacy which has existed between you and my young friend, and which in youth is ever too dangerous to be permitted. I think I have known the world too long, to have any doubt upon my mind respecting this gentleman’s feelings towards you, my child; but, nevertheless, I will inquire of him whether I have correctly formed this opinion.”

My reply was a florid declaration of youthful passion, whose ardour elicited from my gentle mistress a look which told me that my love was faithfully reciprocated.

“‘Well, I believe you, Hector. Circumstances have hurried matters on more rapidly than I had expected. I have watched you suspiciously; for he who would trust his earthly treasure to the keeping of another, will be guarded ere he parts with it. I am satisfied that all which I value will be safe. Continue to deserve it; and when events, now in slow progress, shall have come round, and prudence justifies the step, this hand, Hector,”--and he placed Isidora’s in mine--“the dearest gift a father can bestow, is yours.”

Young love is eloquent, and I warmly expressed my gratitude.

“An hour ago I considered that the time had not yet arrived, when you were entitled to demand my confidence,” continued Mr. Hartley; “I have now given you the strongest pledge of my personal regard; and you have a claim upon my unlimited confidence, which shall be freely admitted. We dine at six; and afterwards you shall know some particulars of the story of a man, whose very existence none, save yourself and this loved child, suspect. Little did you imagine that, in the stern monitor who blamed your follies, a kinsman was cautioning an unschooled novice against those seductions of vicious society which so often wreck the happiness of youth. None could have taught the lesson better than himself. He had erred and paid the penalty--and a life of peril, suffering, and disappointment, has scarcely redeemed the obloquy and disgrace which his earlier indiscretions had brought upon a name, which, but for his offendings, should have been second to none in Britain. Hector O’Halloran, you stand in the presence of one, who, tempted, ruined, and rejected by all, became a castaway and an exile--I am Edward Clifford.”

Was I dreaming--or was it a reality, that the man who had exercised such mysterious influence over my thoughts and actions, was closely united to me by the bond of blood--my mother’s brother--my grandsire’s heir--but, dearer tie than all--the father of Isidora! My brain was in a whirl, when Dominique unclosed the door to announce that two persons were below, and anxious to see me. I informed my uncle--for that relationship with him I shall claim for the future--that the strangers were my deliverers; and in a few minutes after Isidora had retired, my foster-brother and the honest ratcatcher were formally introduced.

Of the Irish relationship that existed between me and Mark Antony O’Toole my uncle was already apprised, and he received the fosterer accordingly as if he had been an old acquaintance; but, touching the private history of Shemus Rhua, we were both as yet in blissful ignorance. All we knew was, that in the hour of danger, he had proved himself a jewel above price; but that he had arrayed himself in arms against the house of Hanover, eased Tim Maley of his purse, bled an old woman, or ferretted a rat, were interesting passages in the captain’s life which we had yet to learn. Neither of my friends looked to the best advantage. The ratcatcher, in the _rookawn_ of the preceding evening, had been favoured with a black eye--and the fosterer came out of action minus a skirt, with the addition of an awkward fracture in his unmentionables. Both had the appearance of gentlemen who had been recently in trouble, and from their “_shuck_ * look,” had they presented themselves as bail, it is doubtful whether a fastidious justice of the peace would have accepted either, without instituting a slight inquiry into their “whereabouts” and general effects. I believe the meeting of last night was, on both sides, a fortunate occurrence. Never did man receive succour when he needed it more opportunely than I; while the fosterer and his friend had already experienced some difficulty in struggling against an exhausted treasury and wardrobe. A liberal present from Mr. Hartley (for that name must be for the present retained) placed the finances of the twain once more in a flourishing condition. I supplied the fosterer with an outfit for his outer man; the captain made a judicious selection from a fashionable emporium in the vicinity of Monmouth Street; and in a couple of hours, a happy change in both had been effected, and their persons were gay as their hearts.

* Anglice--shaken, or shabby.

