/' I t \' '■"yn w THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY CV<2) v.l Return this book on or before the Latest Date stamped below. University of Illinois Library ]UL -f^ !3B5 J'Jl 18 'Ml m LIBRARY .,• THE iJNlVERSITV OF ILLINOIS COI.I.IER'S UNABRIDGED EDITION. THE "WORKS VOLUME I WILLY EEILLY. FARDOROUGHA THE MISER. THE BLACK BARONET ; OR, The Chroxicles of Ballttrain, THE EVn. EYE; OR, The Black Spectee. I IL, LXJ S T I^ .A. T E ID . NEW YORK: P. V. COLLIER, PUBLISHER. 7 2-3 I/. CONTENTS. WILLY REILLY. rBAPTBB PAGE I. — An Adventure and an Escape II.— The Cooleen Bawn 12 III. — Daring Attempt of the Red Rapparee - — Jlystei-ioua Disappearance of His Gang — The Avowal 19 IV. — A Sapient Project for our Hero's Con- version — His Rival makes his Ap- pearance, and its Consequences. . . 36 V. — The Plot and the Victims 34 VI. —The Warning— an Escape 41 VIL — An Accidental Incident favorable to Reilly, and a Curious Conversa- tion 48 VIII. — A Conllagration — An Escape — And an Adventure 54 LX. — Reilly's Adventure Continued — A Prospect of By-gone Times — Reilly gets a Bed in a Curious Establish- ment C)2 X. — Scenes that took place in the Moun- tain Cave 69 XI. — The Sqiure's Dinner and his Guests. . 75 XII. Sir Robert Meets a Brother Sports- man — Draws his Nets, but Catches Nothing 83 XIII- — Reilly is Taken, but connived at by the Sheriff — the Mountain Mass. , . 86 XIV. — Reilly takes Service with Squire Fol- Hard 99 XV.— More of Whitecraft's Plots and Pr.anks 105 XVI. — Sir Robert ingeniously extricates Himself out of a great Difficulty. . Ill XVII. — Awful Conduct of Sqtiire Folliard — Fergus lieill}- begins to Contravene the Red Rapparee 117 XVIII — Something not very Pleasant for all Parties 133 XIX.— Reilly's Disguise Penetrated— He Es- capes—Fergus Reilly is on the Trail of the Rapparee — Sir Robert begins to feel Confident of Succes.^; 129 XX. —The Rapparee Secured — Reilly and the Cooleen Bawn Escape, and are Captured , 136 XXI. — Sir Robert Accepts of an Invitation. . 141 XXII. — The Squire Comforts AVhitecraft in his Affliction 151 XXIII. — The Squire becomes Theological and a Proselytizer, but .signally fails. .. 156 XXIV. — Preparations — Jury of the Olden Time ■ -The Scales of Justice 103 XXV. — Rumor of Coolen Bawn's Treachery — How it appears — Reilly stands his Tri.al — Conclusion 170 I FARDOROUGHA, THE MISER. >« QO ;; PAGE I Part I. — Fardorongha, the Miser 187 Part It « 203 Part III J 233 (Part IV.. •. 236 PartV Part VI Part VII Part VIII. and Last. 359 278 292 306 HE BLACK BARONET; OR, THE CHRONICLES OF BALLY- TRAIN. I. — A Mail Coach by Night, and a Bit of Moonshine 323 n.— The Top'nand its Inhabitant*^. ... 326 HI. — Paudeen Gair's Receipt how to make; a Bad Dinner a Good One — Thfc Stranger finds Fenton as Mystirions .is Himself 338 rV. — An Anoiymous Letter-Lucy Gour- lay Avows a Previous AM.ach- ment V. — Sir Thomas Gourlay FaiLs in Un- masking the Stranger — Mysteri- ous Conduct of Fenton VI. — Extraordinary Scene between Fen- ton and the Stranger VII —The Earonet attempts by False- 3:« 34C 936364 CONTENTS. CBIPIEB PAGE hood to nrgc his Daughter into an Avowal of her Lover's Name. 343 VIII. — -The Fo-tuue-'reller— An Equivo- cal Prediction 347 IX. — Candor and Dissimulation 350 X. — A Family Dialogue— and a Secret nearly Discovered 357 XI. — The Stranger's Visit to Father MacMahon 3C3 XII. — Crackeufudge Outwitted by Fen- tnn — The Baronet, Enraged at his Daughter's Firmness, strikes Her 3G9 XIII.— The Stranger's Second Visit to Father MacMahon — Something like an Elopement 375 XIV. — Craokenfudge put upon a Wrong Scent — Miss Gourlay lakes Ref- uge with an Old Friend 383 XV. — Interview between Lady Gourlay and the Stranger--D.andy Dulci- mer makes a Discovery — The Stranger Receives Mysterious Comraunioations 392 XVI.— Conception and Perpetration of a Diabolical Plot against Fen- ton.. 399 XVII. — A Scene in Jemmy Trailcudgel's- Retributive Justice, or the Rob- ber Robbed 407 SVIII. — Dunphy visits the County Wict- lovv — Old Sam and his Wife. ... 415 XIX. — Interview between Trailcudgel and the Stranger — A Peep at Lord Dunroe and his Friend. . . 4.23 XX. — Interview between Lord.s CuUa- niore, Dunroe, and Lady Emily — Tom Norton's Aristocracy fails him — His Reception by Lord CuUamore 429 XXI. — A Spy Rewarded — Sir Thomas Gourlay Charged Home by the Stranger with the Removal and Disappearance of his Brother's Son 437 XXII.--Lucy at Summerlield Cottage. . . . 44ti XXIII. —A Lunch m Summ^rfield Cottage. 404 XXIV. — An Irish Watchhoiise in the time of the " Charlie.'! " 4C0 XXV.— The Police Office — Sir Spigot Sputter and Mr. Coke — An Un- fortunate Translator — Decision in ■' a Law Case " 470 XXVI.— Th J Priest Raturns Sir 'i'homaa's XXVIJL XXIX. ■ XXX. XXXI. XXXIL XXXIII.- XXXIV.- XXXV.—: XXXVI.- XXXVIL- XXXIX. XL. XL I. Money and Pistols — A Bit of Controversy — A New Light Be- gins to Appear 47.1 -Sir 'I'homas, who Shams Illness, is too sharp for Mrs. Mainwaring, who visits Him — Lucy calls up- on Lady Gourlay, where she meels her Lover— Affecting In- terview between Lucy and Lady Gourlay 480 -Innocence and Affection overcome by Fraud and Hypocrisy — Lucy yields at Last 488 -Lord Dunroe's Affection for his Father — Glimpse of a new Cha- racter — Lord Cuilamore's Re- buke to his Son, who greatly Retvises to give up his Friend.. 49*) -A Courtship on Novel Principles.. 5J4 -The Priest goes into Corbet's House very like a Thief —a Se- derunt, with a Bright look up for Mr. Gray 512 -Discovery of the Baronet's Son — who, however, is Shelved for a Time 520 The Priest asks for a Loan of Fifty Guineas, and Offers "Fre- ne.v the Robber" as Security. . 528 Young Gourlay's Affectionate In- terview with His Father — Risk of Strangulation — Movements of M'Bride 533 Lucy's Vain but Affecting E.Kpos- tulation with her Father — Her Terrible Denunciation of Am- brose Gray 54'3 -Which contains a variety of Mat- ters, some to Laugh and some to Weep at 5-17 Dandy's Visit to Suramerfield Cot- tage, where he Makes a most Ungailant Mistake — Returns with Tidings of both Mrs. Nor- ton and Fenton — and Generous- ly Patronizes his Master 550 Anthony Corbet gives Important Documents to the Stranger — An Unpleasant Disclosure to Dun- roe — Norton catches a Tartar.. 5G4 -Fenton Recovered — The Mad- House 574 -Lady Gourlay sees her Son 581 -Denouement 587 THE EVIL EYE ; OR, THE BLACK SPECTRE. OHAPT-.R I. II. IV. PAfiE CHAPTER Short aud Preliminary (il3 . VII.- A Murderer's Wake and the Arrival | of a Stranger G17 I VIII. Breakfast ne.\t moming — Woodward, I oil his way Home, meets a Stranger | IX- — Their Conversation 625 X. Woodwai'd meets a Guide— His lie- XI. ception at Home- Preparations for XII. a FOie n31 [ Xill. -Tl.c Bonfire— The Prodigy 040 I .-^nawn na-Middogue — Sh-in-Dhinne- I Dhiiv, or Tii8 Black Sijecirc 047 ! XIV. -A Council of Two — Visit to Beech Grove— The Herbalist I!55 -A Ileaiingof the Breach — A Proposal - for Marriage .Accepted 001! -Chase of the White Hare 0711 -True Love Defeated 078 -A Conjurer's Levee 085 -Fortune-telling 694 -Woodward is Discarded from Mr. Goodwin's Family — Other Particu- lar.« of Importance 701 -Shawnna-Middogue Stabs Charles COXTJJXTS. y PHAPTCR rAGG ' mVPTKR Pit. I Lindsay in Mistake for hi.s Broth- XVIII —The Toir, or Tory Hunt "JHI cr T(W ^ XIX Plaus and Xegotiations 741 XV. — The lianshee-Disappearauce of Grace | XX,— Wooiiward's Visit to Hallyspellan . . 7IH Davoreu 710 1 XXI 'Ihe Dinner at Ballyspolluu — J'ho A|)- XVI — A HiiusR of Sorrow — After which fol- I pearauce of Woodward — Valentine Ions a Courting Scene 723 ; Groatrakc8 ~'t'-' XVII, — Description of ihe Original Tory — XXII. — History of the Black Spectre 7(1.1 Their iUanner ol Swearing 739 i XXIII. — Greatrakcs at Work — Denouement. . . '('117 Willy Keilly. PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. Most of our Irish readers must be aware that the following stoiy is foundetl upon an incident in the histoiy of the nft'ections, which, ever since its occun'ence, has oc- cupied a hxge portion of popular interest. From the verj- first iliscoverv of their at- tachment, the loves of "WiUy EeiUv" and his " Fair Cooleen Bawn " became celebrated, and were made the burden of many a i-ude ball:Kl throughout Ii-eland. AVith the ex- ception, however, of the oue wliich we sub- Join, they have all nearly disappeared; but that production, rude as it is, has stood its grounil, and is permanently embodied as a tavorite in the ballad j'oetry of the iJeople. It is not, though couched in hiunble and lui- pretcuding Linguage, without a good deal of i-ustic vigor, and, if we may be allowed the expression, a kind of inartistic skill, fumislied either by chance or nature — it is difficult to deteiTnine which. We are of opinion, however, that it owes a great por- tion of its permanent popularity to feelings whirh have been transmitted to the people, arising not so much from the direct iuterest of tlie incidents embodied in it, as fi-oni the politii'al spirit of the times in which they occun-ed. At that unhappy period the Penal Laws were in deatUy and ten-iblc operation; and we need not be surjirised that a young and handsome Catholic should earn a bounlo justice. The following is the celebrated biillad of " Wilh Roilly," which is still sung, and wiU long continue to be sung, at many a hearth ir Ireland : " Oh I rise up Willy Reilly, aud come alongst witb me, I mean for to po with you and leave this counorie. To leave my father's dwelling, his houses and tree lands — " And away goes Willy Reilly and his dear Codeeit. Hdwii. They go by hill aud mountains, and by yon lone- some plain. Through shad}' groves and valleys all dangers to refrain ; But her father followed after with a well-arni'd chosen band. And taken was poor R«illy and his dear Coolem liaicn. It's homeHhen she was taken, and in her closet