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 MY LIFE. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 " STORIES OF WATERLOO," " WILD SPORTS OF THE WEST,' 
 
 &c. &c. &c. 
 
 Sir Anthony, — Come here, sirrah ! who the devil are you T 
 Captain Absolute. — 'Faith! sir, I'm not quite clear myself: but I'll 
 endeavour to recollect. 
 
 The Rivalt. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 RIC HARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 
 1835
 
 iX3 
 
 v', / 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Mgeon. — Why look you strange on me ? You know me 
 \ well. 
 
 [. Ant. E. — I never saw you in my life till now. 
 
 p^ Comedy of En^ors, 
 
 I HAD been delicate from infancy — and 
 the enervating effects of an unhealthy cHmate 
 (t; obliged me to retire upon half-pay, and quit 
 -J-, Ceylon for England, to try if native air would 
 ^ restore a shattered constitution. I came to 
 ^ London for medical advice ; and while my 
 ^ physician was anxious that I should continue 
 ^ immediately under his eye, he recommended me, 
 ,^ for amusement and exercise, to make frecjuent 
 V excursions around the British capital. 
 ^.'t No advice could have been more congenial to 
 " a truant disposition."' I, who had been buf- 
 feted about the world from my boyhood, will- 
 ingly became a roamer after health ; and in
 
 VI INTRODUCTION, 
 
 the vicinity of the metropohs there were few 
 spots unvisited in the course of my valetudinary 
 wanderings. 
 
 Every suburban retirement — every scene of 
 hohday dissipation — every signboard which a 
 Cockney treasures in the tablet of his memory, 
 is familiar to me. I have spent weeks upon 
 the river and the road, became resident in 
 steam-boats and stages, witnessed many an 
 adventure, consorted with strange companions, 
 and became extensively acquainted with the 
 whole family of man. 
 
 It was a sultry day, and I was sitting in the 
 bay-window of the Pier Hotel at Gravesend, 
 contemplating the unceasing bustle that Father 
 Thames presented. The steamer was to return 
 to town at five, and I rang the bell to order 
 dinner, and thus fill up an interval of two mor- 
 tal hours. The gentleman of the napkin ap- 
 peared, produced his carte^ and eulogized the 
 contents of the larder, — for there, as he averred, 
 everything eatable in August would be found. 
 He added, that dinner was just being served at 
 the table d^hote below ; and probably, rather 
 than dine tout seul^ I would prefer uniting
 
 INTRODUCTION. VU 
 
 myself to the party. Undoubtedly I would. 
 I seized my hat and cane, and following as true 
 a descendant of Hal's " Francis," as ever " serv- 
 ed a long lease to the clinking of pewter,^' en- 
 tered the public room and joined the company. 
 
 The party amounted to a dozen, of whom a 
 moiety were of the gentler sex. All, with one 
 exception, were denizens of Cockayne and in- 
 habitants of the Modern Babylon. They were 
 all and every, no doubt, " good men and true f' 
 of excellent reputation upon 'Change, and exem- 
 plary in their private relations ; cherishing their 
 wives, and correcting their children, as became 
 citizens of character and credit. The ladies 
 were fat and comely, and one of them positively 
 handsome. She was a fine, joyous, laughter- 
 loving dame, with teeth exquisitely white and 
 the blackest eyes in Bishopsgate- street. I saw 
 her steal from beneath her pink silk bonnet an 
 espiegle glance at the stranger ; and then, pro- 
 bably checked by the proximity of her liege 
 lord, she turned her eyes demurely on the table- 
 cloth. 
 