The morning wore away. No tidings from the gipsy had arrived; and Mr. Hartley and myself had just come to a conclusion that something had changed her intention of sending me a dispatch, and that it was unnecessary to wait longer at home in expectation of the promised billet. The fosterer and captain had returned from their morning’s excursion; and Mr. Hartley, having heard their adventure at Mr. Spicer’s on the preceding evening, was considering the best method in which that information could be employed to discover who might be the conspirators against my life. He was listening a second time to a narrative of their imprisonment in the lumber-room, where Mark Antony had ensconced himself to avoid the ire of an elderly gentleman, who, like Mr. Spicer, had “not loved wisely, but too well,” when the negro entered the drawing-room, and handed me a sealed letter, whose folding and address bore evident appearance of carelessness. I unclosed it hastily--the private mark annexed announcing that the gipsy was the writer. The contents were these:

“Well may it be said that the ways of Providence are inscrutable; for vengeance so sudden as to pass belief, has fallen on those who last night endeavoured to effect your destruction. Come to the Green Man immediately.’ There you will see those who employed, and those who undertook to murder you. Notice nothing which may occur; and appear to take no more interest in passing events, than any stranger in the room. Follow me when I leave the house, and let your friend accompany you. Fail not!”

“We shall punctually attend the lady’s invitation,” said Mr. Hartley, as he perused the scroll for the second time, “and we will also take that henchman of yours and his companion with us.”

Accordingly, these useful allies were dispatched, with proper directions to find the place appointed; and in half an hour, Mr. Hartley and I started in the same direction.

On arriving at our destination, we found the street was crowded, and intense anxiety was visible in the countenances of a very numerous collection of idle people, to whom every act of atrocity gives interest. Indeed, it had been found necessary to close the tavern doors against all, excepting those who might professionally or profitably claim a right of entrance. The appearance of my uncle and myself, however, secured admission, and we were conducted into a spacious club-room, which had been selected wherein to hold the necessary inquest on a murdered man. A crown, judiciously applied, obtained convenient seats immediately beside the defunct lawyer and the persons suspected of his murder; and the fosterer and his companion had standing room assigned them, behind the chairs with which we had been graciously accommodated.

That spacious room had witnessed many an hour of revelry. With the dance, the song, the laugh, and every outbreak of “tipsy jollity,” its walls for years had been familiarized. The present was a different scene. It was an inquisition for “blood spilt” by man; and the victim and his slaughterers were placed in the immediate presence of each other.

The deceased remained in the same state as when he had been discovered in the morning, and even the position in which the body had been found was scrupulously preserved. No doubt existed as to the cause of death, for the skull was extensively fractured, and _post mortem_ appearances evinced that unnecessary violence had been employed; for any of half-a-dozen injuries inflicted on their victim by the murderers would have proved mortal. The features were painfully distorted; and the passing agonies of the departed man had been severe. Not an article of value was found upon the corpse; the pockets were turned out, and showed that robbery had succeeded murder.

From the dead my eyes turned to the living. Five men were seated on a form, and behind each individual a man of peculiar appearance stood, whom Mr. Hartley told me in a whisper, belonged to a celebrated community long since extinct--Bow Street runners. On the persons who occupied the bench the gaze of all within the room was concentrated, and I examined them, from right to left, attentively.

The first was genteelly dressed, and his general appearance was superior to that of his companions. His exterior exhibited tokens of vulgar opulence; and watch, and brooch, and ring, all valuable, told that had he been criminal, the plea of poverty could not be used in extenuation.

Beside him a man was seated, whose dress was shabby and general appearance disgusting. His head was swathed in a bloody handkerchief; and it was announced that, in a murderous affray on the preceding night, his jaw-bone had been severely fractured.

The third was a blackguard of ordinary stamp; but the fourth and fifth, Mark Antony and his companion at once recognised as old acquaintances.

“By the hole in my coat!” said the ratcatcher, in a whisper, “I would swear to that dacent couple in a thousand. That _critch_ * without any carcase, good nor bad, and the dark-muzzled scoundrel beside him--more betoken, I think it was himself, the murderin’ thief, that giv me the black eye.”

* Anglice--a hunchback.

I looked at the scoundrels, with whose appearances the reader is already familiar. Gracious God! was I so nearly hurried from existence by the bludgeon of that truculent-looking Jew, or the knife of that contemptible hunchback? But my thoughts were speedily turned into another channel. The coroner took his place; the jury were empannelled; and the inquest formally commenced.