bound. Poor Reilly all in Sligo jail lay on the stony ground. Till at the bar of justice before the Judge he'd stand. For nothing but the stealing of his dear Cooleen Uttucn. " Xow in the cold, cold iron, my hands aud feet are bound. I'm handcuffed like a murderer, and tied unto the ground ; But all this toil and slavery I'm w^illing for to stand. Still hoping to be succored by my dear CooUen. UitiBn." The jailer's son to Reilly goes, and thus to him did ■ay. "Oh! get up, Willy Reilly. you must appear thie day. 2 WILLIAM CARLETON'S WOBKS. For great Squire Folliard's anger you never can withstand ; I'm afear'd you'll suffer sorely for your dear CooUen Baicn. " This is the news, young Reilly, last night that I did hear, The lady's oath will hang you, or else will set you clear." "If that be so," says Reilly, " her pleasure I will stand, ritill hoping to be succored by my dear Coulceii Bawn." Now Willy's drest from top to toe all in a suit of green, His hair hangs o'er his shoulders most glorious to be seen ; lie's tall and straight and comely as any could be found. He's fit for Folliard' s daugMer, was she heiress to a crown. The Judge he said, " This l.ady being in her tender youth. If Reilly has deluded her, she will declare the truth." Then, like a moving beauty bright, before him she did stand. "You're welcome there my heart's delight and dear Voolcen Btwii / " "Oh, gentlemen." Squire FoUiard said, "with pity look on me, This villain came amongst us to disgrace our family. And by his base contrivances this villany was planned ; If I don t get satisfaction I will quit this Irish land." The lady with a tear began, and thus replied she, " The fault is none of Reilly's, the blame lies all on me : I forced him for to leave his place and come along with me ; I loved him out of measure, which has wrought our destiny. ' ' Then out bespoke the noble Fox, at the table he stood by, " Oh, gentlemen, consider on this extremity. To hang a man for love is a murder you may see, :?o spare the life of Reilly, let him leave this coun- trie. " " Good, my lord, he stole from her her diamonds, and her rings, ' Gold watch and silver buckles, and many precious things. Which cost me in bright guineas, more than live hundred pcund, I will have the life of Reilly should I lose ten thousand pounds." " Good, my lord, I gave them him as tokens of true love ; And when we are a-partiug I will them all remove: If you have got them, Reilly, pray send them home to me ; They're jioor compared to that true heart which I have given to thee. '■ There is a ring among them I allow your.self to wear, With thirty locket diamonds well set 'in silver fair; And as a true-love token wear it on your right hand, That you may think on my broken heart when you're in a foreign land." Then out spoke noble Fox, ' ' You may let the prisoner go, * The lady's oath has cleared him, as the Jury all may know : She has released her own true love, she has re» newed his name. May her honor bright gain high estate, and her off- spring rise to fame." This ballad I found in a state of wretched disorder. It passed from one individual to another by ear alone ; and the inconsecu- tive position of the verses, occasioned by inac- curacy of menioiy and ignorance, has sadly detracted fi-om its genuine force. As it ex- isted in the oral Tersions of the populace, the naiTative was gi'ossly at variance with the regular progi'ess of circumstances which characterize a trial of any kind, but especial- ly such a trial as that which it undertakes to describe. The individuals concerned m it, for instance, are made to speak out of place ; and it would api^ear, from all the versions that I have heard, as if every stanza was assigned its position by lot. This fact, however, I have jiist accounted for and remedied, by having restored them to their original places, so that the vigorous but rustic bard is not answerable for the confu- sion to which unprinted jioetry, sung by an uneducated people, is hable. As the ballad now stands, the character of the jaoet is satisfactorily vindicated ; and the disorder which crept in during the course of time, though strongly calculated to weaken its influence, has never been able to injure its fame. This is a high honor to its composer, and proves him well worthy of the jJopularity wliich, imder such adverse circumstances, has taken so firm a hold of the present feel- ing, and survived so long. The author trusts that he has avoided, as far as the truthful treatment of his subject would enable him, the exj)ression of ai\y political sentiment calculated to give offence to any party — an attempt of singular diffi- culty in a country so miserably divided upon rehgious feehng as this. The experience of centuries should teach statesmen and legisliv- tors that persecution, on account of creed .and conscience, is not only bad feeling, but worse policy ; and if the author, in thess pages, has succeeded in conveying this self- evident truth to his readers, he will rest satisfied with that result, however severely the demerits of his work may be censured upon purely hteraiy grounds. One thing may be said in his defence — that it was utterly impossible to dissociate the loves of this celebrated couwJe fi-om the condition of WILLY REILLY. W.e rountn-, and the operation of tlie merci- less laws wliich j^revailed against the Catho- lics in theii- day. Had the lovers both been CathoHcs, or both been Protestants, this might have been avoided ; but, as pohtical and rehgious matters then stood, to omit the state and condition of society which resulted fi-om them, and so deeply aifected their fate, would be somewhat like leaving the charac- ter of Hamlet out of the tragedy. As the work was first wiitteu, I described a good many of the Catholic priests of the day as disguised La female apparel ; but on discovering that there exists an ecclesiastical regulation or canon forbidding any j)riest, under whatever persecution or pressure, to assume such appai-el for the pui-j50se of dis- guising his i^erson or saving his Ufe, I, of course, changed that j'ortion of the matter, although a lavTuan might well be jiardoned for his ignorance of an ecclesiastical statute, which, excei^t in veiy rare cases, can be knox^Ti only to ecclesiastics themselves. I retain one mstance, however, of this descrip- tion, which I ascribe to Hennessy, the de- graded fiiar, who is a historical character, and who v\Tought a vast weight of evil, as an informer, against the Cathohc priesthood of Ireland, Ijoth regular and secular. With respect to the family name of the heroine and her father, I have adopted both the jjopulai" pi-onimciation and orthogi-ajihy, instead of the real. I give it simply as I found it in the liallad, and as I always heard it pronounced by the people ; in the first place, fi'om reluctance, by writing it accu- rately, to give offence to that portion of this highly respectable family which stdl exists ; and. in the next, fi'om a disinchnation to dis- turb the original imi^i-essions made on the popular mind by the ballad and the traditions associated mth it. So far as the traditions go, there was nothing connected with the heroine of which her descendants need feel ashamed. If it had been othei-nise, her memory never would have been enshrined in the affections of the Ii-ish people for such an unusual period of time. DUBLfN, February. 1855. PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDmON. I AJi agreeably called upon by my book- seller to prepare for a Second Edition of " Willy Reilly." This is at all times a pleas- ing call upon an author ; and it is so especial- ly to me, inasmuch as the first Edition was sold at the fashionable, but imreasonable, price of a guinea and a half — a jjrice which, in this age of cheap Hterature, is almost fatal to the sale of any three-volume novel, no matter what may be its merits. With respect to "WiUy Reilly," it may be necessaiy to say that I never ^Tote any work of the same extent in so short a time, or with so much haste. Its populaiity, however, has been equal to that of any other of my pro- ductions ; and the reception which it has experienced fi'om the ablest jDublic and pro- fessional critics of the day has fcu" siu-passed my expectations. I accordingly take this opportunity of thanking them most sincerely for the favorable verdict which they have generously passed upon it, as I do for their kindness to my humble efforts for the last twenty-eight years. Nothing, mdeed, can be a greater eucoirragenient to a literaiy man, to a novel writer, in fact, than the reflection that he has an honest and generous tribunal to encounter. If he be a quack or an im- postor, they will at once detect him ; but if he exhibit human nature and truthful char- acter in his pages, it matters not whether he goes to his bookseller's in a coach, or plods there humbly, and on foot ; they vrill forget everything but the value and merit of what he places before them. On this accoimt it is that I reverence and respect tliem ; and indeed I ought to do so, for I owe them the gratitude of a pretty long hterary life. Concerning this Edition, I must say some- thing. I have already stated that it was ■\\ritten rapidly and in a hiurv*. On reading it over for con-ection, I was strack in my cooler moments by many defects in it, which were kindly overlooked, or, perhajis, not noticed at aU. To myself, however, who had been brooding over this work for a long time, they at once became obvious. I have accordingly added an imdei-plot of affection between Fergus EeiUy — mentioned as a dis- tant relative of my hero — and the Cooleev Tlawn'x maid, Ellen Connor. Li doing so, I have not disturbed a single incident in the work ; and the reader who may have jjerused the fii-st Edition, if he should ever — as is not imfrequently the case — peruse this second one, vrill certainly wonder how the