 Mr. Hopkins, when he espoused one so young 
 and pretty as her of the pink bonnet, was cer-
 
 Vlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 tainly a bold man. He might easily have had 
 an older daughter ; and was moreover a short 
 and bilious gentleman, neither in face nor figure 
 designed by Nature for a lady-killer. If it be 
 true that men in this life are sometimes by the 
 agency of their helpmates qualified for a state 
 of beatitude above, I should conclude, from the 
 looks of his lady, that Mr. H. was certain of a 
 place in heaven, 
 
 I mentioned that one of the party was a 
 stranger to the rest. He was a tall, stout, devil- 
 may-care, dark-whiskered fellow : I never heard 
 a more decided brogue — I never met a wilder- 
 looking gentleman. He was fashionably dress- 
 ed, apparently on excellent terms with himself, 
 and dying to be very intimate with the rest 
 of the company. He placed himself vis-a-vis 
 to the fair citizen ; and, more than once, I de- 
 tected a furtive glance stealing underneath the 
 pink bonnet when Mr. Hopkins was otherwise 
 engaged. 
 
 Dinner proceeded : the citizens ate gallantly — 
 the stranger rattled on — graciously the pink 
 dame smiled — and all were occupied according 
 to their respective fancies. Mrs. Hopkins was
 
 I^JTRODUCTION. IX 
 
 indubitably " a fine animal ;'' but — may the 
 Lord pardon her ! — she used a knife with fish, 
 and swilled " bottled stout" like a Life Guards- 
 man. 
 
 When people are limited in time, it is mar- 
 vellous how expeditiously they contrive to get 
 on. I never met a company who drank fairer : 
 sherry disappeared, brandy and blue ruin suc- 
 ceeded ; the day was hot — the ladies thirsty : 
 all had come out " on pleasure bent,'' and hila- 
 rity was the order of the day. Mr. Hopkins's 
 cheek was losing its lemon tint insensibly, and 
 acquiring the true couleur de rose ; and I fancied 
 that his wife's eyes every moment became blacker 
 and brighter. Alas ! it was a sun-gleam before 
 a tempest. Suddenly, he bounded from his seat 
 like a racket-ball, and, with a deep imprecation, 
 declared vengeance against my next neighbour, 
 the wild-looking gentleman. 
 
 Up rose the company en masse. They were 
 all married, and therefore made common cause. 
 There was a deceiver in the room — a Giovanni 
 in the presence — for the stranger, not contented 
 with looking '' things unutterable," had actually 
 attempted to establish a pedal communication
 
 X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 with her of the pink bonnet ; and, confound his 
 awkwardness ! he pressed the wrong foot. 
 
 It was unpardonable in the wild-looking gen- 
 tleman. I felt for Mr. Hopkins. Had the de- 
 linquent trodden upon my toe, he would have 
 been my destroyer; for I was afflicted with 
 tight shoes and angry corns. 
 
 Never did a company appear more unanimous 
 in denouncing a deceiver. At the audacious 
 attempt the gentlemen were irate ; and at the 
 bungling execution the ladies were indignant — 
 no wonder ! If people will press feet, let them 
 tread upon the right ones. 
 
 All and every assumed a hostile attitude, and 
 assault and battery appeared to be the order of 
 the day. An irritated drysalter from Tooley- 
 street commenced buttoning his coat — and the 
 whole corps seemed to be combining their efforts 
 for a general onslaught. 
 
 Nor was the wild-looking gentleman insensi- 
 ble to coming events. I never saw a person 
 more disinclined to submit quietly to martyr- 
 dom ; and, seizing the poker, he bade a bold 
 defiance to his assailants. The thickest skull 
 has but a sorry chance against " cold iron;'' and
 
 INTRODUCTION. XI 
 
 none of the angry citizens, although doubtless 
 men of approved courage, volunteered to lead 
 the assault. I took advantage of the lull, offered 
 my mediation, and the stranger was permit- 
 ted to explain. The offence was perfectly acci- 
 dental — a cramp caused the mischief — Mr. 
 Hopkins was appeased, harmony restored, and 
 a fresh supply of liquids promptly ordered and 
 produced. 
 
 How long the armistice would continue un- 
 broken, I did not pretend to guess. The 
 steamer''s bell sounded its note of preparation ; 
 Cockneys by the dozen flocked on board; the 
 paddles revolved briskly, and I went splashing 
 up to town, leaving the wild-looking gentleman 
 to " complete his destinies."" 
 