It would be unnecessary to trespass upon the reader’s patience, and narrate in detail every particular attendant on a mercenary murder. The money intended to procure my death, by a singular accident, caused the assassination of the guilty wretch who had been the hired agent to effect it. In the remote place, and at the untimely hour when Sloman met a doom he merited too well, it was supposed that the foul deed would have been effected in full security. Guilt plots cunningly, but a higher influence mars the best-laid schemes. An outcast, without a roof to cover her, had crept for shelter into a dilapidated building, and, unseen and undiscovered, overheard the murderers arrange their plans. She saw them waylay the devoted wretch, knock him on the head, and afterwards, by the light of a dark-lantern, plunder the dead body. When they retired, she followed unperceived, and traced them into the dwelling of their employer. She acquainted the Bow Street myrmidons of the transaction; led them first, to the place where the murdered man was found, and afterwards, to the house where she knew the ruffians had been harboured.

It is a singular fact, that the most cautious villains rarely escape surprise. The hunchback, excited by the adventures of that busy night, had drunk more deeply than was his custom. His weakly constitution soon owned the effect of liquor; and, in his confusion, he left the street-door open, although, in drunken wisdom, he fancied that he had effectually secured it. By that neglect, the officers obtained an easy entrance--and the murderers were seized “red-handed,” and in the very act of dividing the plunder of their late employer. The facts were already strong against the whole of the accused; but the hunchback’s confession rendered the guilt of his confederates past a doubt. He became king’s evidence; and the wounded bravo, whose fractured jaw had prevented him from sharing in the murder, corroborated the testimony of the thing of legs and arms. Mr. Brown, and “the ruffians twain,” whom he had employed to cause a vacancy in the twenty ------th, by ridding the world of me, were fully committed--as I heard afterwards on the Peninsula, in course of law, were tried, found guilty, and suffered a felon death.

We watched the proceedings at the inquest, which occupied several hours, with an interest that can be readily imagined.

Although the perpetration of a greater crime had thrown the attempt upon my life into the background, and steps were no longer required, either to secure my safety or bring to punishment those who had endangered it, still the cause of the assault upon me was so incomprehensible, that both my uncle and myself were anxious to trace the conspiracy to its source. Nothing during the inquiry transpired that in any way appeared to be connected with me; and, faithless to her promise, the gipsy had not attended. Although the room was crowded by a mob of the curious of either sex, had she been in the throng, from the singularity of her costume I should have easily recognised my mysterious acquaintance. The proceedings having ended, the jury were discharged, the prisoners removed, and the crowd dispersed rapidly.

“Come, Hector,” said Mr. Hartley, “the lady of the bridge, like others of her sex, is not always to be depended on. Where can that mysterious gentlewoman be?”

“At your elbow,” responded a voice.

We started, and looked round. A woman, respectably attired, but whose features were partially hidden by a close bonnet that seemed formed to conceal the face, was standing immediately beside us. Could this be that wild wanderer who had accosted me in the park, and met me on the bridge when all but the outcasts of society were at home? I had no time left for closer examination--she tapped me gently on the shoulder--and, in a low voice, desiring me to follow, she mingled in the crowd. Mr. Hartley and I quietly obeyed the signal; while Mark Antony and the ratcatcher joined the rabble in the street, who were waiting to offer some unenviable tokens of the estimation in which Mr. Brown and his associates were holden, before they took a final departure for durance vile.

We kept the gipsy well in sight, and observed her turning into another public-house at no great distance from the Green Man. We entered it, and were conducted by the barmaid to a back apartment, here we found the fair one seated.

The latter term is not used unadvisedly; for a finer woman, of a certain age, could not have been found in the metropolis. Nothing of her former wild and sybil-looking air remained--the eye had lost its keen and searching glance--the voice was softened--the very manner seemed altered with the dress; and when she laid aside her bonnet, Mr. Hartley and I freely admitted that the face disclosed to us had once been positively beautiful. When the door was shut, she turned her dark intelligent eyes on mine, and regarded me in silence for a minute.

“Yes!” she said; “how striking is the likeness between the son and sire! and what painful recollections does that singular resemblance bring back! ay, though twenty long years of exile have passed away! But no more of this. Mr. O’Halloran, you see before you one who can hardly say whether she should love or hate the name. Time chills the deadliest enmities; and even jealousy and blighted hopes will own its soothing influence; and I, who should look upon you as an enemy, felt in your recent hour of trial all the agonizing uncertainty a mother only knows, when the child of her first affections is exposed to peril. With my early story, and wayward fate, it would be idle to detain you. None have passed through greater vicissitudes of fortune; none have sinned or suffered more than Mary Halligan!”