additions were made. That, however, is the secret of the author, -nith which they have notliing to do but to enjoy the book, if they can enjoy it. With respect to the O'Reilly name and family, I have consulted my distinguished fiiend — and I am proud to call him so — John O' Donovan, Esq., LL.D., M.R.I.A.. who, with the greatest kindness, placed the siunmaiy of the histoiy of that celebrated fami];s' at my disposal. This learned gentle- man is an authority beyond all question. With respect to L-eknd — her language — her old laws — her historj' — her antiquities — hei ai-chfeologj' — her tojijography, and the gen© WILLIAM CARLETON'S WORKS. alogy of her families, he is a pei'fect mu-acle, as is liis distinguished fellow-laborer in the same field, Eugene Cuny. ISvo such men — and, including Dr. Petrie, three such men — Ireland never has firoduced, and iTever can again — for this simj)le reason, that they will have left notliing after them for their succes- sors to accompUsh. To Eugene Curiy I am indebted for the jirincipal fact upon which my novel of the " Tithe Proctor " was writ- ten — the able introduction to which was printed verbatim fi-om a manuscript with which he kindly furnished me. The follow- ing is Dr. O'Douovan's clear and succinct history of the O'Eeilly family from the year ^35 until the present time : "The ancestors of the family of O'Reilly dad been celebi'ated in Iiisli history long be- fore the establishment of surnames in Ii'e- land. In thej'ear 435 their ancestor, Duach Galach, King of Connaught, was baptized by St. Patrick on the banks of Loch Scola, and they had remained Christians of the old Irish Church, which ajspears to have been jieculiar in its mode of tonsure, and of keeping Easter (and, siace the twelfth cen- tury, firm adherents to the rehgion of the Pope, till DoweU O'Reilly, Esq., the father of the present head of the name, quai-reUing with Father Dowhng, of StradbaUy, turned Protestant, about the year 1800). " The ancestor, after whom they took the family name, was Reillagh, who was chief of his sept, and flourished about the vear 981. " From this period they are traced iu the Irish Annals through a long hue of power- ful chieftams of East Breifny (County Cav^n), who succeeded each other, accord- ing to the law of Tanistry, tih the year 1585, when two rival chieftiaus of the name. Sir John G'Reilly and Edmimd O'Reilly, aj)- 2')eared in Dublin, at the parliament sum- moned by Perrot. Pre^iously to this, John O'ReiLly, finding his party weaJi, had repau-ed to England, in 1583, to solicit Queen Eliza- beth's interest, and had been kiutUj' received at Coui't, and invested Avith the order of Ivnighthood, and jjromised to be made Eaii, whereupon he returned home with, letters from the Queen to the Lord Dejjuty and Council of Ii-eland, instructing them to supjDort him in his claims. His uncle, Edmund, of Kilnacrott, would have succeeded Hugh ConnaUagh O'Reilly, the father c f Sir- John, according to the Lish law of Tanistry, but he was set aside by Elizabeth's govern- ment, and Sir John set up as O'Reilly in his place. Sir Jolm being settled in the c^iief- taiiaship of East Breifny, entered into certsun articles of agreement with Sir John PeiTot, the Lord Deputy, and the Council of Ireland, whereby he agreed to siuTcnder the princl 2)ality of East Breifny to the Queen, on condition of obtaining it again fi-om the cro\vn in cajjile by English tenure, and the same to be ratified to him and the heu'S male of his body. In consequence ot this agi'eement, and with the intent of abolishing the tanistic succession, he, on the last day of August, 1590, jDerfected a deed of feofment, entailing thereby the seignoiy of Breifny (O'Reilly) on his eldest son, Malmore (Myles), sumamed Alainn (the comely), aftei"wards known as the Queens O'Reilly. " Not\\ithstanding these transactions. Sir John O'Reilly soon after joined in the rebel- hon of Hugh, Earl of Tyrone, and died on the first of June, 159G. After his death the Eaii of Tyrone set up his second brother, Phihj), as the O'ReiUy, and the government of Elizabeth supijorted the claim of Sir John's son, Malmore, the comely, in oijposition to Phihp, and Edmund of Kilnacrott. But Malmore, the Queen's O'Reilly, was slain by TyTone in the great battle of the Yellow Ford, near Benbiu-b, on the 14th of August, 1598, and the Lish of Ulster agi-eed to establish Edmimd of Kihiacrott, as the O'Reilly. " The Uneal descendants of Sir- John piassed into the French sei-vice, and are now totally unknown, and probably extinct. The descendants of Edmund of lulnacrott have been far more prolific and more fortunate. His senior rejoresentative is my worthy old friend Myles John O'Reilly, Esq., Heath House, Emo, Queen's Co., and fi'om him ai-e also descended the O'Reillys of Thomastown Castle, in the County of Louth, the Counts O'Reilly of Spain, the O'Reillys of Beltrasna, in Westmeath, and the Reillys of ScaiTa House, iu the County of Down. "Edmund of IvQnacrott had a son John who had a son Brian, by Mary, daughter of the Baron of Dmisiiny, who had a famous sou Malmore, commonly called Jli/les the Sla:89. He raised a regiment of dragoons, at his own expense", for the senile of James n., and assisted at the siege of Londonderry' in 1689. He had two engagements with Colonel Wolsley, tlie commander of the gar- rison of Belturbet, whom he signally defeated. He fought at the battles of the Boj-ne and Aughriin, iUid was mcluded in tha articles of capitulation of Limerick, whei-eby he jsre- served his f)roperty, and was jiUowed to caiTV arms. " Of the eldent son of this Colonel John O'Reilly, who left is.sue, my fiiend Myles J. O'Reilly, Esq., is now the senior representa- tive. " From Colonel John O'Reilly's youngest son, Thomas O'Reilly, of Beltrasna, was de- cended Ct)unt Alexander O'Reilly, of Spain, who TOOK Algiers ! immortahzetl by Bn'on. This .Alexander was bom near Oldcastle, in the County Meatli, in the year 1722. He was Generahssimo of his Cathohc ALijesty's forces, and Lispector-Cjeuenil of the Infantry, etc., etc. In the year 1780 he employed the Chevalier Thomas 0'(Torman to compile for him a history of the House of O'Reilly, for which he paid O'Gorman the sum of £1,137 10.V., the originsU receij^t for which I have in my possession. " From this branch of the O'Reilly family was also descended the illustrious Andrew Count O'Reilly, who died at Vienna in 1832. at the age of !)2. He was Oenend of Cavah'v in the .Austrian sen-ice. This distinguished man filled in succession all the mihtai'v grades in the Austrian service, with the ex- ception of that of Field Marahid, and was cidled 1>}' Napoleon ' /« rcxix-ctable General O'lieill,// "Tlie eldest son of Myles J. O'Reilly, Esq., is a young gentleman of great promise and considerable fortune. His rencontre vrith Lord Clements (now Earl of Leitrim) has been not long since ])rominently before tlie public, and in a niiuiner wliicli does justice to our old party (piarrels 1 Both are, how- ever, worthy of their high descent ; and it is to be hoj>ed that tliev will soon Ijecome good friends, as they are both young, and remirkablc for benevolence and love of fatherland." As this has been considered by some j)er- fons as a historical novel, idthough I really never intended it as such, it may be necessar* to give the reader a more disrmct notion o,'' the i)eriod in which the incidents recorded in it took place. The period then was ab(jut I that of 1745, when Lord Chestei-field was Govemor-Cxenend of L-eliuid. This nol)le- man, though an infidel, was a bigot, and j; decided lUiti-Cathohc ; nor do I think that the temporaiT relaxation of the penal laws against Catholics was anv'tiiing else than an apprehension on the ly.ivt of England that the claims of the Pretender might be sujj- ported by the Lish C'athohcs, who then, so depressed and persecuted, must have natu- rally felt a strong interest in baring a prince who jirofessed their own rehgion placed upon the English throne. Strange as it may ap- jiear, however, and be the cause of it what it may, the Cathohcs of L'eland, as a peojile and as a body, took no pai't whatever in sup- porting him. Under Lord Chestei-field's ad- ministr.itiou, one of the most shocking and unnatural Acts of Parhainent ever conceived jMssed into a law. This was the making void and null all uiteiTuaiTiages between Cathohc and Protestant that should take jilace after the 1st of May, 174(j. Such an Act was a I'enewal of the Statute of lulkeuny, and it was a fortimate circumstance to Willy Reilly and his dear Cuolcen Jkiivii that he liad the consolation <;f having been transported for seven years. Had her father even given liis consent at an earlier period, the laws of the Luid would have rendered their maniage im- jjossible. This cruel law, however, was over- looked ; for it need hsu'iUy be said that it was met and spurned not oidy by human reason, but by hiuuau jjaasion. In truth, the strong iuid intlueuti:il of botli rehgions treated it with contempt, and ti-ampled on it without any dread of the consequences. By the time of his return fi'om transportation, it was merely a dead letter, ilisregurded and scorned by both pjulies, and was no ob- stniction to either the man-iiige or the happi- ness of himself and his dear C'nolren Bairn. I know not that there is any thing else I can iuld to this pref'ac(^ luiless the fact tliat I have hearil several other ballads ujion the subject of these celebrated lovers — all of the same tendency, an3 is silent uijou that pai-t of the subject, and I fear that any attempt to tlu-ow hght u])on it must end only in disappointment. I )ia">-'e reason to beheve that the Counsellor i'ox. who acted as his advocate, was never liimseK raised to the bench ; but that that lionor wa,« reserved for Ms son, who was an active jud^>'f> p Htvle before the close of the last century. W. CAEir'<~i-' Dublin, December, 185G. CHAPTER I. I I Ah Adventure and an Encape. \ i SpffiiT of George Prince Regent James, I Esq., forgive me this commencement ! * It was one evenuig at the close of a Sej)- tember month and a September day that two equestrians might be obseiTed passing along one of those old and lonely Irish roads that seemed, from the nature of its con- stmctiou, to have been paved by a society of antiquarians, if a person could judge from its obsolete character, and the difficulty, without risk of neck or hmb, of riding a horse or driving a eaiiiage along it. Ii'elaud, as our Enghsh readers ought to know, has always been a countiy teeming with abun- dance — a hapjjy land, in which want, desti- tution, sickness, and famine have never been felt or kno^^^l, excejjt through the menda- cious misrepresentations of her enemies. The road we speak of was a proof of this ; for it was erident to every observer that, in some season of superabimdaut food, the people, not knowing exactly how to dispose of their shilling loaves, took to paving the common roads with them, rather than they should be utterly useless. These loaves, in * I mean no ofEence whatsoever to this distin- guished and multitudinous writer ; but the com- mencement of this novel really resembled that of so m.any of his that I was anxious to avoid the charge of imitating him. the course of time, imderwent the process ol petrifaction, but could not, nevertheless, be looked ui^ou as wholly lost to the countiy. A great number of the Irish, within six of the last i^receding years — that is, fi-om '4G to '52 — took a pecuhar fancy for them as food, which, we jwesume, caused their enemies to say that we then had hard times in Ii-eland. Be this as it may, it enabled the sagacious ej)icures who lived ujson them to retire, in due covu-se, to the dehghtful retreats of Skull find Skibbereen,* and similar asylums, there to jjass the very short remainder of their hves in health, ease, and luxury. The evening, as we have said, was about the close of Sej)tember, when the two eques- trians we speak of were proceeding at a pace necf.ssarilij alow. One of them was a bluff, fi'esh-comj)lexioned man, of about sixty sum- mers ; but although of a healthy look, and a frame that had evidently once been vigorous, yet he was a good deal stoojsed, had about him all the impotence of plethora, and his hiiu-, which fell down his shoulders, was white as snow. The other, who rode pretty close to him, was much about his own age, or perhajjs a few yeai's older, if one could iudge by a face that gave more tuideniable evidences of those furrows and WTinkles wli'ch Time ttsually leaves behind him. This person did not ride exactly side by side with the tir?t-uientioned, but a httle aback, though not so fa?- as to jireveut the i^ossibOity of conversation. At this time it may be men- tioned here that every man that could afford it wore a wi,g, with the excejition of some of those eccentric individuals that ai'e to be found in every state and jieriod of society, and who are reraai'kable for that pecuhar love of singuki-ity wlxich gener;dly constitutes then- character — a small and harmless am- bition, easily gi-atiiieJ, and iuvolvuig no injury to theu' fellow-creatures. The second horseman, therefore, wore a wig, but the other, although he eschewed that ornament, if it can be caUed so, was b> no means a m;ui of that mild and hannless character which we have attributed to the eccentric and un- fashionable class of whom v,e have just spoken. So far fi'om that, he was a man of an obstinate and violent temper, of strong and unreflecting prejudices both for good and evil, hot, jjerseveriug, and vindictive, though personally brave, intrepid, and * Two poor-houses in the most desolate p.arts of the County of Cork, where famine, fever, dysen- tery, and cholera, rendered more destructive by the crowded state of the houses and the consequent want of ventilation, swept away the wretched in- mates to the amount, if we reooll'ict riphtly. of sometimes from fifty to seventy per d:ei.n in the years '45 and '47. WrLLY REILLY. often fjcnerotis. Like many of his class, ne never trouhlcil bis head al)out rehgioii as a mutter that must, and ought to have oeen, personally, of the chiefest interest to himself, but, at the same time, he was looked upon as one of the best and staunohest Proteshmts of the day. His loy- alty and devotcdness to the throne of Eiipf- land were not onlj' unquestionable, but proverbiid thi'ouj^hout the coiuitiy ; but, at the same time, he refjiu'ded no clergy- num, either of his owii or anj' other creed, as a man whose intimacy was worth preseiT- in*^, unless he was able to take oflf lus three or four bottles of claret after dinner. In fact, not to keep our readers lonjjer in sus- pense, the rel;itiou v\hich he and his com- panion bore to each other was that of master and servant. The hour was now a little jiast twHight, and tlie western slcy presented an unusual, if not an ominous, apjiearance. A sharp and melancholy Ijreeze was abroad, and the sun, which had set among a mass of red clouds, half placid, and half augi-y in apjieiu-auce, had for some brief space gone downi. Over fi'om the north, however, glided by imper- ceptible degrees a long black bar, right across the place of his disappejmince, (md nothing could be more striking than the wild and unnatural contrast between the dy- ing crimson of the west and this fearful muss of impenetrable darkness that came over it. As yet there was no moon, and the portion of light cr rather " darkness visible " that feel)ly aj.peared on the sky and the land- Kcape, was shigularly sombre and impres- sive, if not actually appalluig. The scene about them was wild and desolate in the ex- treme ; and as the faint outlines of the bleak and barren moors apjieared in the dim and melancholy distance, the feelings they in- sjiired were those of discomfort and depres- sion. On eiich side of them were a Viu-iety of lonely lakes, abrupt precipices, and ex- tensive marshes ; and as our travellers went along, the hum of the snipe, the feeble but mournful cry of the plover, and the wilder and more piercing whistle of the curlew, still deepened the melancholy dreariness of tlieir situation, and added to their anxiety to i)ress on towards the jilace of their des- tination. " Tliis is a verj' lonely spot, your honor, " Slid his servant, whose name was Andrew, or, iis lie was more fcuniliarly called, Anily Cummiskey. '■ Yes, but it's the safer, Andy," replied liis master. " There is not a human habitation wiUiin miles of ns." " It i3 WILLY REILLY. which disposition I have revoked in the ■s^'ill I speak of — my last, as I said — I wish you to let her know where she may find it. Her mother's jewels are also in the same place — but they, too, are hers by right of law — her mother bequeathed them to her." "Ah ! sir, you are right to remember and think well of that daughter. She has been a guardian angel to you these five years. But why, su', do you give me this message ? Do you think I won't sell my life in defence of yours ? If you do j'ou're mistaken." " IbeUeve it, Andi-ew ; Ibeheve it, Andy," said ne again, famdiarizing the w^ord ; but if this red liajjparee should murder me, I don't wish you to sacrifice your Hfe on my account. Miike yoiu' escape if he should be the person who is approaching us, and convey to my daughter the message I have given you." At this moment another whistle jsroceeded fi'om a quai'ter of the moor much nearer them, and Andy, having handed back the pistols to his master, asked him should he return it. " Certainly," rephed the other, who dui-- ing all this time was jJaeing to and fro, in order to keeji himself from sinking ; " cer- tainly, let us see whether these pier sons are fi'iends or enemies." His sei-vant then replied to the whistle, and in a few minutes it was answered again, wlulst at the same time a strong but bitter wind arose which cleared away the mist, and showed them -with considerable distinctness the position which they oeeuijied. "Within about ten yai-ds of them, to the left, the veiT direction in which they had been proceeding, was a small deejj lake or tarn, utterly shoreless, and into which they unciuestiouably wovdd have walked and per- ished, as neither of them knew how to swim. The clearing away of the mist, and the hght of the stars (for the moon had not yet risen), enabled the parties to see each other, and in a few minutes Andrew and his master were joined by four men, the i^rincipal j^er- son among them being the identical indi- vidual whom they both had di-eaded — the Eed Rapparee. "Master," said Cummiskey, iu a whisper, on seeing them approach, "we must fight for it, I'm afeered, but let us not be rash ; there may be a friend or two among them, and it is better to come off peaceably if we can." "I agree with you," replied his master. " There is no iise iu shedding unnecessaiy blood ; but, in any event, let us not permit them to disarm us, should they insist on doing so. They know I never go three yards from my hall-door without arms, and it is not improbable they may make a jjoiut of taking them fi'om us. I, however, for one. Trill not trust to their promises, for I know tlieir treachery, as I do their cowardice, when their numbers ai'e but few, and an armed op23onent or two before them, determined to give battle. Stand, therefore, by me, Andy, and, by King WUham, should they have re- course to violence, we shiill let them see, and feel too, that we are not unprepared." "I have but one life, sii-," replied his faithful follower ; "it was silent — at least its best days were — in your service, and sooner than any danger should come to you, it wOl be lost in your defence. If it was only for the sake of her, that is not here, the Cooleen Bawn. I would do it." " VTho goes there ? " asked a deep and powerful voice when the parties had come ■s^ithin about twentj' yards of each other. " By the powers ! " exclaimed Andrew in a whisper, " it's himseK — the Red Eapparee ! " " "We are fiiends," he rephed, " and have lost our way." The other jjai'ty approached, and, on join- ing our travellers, the Eiijjpai-ee started, ex- claiming, ""What, noble Squire, is it possible that this is you ? Hut ! it can't be — let me look at you closer, tUl I make sure of you." " Keej} yoiu' distance, sh'," rejalied the old man with courage and dignity ; " keep youi- distance ; you see that I and my sen-aut are both v.