I started. “That name’s familiar!--Were you the peasant girl--”

“Through whose mistake Knockloftie, and all within its walls, were saved from violence and murder; I am that person. Ay, fallen, as I may now appear, I was innocent, admired, wooed, won, and deserted! Pshaw!--‘tis but a common tale in woman’s history! No matter--‘tis past--it seems a dream; but, O God, it is a fearful one! I have not, however, come here to speak about myself. I come to tender my poor services to the child--for, from the bottom of the heart of her he wronged, the father is forgiven! Wild as my career has been, used as I have been to startling occurrences, still, the events of the last few days appear to me rather the coinage of a distempered brain than actual realities. Never did Heaven’s anger fall so suddenly and severely on the guilty; and never was the innocent so miraculously preserved. Strange, that the same day on which a life commenced, should have been twice chosen to end it by secret violence!--and stranger yet, that the same hand, which in infancy designed to crush you in the cradle, in the very hour of manhood, but for Heaven’s mercy, would have consigned you to a bloody grave!”

“Who was the intended murderer?” we both eagerly demanded.

“He was one whose name is perfectly familiar to you. Did you ever hear the colonel speak of a person named Hacket?”

“A hundred times. He was the villain that would have betrayed the old castle and its inmates to a band of murderers. They assailed it on the first anniversary of my birth-night, and were bloodily repulsed. I often have heard my father execrate that scoundrel’s treachery. Another perished by his hand--”

“Stop! name him not. There were in the world two beings whom I regarded with divided love. One perished. Would that it had been by any other hand. I have forgotten--no, that were impossible--but I strive to banish from memory all that occurred upon that fatal night.”

“Then Haeket was the person who devised and attempted my murder?” I exclaimed.

“No--another sought your life. He was but the agent of that person.”

“By whom, then, was the wretch employed?”

“Of that I am utterly uninformed; and, strange as it may appear, Hacket was left in equal ignorance. If any knew the secret, it was the murdered man--and with him it rests. Have _you_ no suspicions? Have you crossed the path of love, or barred the road to wealth? Are there any whose interests you have thwarted? Are you an object of hatred or of fear?”

I shook my head; but Mr. Hartley replied to the inquiry.

“There are, Alary--and more than one, the dearest objects of whose hearts this youth will one day overturn, as the child throws down the card edifice in a moment, which has cost him a world of pains to build.”

“Look _there_, Hector O’Halloran! _There_ will your secret enemy be found.”

“Right, by heaven! You are on the sure track, my friend,” returned my uncle. “Where will deadlier feeling harbour than in the bosom of a monk, thwart but his ambition? or in that of a sordid scoundrel, who trembles for wealth acquired by knavery? Were you acquainted with recent occurrences in which our young friend has been connected, my life upon it, your conviction would be confirmed as to the quarter from which the danger came.”

“And am I not worthy of that confidence?” inquired the gipsy, in a tone that showed herself offended.

“Undoubtedly,” returned Mr. Hartley. “One day more, and I will give you ample proof of the dependence I place in your fidelity and discretion. That day I would devote to my young friend. It is the last he will pass in England for a time.”

“What! is he then leaving England?”

“He is ordered to the Peninsula, and sails on Thursday evening.”

“Heaven send him better luck than his father! God knows whether you and I shall ever meet again!” she said, addressing me. “May the best fortunes of a soldier be yours! Farewell! I saw your first and your twentieth, and may your next be a happier anniversary than either!”

She wrung my hand. I left the room, but Mr. Hartley remained, and a quarter of an hour passed before he joined me in the street. We walked to the hotel, and there the fosterer and his companion were in waiting.

“Mark, I am ordered off. What can I do for you before I leave England?” I said, addressing the former.

Mr. O’Toole merely answered with a sigh “hot as a furnace.”

“Where shall I find you on my return? and how will you dispose of yourself in the mean time?”