^li armed, and determined to defend ourselves against violence." An ominous and ferocious glance piassed from the Rapparee to his comrades, who, however, said nothing, but seemed to be re- solved to gaiide themselves altogether by his conduct. The Red Eapparee was a huge man of about forty, and the epithet of " Red " had been given to him in consecjueuce of the color of his haii'. In expression his counte- nance was by no means unhandsome, being florid and symmetrical, but hard, and with sciU'cely any trace of feeling. His brows were far asunder, arguing ingenuity and in- vention, but his eyes, which were small and treacherous, glared — whenever he became ex- cited — with the ferocity of an enraged tiger. His shoulders were broad, his chest deep and squai'e, his ai-ms long and powerful, but his lower hmbs were somewhat hght in pro- portion to the pTeat size of his upper figure. This, however, is generally the case when a miui combines iu his o•^^•n person the united quaUties of activity and strength. Even at the period we ar-e describing, when this once celebrated character was forty years of age, it was well kno^vn that in fleetness of foot there was no man in the prorince able to compete T\ith him. Li athletic exercises that retjuired strength and skiU he never had a rival, but one — with whom the reader will 10 WILLIAM CARLETON'S WORKS. soon be made acquaintetl. He was wrapped loosely in a gray frieze big-coat, or colhamore, as it is called in Iiish — wore a hat of two colors, and so pli.mt in texture that he coiild at any time turn it inside out. His coat was — as indeed were all his clothes — made ujjou the sn.me principle, so that when hai'd pressed by the authorities he could in a minute or two transmute himself into the ajspeai-ance of a man veiy diiferent from the individual described to them. Indeed he was such a perfect Proteus that no vigilance of the Ex- ecutive was ever a match for his versatihty of appearance, swiftness of foot, and caution. These frecjuent defeats of the authorities of that day made him extremely j)opular with the people, who were always ready to aflbrd him shelter and means of concealment, in return for which he assisted them with food, money, and the spoils of his predatoiy hfe. This, indeed, was the sagacious j^rincijale of the Iiish Kobbers and Rapparees from the beginning — lo rob from the rich and give to the poor being their motto. The persons who accompanied him on this occasion were tlu'ee of his own gang, T/ho usually constituted his body-guai-d, and acted as videttes, either for his iDrotection or for the jjui'jjose of bringing him information of such travellers as fi'om then* kno\\Ti wealth or external appearance might be suj^posed worth attacking. They were weU-niixcle, ac- tive, and athletic men, in whom it would not be easy to recognize any j)articular chai-acter at variance with that of the peasantry around them. It is unnecessary to say that thej' were aU armed. Having satisfied himself as to the identity of master and man, with a glance at his companions, the Eapjjaree said, "^\1iat on earth brought you and Andy Cummiskey here, noble squire ? Oh ! you lost your way, Andy says. Well now," he jjro- ceeded, "you know I have been many a day and night on the lookout for you ; aye, could have imt dayhght tkrough you many and many a time ; and what do you thuik pre- vented me ? " "Fear of God, or of the gallows, I hope," replied the intrepid old man. "Well," returned the Eajipai-ee, with a smile of scorn, " I'm not a man — as I sup- pose you may know — that ever feared either of them much — God forgive me for the one, I don't ask his forgiveness for the other. No, Squire FoUiard, it was the goodness, the kindness, the generosity, and the charity of the Cvoleen Bawn, your lovely daughter, that held my hand. You persecuted my old vmcle, the priest, and you would a' hanged him too, for merely marryin ' a Protestant and a Catholic together. Well, sir, your fan- daughter, and her good mother — that's now in heaven, I hope — went up to Dublin to tin Lord Lieutenant, and before him the Cooleen liawn, went on her two knees and begged my uncle's life, and got it ; for the Lord " Lieutenant said that no one could denj' her any thing. Now, sir, for her sake, go home in j)eace. Boys, get their horses." Andy Cummiskey would have looked uiron all this as manly and generous, but he could not heljj observing a j^articulai- and rather sinister meaning in the look which the Rajj- jsai'ee turned on his comjjanions ashesjjoke. He had often heard, too, of lus treacherous disposition and his unrelentuig craelty whenever he entertained n, feeling of ven- geance. In his i^resent j)osition, however, all he could do was to stand on his guard ; and ^dth this imjjression strong upon him he re- solved to piit no confidence in the words of the Rapi^aree. In a few minutes the horses were brought uji, and Randy (Randal) Ruah having willed Mr. Folliard's saddle — for such was his name^with the skirt of his colhamore, and removed the hoar frost or rime which had gathered on it, he brought the animal over to him, and said, with a kind of rude courtesy, " Come, sir, trust me ; I will help you to your saddle." "You have not the rej)utation of being tnistworthy," rejjlied Mr. Folhard ; "keep back, sir, at your peril ; I will not trust you. My own servant will assist me. " This seemed precisely the aiTangement which the Rapparee and liis men had con- templated. The squire, in mounting, was obhged, as every man is, to use both his hands, as was his sei-vant also, while assist- ing him. They consequently put up theu' j)istols until they should get into the saddles, and, almost in an instant, fovmd themselves disarmed, and jjrisoners in the hands of these lawless and uuscmpulous men. "Now, Squire FoUiard," exclaimed the Rajjjiaree, " see what it is not to trust an honest man ; had jou done so, not a hair of your head would be injured. As it is, I'll give you five minutes to do three thmgs ; remember my imcle, the j)riest, that you transported." "He acted most illegally, sir," replied the old man indignanily ; " and, in my opinion, I say that, in consequence of his conduct, the coimtry had a good riddance of him. I only wish I could send you after him ; perhaps I shall do so yet. I believe in Providence, sirra, and that Gt)d can j^i'otect me from your violence even here." " In the next place," proceeded the Rap- paree, " think of your daughter, that you will never see again, either ui this world or the nest." WILLY RE ILLY. A " I know I am unworthy of having such an angel," replied the old man, " but unless j-ou were a cruel and a heartless ruffian, you would not at this moment mention her, or bring the thoughts of her to my recol- lection." "In the last place, continued the other, "if you have anj- thing to say in the shape of a jirayer, sav it, for in five minutes' time there will be a bullet through youi- heart, and in five more you will be snug and wai-m at the bottom of the loch there below — that's your doom." " O'Domiel," said Andy, " think that there's a God above you. Siu-ely you wouldn't murdher this oiild man and make the sowl within your body redder — if the thing's possible — than the head that's on the top of it, though in throth I don't think it's by way of ornnjnent it's there either. Come, come, Randal, my man, this is BMfeaxtlmlagh (nonsense). You onlj' want to frighten the gentleman. As for yoiu- uncle, mau alive, all I can say is that he was a fi-iend to youi- family, and to reUgion too, that sent him on his travels." "Take off your gallowses" (braces), said the Rapparee ; "take them off, a couple of you — for, by all the jjowers of dai-kuess, they'll both go to the bottom of the loch together, back to back. Down you'll go, Andy." " By my soul, then," replied the unflinch- ing servant, " if we go down you'll go up ; and we have those belongin' to us that wiU see you kiss the hangman yet. Yerra, now, above aU words in the alphabet what could put a gallows into youi- mouth'? Faith, Randal, it's about your neck it'll go, and you'll put out youi- tongue at the daicent people that will attend yoiu' owti funeral yet ^that is, if you don't let us off." "Put them both to their knees," said the Rapi5ai-ee in a voice of thunder, "to their knees with them. I'll take the masther, and, Kiueely, do you take the man." The companions of the Rapparee could not avoid laughing at the comic coui'age dis- played by Cummiskey, and were about to intercede for him, when O'Donnel, which was his name, stamped with fury on the gTouud and asked them if they dai-ed to disobey him. This sobered them at once, and in less than a minute 'Six. Folliai'd and Andy were placed upon their knees, to await the teiTific sen- tence which was about to be executed on them, in that wild and lonely moor, and under such ajjpalling cuTumstances. Wlien placed in the desired postui-e, to ask that mercy fi-om God which they were not about to experience at the hands of man, Squire Folhai'd spoke : " Red Rappai'ee," said he, " it is not that I am afi-aid of di'ath as such, but I feel that 1 am not prepai-ed to die. Suffer my senant and myseh to go home TOthout hai'm, and 1 shall engage not onlj- to get you a paixlou from the Government of the countiy, but I shall fiuTiish you with money either to take ; you to some useful ca llin g, or to emigrate to some foreign countiy, where nobody will laiow of your misdeeds, or the life you have led here." "Randal, my man," added Andy, "hsteu to what the gentleman says, and you may escape what you know yet. As for my mas- ther, Randal, let him pass, and take me in his jjlace. I may as well die now, maybe, as another time. I was an honest, faithful ser- vant, at all times. I have neither chick nor child to cry for me. No wife, thank God, to break my heai-t afther. My conscience is hght and aiiy, like a beggaiinau's blanket, as they say ; and, ban'in' that I once got drank \d<\ your imcle in Moll Flanagan's sheebeen house, I don't know that I have much to trouble me. Spare liim, then, and take me, if it must come to that He has the Cuolven Bawn to think for. Do you think of her, too ; and remember that it was she who saved yoiu- uncle fi-om the gal- lows." Tliis unlucky allusion only deepened the vengeance of the Red Rapparee, who look- ed to the priming of Ids gim, and was in the act of preparing to perpetrate this most in- human and awful mui'der, when an inter- ruption took place for which neither pai-ty was prepared. Now, it so hajapened that within about eight or ten yards of where they stood there existed the walls and a portion of the arched roof of one of those old ecclesiasticid ruins, which our antiquaiians denominate Ci/clo- pean, like hicua a non lucendu, because scarcely a dozen men could kneel in them. Over this sad ruin was what sportsmen tenn " a pass " for duck and vddgeon, and, aided by the shelter of the building, any persons -who stationed themselves there could certainly commit gi'eat havoc among the wild-fowl in question. The Red Rapjjaree then had his gun in his hand, and was in the very act of adjusting it to his shoulder, when a power- ful young man spnmg forward, and dashing it aside, exclaimed : " ^Miat is this, Randal ? Is it a double murder you are about to execute, you inhu- man nitlian ? " The Rapi^aree glared at him, but with a quailmg and subdued, yet sullen and vindic- tive, expression. "Stand up, sir," proceeded this dai-ing and animated young man, addi'essing Mr. 12 WILLIAM CARLETON'S WORKS. Folliard ; " and you, Cummiskey, get to your legs. No person shall dai-e to injiu-e either of ycu while I am here. O'Donuel — stain and disgi-aee to a uoble name — begone, you and your mffians. I know the cause of your enmity against this gentleman ; and I tell you now, that if you were as ready to sustain your religion as you are to disgrace it by your conduct, you would not become a ciu'se to it and the countiy, nor give jjromise of feeding a hungry gallows some daj', as you and yoiu" accomplices will do." Whilst the young stranger addressed these miscreants with such energj' and determina- tion, Mr. FoUiard, who, as well as his ser- vant, had now got to his legs, asked the latter in a whisjjer who he was. " By all that's happy, sii'," he rephed, " it's himself, the only man living that the Red Raj^paree is afraid of ; it's ' WiUy Reilly.' " CHAPTER n. The Cooleen Bawn, The old man became very httle vdser by the information of his servant, and said in reply, " I hope, Andy, he's not a Papist ; " but checkiug the unworthy prejudice — and in him such prejudices were singulaiiy strong in words, although often feeble in fact — he added, " it matters not — we owe oui- hves to him — the deejaest and most important obHga- tion that one man can owe to another. I am, however, scarcely' able to stand ; I feel be- numbed and exhausted, and wish to get home as soon as possible." "Ml-. EeiUy," said Andy, "this gentleman is very weak and HI ; and as you have acted so much like a brave man and a gentleman, maybe you'd have no objection to see us safe home." "It is my intention to do so," replied Reilly. " I could not for a moment think of leaving either him or you to the mercy of this treacherous man, who dishonors a noble name. Randal," he proceeded, adtlressing the Rapparee, " mark my words ! — if but a single hair of this gentleman's head, or of any one belonging to him, is ever injui-ed bj' you or your gang, I swear that you jmd they will swing, each of you, fi'om as many gibbets, as soon as the course of the law can reach you. You know me, sir, and my influence over those who protect you. As for you, Fergus," he added, addressing one of the Raj^paree's followers, " you are. thank God ! the only Ode of my blood who has ever disgraced it by leading such a lav.iess and gviUty hfe. Be advised by me — leave that man of treacheiy, rapine, and muider — abandon him and re< foiTu yoTu- hfe — and if you are disposed to become a gO'id and an industrious mem- ber of society, go to some other countiy, where the disgrace you have incui-red in this may not follow you. Be advised by me, and you shall not want the means of emigi'ating. Now begone ; and think, each of you, of M'hat I have said." The Rapi3ai-ee glanced at the noble-looking young feUow vvith the vindictive ferocity of an enraged bull, who feels a disposition to injure you, but is restrained by ten-or ; or, which is quite as apiaroisriate, a cowai-dly but vindictive mastiff, who eyes you askance, gi-owls, shows his . teeth, but has not the courage to attack you. " Do not look at me so, sir," said Reilly ; " you know I fear you not." "But in the meantime," replied the Rap- jjai'ee, "what's to prevent ms fc-om putting a buUet into you this moment, if I wish to do it?" "There are ten tliousand reasons against it," returned Reilly. "If you did so, in less than twenty-four hours you would find youi-- self in Sligo jail — or, to come nearer the truth, in less than five minutes you would find yourself in heU." " Well, now, sujjpose I should make the trial," said the Rapparee. " You don't know, Ml'. ReUly, how you have crossed me to- night. Suppose now I should tiy — and sup- j)ose, too, that not one of you three should leave the sjjot you stand on only as coi-jjses — wouldn't I have the advantage of you then?" Reilly tiu-ned towaixls the mined chapel, and simply raising his right hand, about eight or ten persons made their appearance ; but, restrained by signal from him, they did not advance. " That will do," said he. " Now, Randal, I hope you understand yoiu- jsosition. Do not i^rovoke me again ; for if you do I will surround you with toils fi-om which you could as soon change youi- fierce and brutal natui'e as escajse. Yes, and I will take you in the midst of your niffian guards, and in the deejjest of your fastnesses, if ever you provoke me as you have done on other oc- casions, or if you ever iujui'e this gentleman or any indi\idual of his family. Come, sir," he proceeded, addi-essing the old man, " you ai-e now mounted — my horse is in this old ruin — and in a moment I shall be read}' to aceomiiany you." Reilly and his companions jomed our travellers, one of the former having ott'ered the old squii'e a large frieze gi-eat-coat, which he gladly accepted, and ha-\ing thus formed a guard of safety fo» him and his faithful WILLY BE ILLY. 13 attendant, they retrained the old road we have described, and resumed their jouniev. AMieu Uiey luul {ijone, the Rappiu-ee luid his eompiuiious looked after them with blank faces for .some minutes. " Well," said their leader, '• Reilly has knocked iij) our j^ame for this ni^dit. Only for him I'd have hatl a full and sweet re- venge. However, never mind : it'll go hard with me, or I'll have it yet. Li the mane time it won't be often that snch another op- portunity will come in our way." "Well, now that it is over, what was j-om* intention, Eaudal ? " a.sked the person to whom ReUly hiKl addressed himself. " Why," replied the miscreant, "aftei' the deed was done, what was to prevent us from robbing the house to-night, and taking away his daughter to the mountains. I have long had my eye on her, I can tell you, and it'll cost me a fidl, or I'll ha\e her yet." " You ha*! better," rephed Fergus EeUly, for such w;is his name, " neither make nor meddle with that family afther this night. If you do, that teirible relation of mine will hang you hke a dog." "How will he hang me like a dog?" asked the K;ipparee, knitting his shaggy eyebrows, and turning upon him a fierce and gloomy look. " Why, now, Rimdtd, you know as well as 1 do," rejjlied the other, " that if he only raised his linger against you in the countiy, the very people that harbor both you and us would betray us, aye, seize u.s, and bind us hand and foot, like commou thieves, and {five us over to the authorities. But as for himself, I believe you have sense enough to let him alone. 'NMien you took away Mai-y Traviior, and neiu-ly kilt her brother, the young priest — you know they were Reilly's tenants — I needn't tell you what happened : in four hom-s' time he had the coimtiy uji, followed you and your jMU'ty — I wasn't with you then, but you know it's truth I'm spakin' — and when he had five to one against you, didn't he make them stand aside until he and you should decide it be- tween you '? Aye, and you know he could a' brought home every man of you tied neck and heels, and would, too, only that there was a large reward ot'l<'rcai-ee, "if he ditl Ijeat me, he's the onl_v niiui } ill the couuby able to do it ; but it's n(rt over, cui'se him — I'll have another tiial with him yet." " If you trtke my advice," rephed ReUly, " you'll neither make nor mediUe with him. He's the head o' the Cathohcs in this piu't of (he countiy, and you know thai ; aye, and he's their fiiend, and uses the friendship that the Pi'otestjints have towai-ds him for their advantage, wherever he can. Tlie man that would injure WUIy Reilly is an enemy to our reHgion, as well as to eveiy thing that's good and generous ; and mai'k mo, Randal, if ever you cross him in what he wai-ned you agauist this very night, I'll hang you myself, if (here wasn't another liviu' man to do it, and to (he back o' that again I say you must shed no blood so long as I am ^\'ith you." " That won't be long, then," rephed the RupiJaree, puUing out a \t\xrg» ; " there's twenty guineas for j'ou, and go about your business ; but take cju'e, no treacheiy." "No," rephed the other, "I'll have none of yoiu' money ; there's blood in it. God forgive me for ever joinin' you. "NMien I want money I can get it ; as for breacheiy, there's none of it in my veins ; good-night, I and remember my words." Having thus spoken, he took his way along the same road by wliich the old squire and his pai-ty went. " Tliat fellow will beti-ay us," said the Rjipparee. " No," replied his companions finnly, " there never was treachery in hia jDart of the \ family ; he is not come fi'om any of Ihe Qiwu'x O'Reillys.