“Dispose of myself?” returned the fosterer, like an echo. “Why, am I not also, ready for the Peninsula: Arrah! what would they say at Killucan, if you went to the wars, Master Hector, and I remained at home? _Mona-sin-dioul_, if I went back, the very dogs would not acknowledge me. But, love apart, where can I put in a happier twelvemonth? Have I not listened, till my heart beat again, to the old colonel’s talking to the priest about the time when he stormed that village in the Low Countries where he lost his arm. Often have I fancied that I saw him bursting through the streets at the head of his noble grenadiers, scattering the French column like a flock of sheep, while the shout of ‘Liberty’ was answered by a thundering ‘_Faugh a ballagh!_’ It would be cruel, Hector, to leave me behind you--I will be no burden to you.”

He placed a little packet in my hand; and turning to the window, the poor fosterer sentimentalized in secret, while I perused a letter he had received after we had separated at the inquest. With the course of Mark Antony’s love adventures, that gentle affair with Miss Biddy O’Dwyer excepted, I was altogether ignorant--and I felt interest in the fosterer’s epistle. I read it accordingly; and, could woman rise in the estimation of one who loved as I did, that artless letter would have raised her.

“You have followed me to England. In that you have violated our agreement; but my heart offers a ready apology for the offence. I told you that twelve months must pass before we met again; and in that resolution I am confirmed. My brother has wildly ventured to the coast of Spain, on secret service connected with some of the guerilla chiefs in Arragon; and, in the mean time, I am resident in the family of the village clergyman. Mark, I am happy, because I am once more respectable. Let me remain until the year elapses under this good man’s dwelling--and then that wanderer whom you protected in her hour of destitution, will prove to you that she has not forgotten her deliverer.

“Do you remember, dear Mark, that when you rescued me from that villain Jew, you flung your purse into my lap, and pressed me to accept it? If that circumstance has eseaped your memory, it lives, and will ever live, in mine. Use prudently the small sum enclosed; and when another supply is needed, remember that the desolate female whom you generously saved from more than death, has now the means, and wish to prove her gratitude.”

The epistle contained sincere expressions of affection, and was subscribed “Julia.”

“Why, Mark, what the deuce is all this about? and who is this lady, who forks out her fifty pounds, and subscribes herself “most affectionately yours?”

“I’ll tell you again, Master Hector. But won’t you let me go with you?”

“Faith, my dear Mark, I never intended that you should remain behind. Have we not been to each other as flint to steel from child-hood? Where should I now be but for your rescue? When boys, our joys and sorrows were the same; and now, as men, Mark, upwards or downwards, our fortunes shall run together.”

“I thought you wouldn’t leave me,” said the fosterer.

“And pray,” inquired the ratcatcher, “what the divil is to become of me? You can volunteer, Mark, but I am too old; and were I younger, I wouldn’t much like to ‘list; for I fancy that the guerilla line would be more in my way of business. But let us all go together. Blessings on that outspoken elderly gentleman they call Mr. Hartley! He’s short in the grain as eat’s hair, but the heart and purse are open. Here I am, new rigged from head to foot--ay, and rich as a Jew--bad luck to the whole community of them, root and branch!” and the captain put his finger to the eye which had been damaged in the last night’s contest. “It was that long-whiskered ruffin that giv me this token of regard. Will, all’s settled, and we go together, any how.”

It would have been useless to offer any objection to the determination of the gallant captain; and, after a consultation with my unele, it was soon agreed that my fosterer should join one of the regiments of the brigade I was attached to, as a volunteer, and the ratcatcher enact _valet de chambre_ during my absence.

Time pressed. Mr. O’Toole gratefully acknowledged, but returned the fifty pounds sent him by his mistress; swore fidelity and everlasting love anew; and by the munificence of Mr. Hartley, we all--to wit, the ratcatcher, the fosterer, and myself--were amply provided with that indispensable requisite for opening a campaign, properly designated “the sinews of war.” My future companions took their departure for the Seven Dials, to bid their loving countrymen, there dwelling, an affectionate farewell. An Irish parting is always accompanied by a heavy drink, as sorrow is proverbially dry. No doubt the symposium, like every other pleasant carouse, ended in a general engagement; for when the twain honoured me with a visit next morning, I remarked that the gallant captain had been accommodated with a second black eye, probably conferred upon him as a keepsake by one his agreeable companions.