* We wish you were as sure of every man you have as you may be of him." "Well, now," obsen'ed their leiuler, "a thought stiikes me ; this ould squire will bo hidf dead iill night. At any rate he'll sleep like a top. Wouldn't it be a good oppor- tunity to attack the house — aisc; hun of liis money, for he's a« rich as a Jev — and take j away the ('onlt'cn liawn? We'll call at hjhiuie Beiu-ua's f stables on om- way and • Catholic families who were fnithfnl and loyal to Queen Elizabeth diirintf her wars in Ireland wero stigmatized by the nickname of the Qaeen's friends, to diHtir.i;ui8h them from others of tho same name who had opposed her, ou l>ehalf of their religion, in the wars which Jcsoluted Ireliknd during her reign ; a portion of the family of >vhich we write wore en this accoi'.nt desigiiat<'d ns tho t^iiffuK O'Keillys. \ Shane lieamn was a celebrated I'apparee. who, among bis other exploits, figured priucipally as a horsu-steuler. lie kept the stolen animnjs con- cealed in remote mnuntaiu cavd them in scoh a way as m.ide it impossible to I'ecognize th.3m. 'I'hese caves are cuTiositieK at the pre.sent day, and are now known as S/iii/ie Beitrnii's titaUes. He. was a chief in the formidable gang of the celebrated Redmond O'HanUm. Itj'.s said of him that he was called Bi'iir/m because he nev^r had any teeth ; but tra- dition tells us that he could, notwithstanding, bite a pieca out of a thin plate of iron with as much walked, or sat, or stood. In fact his walk was a comjjlete stnit, to which the pride, arising from the consciousness of, or rather the behef in, his extraordinary height gave an extremely ludicrous a23j)earance. Poor Tom was about five feet nine in height, but imagined himself to be at least a foot higher. His whole family were ceiiainly tall, and one of the gi-eatest calamities of the j)Oor fellow's life was a bitter reflection that he himself was by several inches the lowest of his race. This was the only exccj^tion he made with respect to height, but so deeply did it affect him that he could scarcely ever aUude to it without shedding tears. The life he led was similar in most respects to that of his unhappy class. He wandered about through the countiy, stopping now at one fai'mer's house, and now at another's, where he always experienced a kind recep- tion, because he was not only amusing and inoffensive, but capable of making himself useful as a messenger and diiidge. He was never guilty of a dishonest act, nor ever knovkii to commit a breach of tiiist ; and as a Cjuick messenger, his extraordinary speed of foot rendered him unrivalled. His great dehght, however, was to attend sjsortsmen, to whom he was invaluable as a guide and director. Such was his wind and speed of foot that, aided by his knowledge of what is termed the lie of the country, he was able to keep up mth any pack of hounds that ever went out. As a xoku man he was unrivalled. The form of every hare for miles about was known to him, and if a fox or a covey of partridges were to be found at all, he was your man. In wild-fowl shooting he was infallible. No j^ass of duck, widgeon, bar- nacle, or curlew, was unknovvn to bim. In fact, his principal delight was to attend the gentry of the country to the field, either with harrier, foxhound, or setter. No cours- ing match went right if Tom were not present ; and as for night shooting, his eye and ear were such as, for accuracy of obser- vation, few have ever witnessed. It is true he could subsist a long time without food, but, like the renowned Captain D;ilgetty, when an abundance of it happened to be placed before him, he displayed the most indefensible ignorance as to all knowledge of the i^eriod when he ought to stop, con- sidering it his bounden duty on all occasions to clear off whatever was set before him — a feat which he always accomphshed with the most signal success. " Alia ! " exclaimed Tom, " dat Red Rap- j)aree is taU man, but not tall as Tom ; h^m no steeple hke Tom ; but him rogue and murderer, an' Tom honest ; him won't carry off (JofJjifji Bawn dough, nor rob her fader WILLY HE ILLY. 15 aytler. Come, Tom, Steeple Tom, out with your two lef;s, one afore toiler, and put Kappiixee's nose out o' joint. Cuuleen llawn data pood to everybody, Catlicks (Catholics) au' idl, iin' often ordered Tom many a bully dinner. Hii-ko ! hicko ! be de bones of Peter AMiite— ott'Igo!" Tom, like many other individuals of his description, was never able to get over the lanpruage of childhood — a chai-acteristic which is often appended to the want of rea- son, and from which, we presume, the term " innocent " has been applied in an especial maimer to those who are remarkable for the same defect. Havinjj uttered the words we have just re- cited, he started otl" at a giiit, iieculi^ir to fools, which is knowii by the name of " a fhnpf trot," and after fjotting out upon the old road he turned himself iu the direction which Tully Keilly and his p irty hii..Miy of motion : such a sei-ai)liic bein-^ in the sha])e of woman, he luid. in fact, never seen or d as if sur- rounded by an atmosphere of light, of dig- nity, of goodness, of gi-ace ; but that which, above all, smote hw he:irt on ihe moment was the spirit of tenderness and profound 18 WILLIAM GARLETON'S WORKS. sensibility wliich seemed to predominate in her whole being. Wliy did his manly and intrepid heart j)alpitate ? Why did such a strange confusion seize upon him ? Why did the few words which she uttered in her father's arms ti)l his ears with a melody that charmed him out of his streugih ? Alas ! is it necessai-y to ask '? To those who do not understand this mystery, no explanation couid be of any avail ; and to those who do, none is neeessai-y. After her father had spoken, she raised herself fi'oni his arms, and assuming her full height — and she was tall — looked for a mo- ment wth her dark, deep, and terrible eyes upon Reilly, who in the meantime felt rapt, speU-boimd, and stood, wliilst his looks were riveted upon these irresistible orbs, as if he had been attracted by the influence of some delightful but supernatural power, under wliich he felt himself helpless. That mutual gaze ajid that delightful mo- ment ! alas ! how many hours of misery — of sorrow — of sufifei-iug — and of madness did diey not occasion ! " Papa has imposed a task upon me, sir," .she said, advancing gracefully towards him, her complexion now j)ale, and again over- spread with deep blushes. " WTiat do I say ? A lad: — a task ! to thank the preserver of my father's life — I know not what I say : helj) me, sir, to papa — I am weak — I am — " fteilly flew to her, and caught her in his arms just in time to prevent her fifom ftdliug. " My God ! " exclaimed her father, getting to his feet, "what is the matter? I was wrong to mention the cu'cumstance so ab- ruf)tly ; I ought to have prejjared her for it. You are strong, IJeUly, you ai-e strong, and I am too feeble— carry her to the settee. There, God bless you ! — God bless you ! — she will soon recover. Helen ! my child ! my life ! Wiat, Helen ! Come, dearest love, be a wo- man. I am safe, as you may see, dearest. I t£ll you I sustained no injury in life — not a hair of my head was hurt ; thanks to Mr. Pieilly for it — thanks to this gentleman. Oh ! that's right, bravo, Helen — bravo, my gii-1 ! See that, Keilly, isn't she a glorious creature ? She recovers now, to set her old loving father's heart at ease." The weakness, for it did not amount alto- gether to insensibility, was only of brief du- ration. " Dear papa," s>'Jd she, raising herself, and withdrawing gently and modestly fi-om Keilly 's support, " I was unprepared for the account of this dreatlful aft'air. Excuse me, sir ; surely you will admit that a murderous attack on dear papa's life could not be lis- tened to by his only child ^Ndth mdifl'erence. But do let me know how it happened, papa." " You are not yet equal to it, darling •, you are too much agitated." " I am equal to it now, papa ! Pray, let me hear it, ajid how this gentleman — who vriU be kind enough to imagine my thanks, for, indeed, no language could expiress them — and how this gentleman was the means of saving you." " Perhaps, iliss FoUiard," said Eeilly, " it woidd be better to defer the exijlanatiou un- til you shall have gained more strength." " Oh, no, sir," she rejiHed ; " my anxiety to hear it ■s\'ill occasion me greater suffering, I am siu'e, than the knowledge of it, esjiecially now that papa is safe." Eeilly bowed in acquiescence, but not in consequence of her words ; a glance as quick as the lightning, but fuU of entreaty and gratitude, and something like joy — for who does not know the many languages which the single glance of a lovely woman can speak ? — such a glance, we say, accompanied her words, and at once won him to assent. "Miss FoUiard may be right, sir," he ob- sei-ved, " and as the shock has passed, per- hapis to make her briefly' acquainted with the circumstances will rather relieve her." "Plight," Slid her father, " so it will, WUly, so it will, esj)eciilly, thank God, as there has been no harm done. Look at this now ! Get away, you saucy baggage ! Your ^ooi lo\'ing father has only just escaped being shot, and now he nins the risk of being strangled." "Dear, dear papa," she said, "who could have thought of injuring you — you with your angry tongue, but your generous and chari- table and noble heart ? " and again she wound her exquisite and lovely ai-ms about his neck and kissed liim, whilst a fi-esh gush of tears came to her ej^es. " Come, Helen — come, love, be quiet now, or I shall not tcU you any thing more about my rescue by that gallant young fellow standing before you." This was followed, on her part, by another gkmce at Eeilly, and the gLmce was as speedily followed by a blush, and again a host of tumultuous emotions crowded ai'ound his heart. The old man, jDlacing her head upon his bosom, kissed and patted her, after which he related briefly, and in such a way as not, if possible, to excite her afiesh, the" circum- stances with which the reader is ah-eady ac- quainted. At the close, howeve)-, when he came to the part which EeiUy had borne in the matter, and dwelt at more length on his intrepidity and spirit, and the enei'gy of character and courage with which he quolled the terrible Eapparee, he was obhged to stop for u moment, and say, "Why, Helen, what is the matter, my L' -ARY . THE JNIVERSII*- OF ILLINOIS WILLY REILLY. II dai'ling? Are you getting ill again? Your little heart is going at a gjillop — bless me, how it pit-a-pats. There, now, you've heard it all — here I am, s;ife — and there stands the gentleman to whom, under God, we are both indebted for it. And now let us have dinner, diu-ling, for we have not dined?" Apologies on tlie pai't of EeLlly, who really hatl dined, were flung to the winds by the old 8(juire. " What matter, WiUy ? what matter, man ? — sit at the table, pick something — curse it, we won't eat you. Your dress ? never mind your di-ess. I am sure Helen here \\ill not tind fault with it. Come, Helen, use your influence, love. And you, sir, Willy Reilly, give her your arm.'' Tliis he added in conseei-sonal courage we need not make any further allusion. On many occjiaions it liml been well tested on the Continent. He was lui exjjcrt and un« rivalled swordsman, and a fii-st-rate shot, whether with the pistol or fowling-piec* 20 WILLIAM CARLETON'8 WORKS. At every atiiletic exercise he was matcliless ; and one gi'eat cause of his extraordinary popularity among the jjeasantry was the pleasure he took in promoting the exercise of siieh manly sports among them. In his person he combined great strength with re- markable grace and ease. The wonderful sjanmetry of his form took away apparently from his size ; but on looking at and exam- ining liim closely, you felt siu-prised at the astonishing fulness of his jJi'oportions and the prodigious muscular power which lay under such deceptive elegance. As for his features, they were replete with that manly expression which changes with, and becomes a candid exponent of, every feehng that in- fluences the heart. His mouth was fine, and his full red Hps exquisitely chiselled ; his chm was fuU of firmness ; and his l;u-ge dark eyes, though soft, mellow, and insinuating, had yet a sparkle in them that gave evidence of a fiery spiiit when provoked, as well as of a high sense of self-respect and honor. His complexion was slightly bronzed by resi- dence in contuiental chmates, a circumstance that gave a warmth and mellowness to liis features, which, when taken mto considera- tion with his black, clustering locks, and the sno^vy whiteness of his forehead, placed him in the verj' highest order of handsome men. Such was om- hero, the fame of whose per- sonal beauty, as well as that of the ever- memorable Oooleen Bawn, is yet a tradition in the country. On tliis occasion the dinner-party consisted only of the squu-e, his daughter, and Reilly. The old man, on reflecting that he was now safe, felt his spirits re-\dve apace. His habits of life were joUy and convivial, but not ac- tually intemj)erate, although it must be ad- mitted that on some occasions he got into the debatable ground. To those who did not know him, and who were acqiiainted through common report only mth his un- mitigated abuse of Popery, he was looked upon as an opjsressive and overbearing ty- rant, who would enforce, to the fiu-thest j)os- sible stretch of severity, the jienal enact- ments then in existence against Eoman Cathohcs. And this, indeed, was true, so far as any one was concerned from whom he imagined himself to have received an injury ; agauist such he was a vindictive tjTant, and a most implacable persecutor. By many,, on the other hand, he was considered as an ec- centric man, with a weak head, but a heart that often set all his anti-CathoUc prejudices at complete defiance. | At dinner the sqiiire had most of the con- versation to himself, his loquacity and good- ! humor having been very much improved by j a few glasses of his rich old Madeira. His \ daughter, on the other hand, seemed fre» quently in a state of abstraction, and, on more than one occasion, found herself incap- able of answering several questions which he f)ut to her. Ever and anon the timid, blush- ing glance was directed at Reilly, by whom it was retui-ned with a significance that went dii'ectly to her heart. Both, in fact, appear- ed to be influenced by some secret train of thought that seemed quite at variance with the old gentleman's gaiiTihty. " Well," said he, " here we are, thank God, all safe ; and it is to you, Willy, we owe it. Come, man, take ofl" your wme. Isn't he a fine young fellow, Helen ? " Helen's heart, at the moment, had followed her eyes, and she did not hear- him. " HeUo ! what the deuce ! By the banks of the Boyne, I believe the girl has lost her hearing. I say, Helen, isn't Willy Reilly here, that prevented you fi'om being an or- l^hau, a fine young fellow ? " A sudden rosy blush sufiused her whole neck and face on hearing this blunt and in- considerate question. " What, daiiing, have you not heard me ? " " If Mr. ReOly were not jsresent, jiapa, I might give an ojiinion on that suljject ; but I trust you will excuse me now." "Well, I sujjpose so; there's no gettiug women to speak to the jiomt. At all events, I would give more than I'U mention that Sir Robert Whiteeraft was as good-looking a specimen of a man ; I'U engage, if he was, you would have no objection to say yes, my giri." "I look to the disj)osition, jDajsa, to the moral feelings and princij)les, more than to the per.=:on. ' " WeU, Helen, that's right too— all right, darhug, and on that account Sir Robert must and ovight to lie a favorite. He is not yet forty, and for this he is liimself mj- au- thority, and forty is the prime of Ufe ; yet, with an immense fortune and strong temi^ta- tions, he has never laimchcd out into a single act of imprudence or lolly. No, Helen, he never sowed a jieck of wild oats in his life. He is, on the contnij-y, sober, grave, silent — a little too much so, by the way — cautious, prudent, and saving. No man knows the value of money better, nor can contrive to make it go fm-tUer. Then, as for managing a biu'gaiu — upon mv soul, I don't tliink he treated me well, though, m the swop of ' Hop-and-go-constant ' against my jirecious bit of blood, 'Pat the Spanker.' He made me pay him twenty-five pounds boot for an old — But you shall see him, Reilly, you shall see him, "Willy, and if ever there was a gi'eater take in — you needn't smile, He en, nor look at W^iUy. By the good King Wil- WILLY REILLT. 21 liam that saved us from Pope, and — iiliein — 1 beg pardon, \Villy, Liit, upon my soul, he took nie completely in. I say, I shall show you Hop-and-jjo-coustant. and when you see him you'll admit the ' Hop,' hut the devil a bit you will find of the '(Jo-constant.'" "I suppose the fj;eutlenian's pci'sonixl ap- pearance, sir," observed KeUly, glancing at iliss FoUiard, " is equal to his other quali- ties." " ^Miy — a — ye — s. He's tall and thin and serious, with something about him, say, of a philosoiiher. Isn't that true, Helen '? " " Perfectly, jjapa," she rejilicd, with a smile of ai'ch humor, which, to lU'illy, placed her character in a new light. ] " Perfectly tnie, papa, so far as you have gone ; but I tnist you will finish the portrait for JFr. IJeillv." " "WeU, tlien, I will. TVliere wasl ? Oh, yes — tall, thin, and' serious ; like a jjlulosopher. I'll go next to the shoulders, because Helen ! seems to like them — they are a little round or so. I, myself, wish to gootbiess they were .somewhat straighter, but Helen saj-s the ' cun'e is delightful, being what isainters and glaziers call the line of beauty." | A sweet light laugh, that rang with the melody of a musicjil bell, broke from Helen at this part of the description, in which, to tell tiie tiiith, she was joined by Reilly. The old man himself, from sheer hapjiiness and goixl-humor, joined them both, though ut- terly ignorant of the cause of their mirth. "Aye, aye," he exclaimed, "you may laugh — by the great Boyue, I knew I would make ' you laugh. Well, 111 go on ; his complexion ' is of a — a —no matter — of a good st uiding color, at idl events ; his nose, I griuit you, is as thin, and much of the same <-olor, as l)astebo:u-d, but as a set-off to that it's a thorough Williamite. Isn't that tme, | Helen '>. " i " Yes, papa ; but I think King WiUiam's nose was the worst feature in his face, i altiiough that cei-tiiiuly cannot be said of j !Sir liobert. " "Do you hear that. Keilly? I wish Sir' RulHrt heai-d it, but I'll tciriiiin— there's a coiiij)liment, Helen — you're a good girl — thank you, Helen." Helen's face W!i8 now nuliant with mirth- ' ful enjoyment, whilst at the same time Heilly could perceive tha' from time to time a deep unconscious sigh would escape from her, such a sigh as induce