 Months passed ; autumn was over, and a 
 murky atmosphere with drizzling rain told 
 that it was a London November. I was re- 
 turning from dinner to my lodgings, when, at 
 the corner of a dark mews, I was hustled by 
 several men, who commenced a simultaneous 
 research into my pockets. Unluckily, I had 
 that evening more cash upon my person than 
 I felt inclined to part with, and accordingly
 
 XU INTRODUCTION. 
 
 offered a sturdy resistance. But it would have 
 been unavailing, had not a stranger suddenly- 
 crossed the street and hurried to the rescue. 
 He was indeed a powerful ally : down went a 
 couple of the Philistines — off ran the rest, and I 
 escaped spoliation. I turned to thank my deli- 
 verer, and in the stout stranger recognized my 
 quondam friend, the wild-looking gentleman ! 
 
 Nor had I been forgotten : he recognized my 
 voice, tucked me under his arm, and we pro- 
 ceeded to a neighbouring tavern. We supped, 
 and over a midnight glass I recalled to his me- 
 mory the dinner at Gravesend, and asked him 
 how he had subsequently progressed. He smiled, 
 and informed me he had found favour in the 
 sight of Mr. Hopkins, accompanied that party 
 to town, and had been invited to visit them in 
 Bishopsgate-street. In my opinion Mr. Hopkins 
 was wrong. 
 
 We remained in conversation until a late 
 hour. My friend was leaving London next day, 
 but promised to find me out on his return. We 
 separated, he having presented me with his 
 card, on which was engraven '' Captain .Tolin 
 Blake."
 
 INTRODUCTION. Xlli 
 
 Spring came, and I had heard nothing of my 
 deliverer, when one morning, in " The Times,'' 
 I saw his marriage regularly gazetted ; and, 
 joyful intelligence ! it was declared that the lady 
 of his love was passing fair, and rich as an 
 Israelite. After an elaborate account of the 
 dresses and dejeune^ it was further intimated, 
 that the happy pair had returned to town, and 
 were now resident at Ibbotson's. And had the 
 wild-looking gentleman actually become a Be- 
 nedict, and an heiress committed her happiness 
 to his custody? My curiosity was roused — I 
 longed to learn the history of his good fortune 
 from himself; it would be but civil to oifer 
 my congratulations ; and, next day, I drove to 
 Vere-street, and sent up my card. 
 
 My friend was out, but the servant informed 
 me that his lady was visible. I was paraded to 
 the drawing-room, announced as an old acquaint- 
 ance, and found myself in the presence of the 
 loveliest girl, that ever vowed obedience at the 
 altar. 
 
 I have during my march through life gazed 
 on many a beauty, but never did I view a 
 sweeter expression of artless loveliness, than the
 
 XIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 bride's face presented when she bhishingly receiv- 
 ed my congratulations. In conversation she was 
 easy and intelligent, and before a quarter of an 
 hour I came to a conclusion, that matrimony may 
 be endured ; and that in the lottery of life the 
 wild-looking gentleman possessed, as they say 
 in Connaught, " the luck of thousands."" 
 
 Our tete-a-tete was so agreeable, that time 
 slipped on unnoticed. I heard the door unclose, 
 and observed the bride's eyes lighten, as she 
 said in a soft voice, " It is my husband."" I 
 sprang up to welcome my fortunate friend ; but 
 in a moment started back in dismay — I had 
 caught a stranger by the hand, and intruded, 
 under false pretences, upon the privacy of a gen- 
 tleman to whom I was entirely unknown. 
 
 I never found myself in a more embarrassing 
 situation, and attempted, of course, a blunder- 
 ing apology, while the stranger politely re- 
 quested me to sit down. It was, indeed, a 
 ridiculous mistake. In name and rank there 
 was certainly a strange coincidence ; while, 
 stranger still, in age and personal appearance, 
 the Benedict of Ibbotson's might pass as twin- 
 brother to the admirer of Mrs. Hopkins.
 
 INTRODUCTION. XV 
 
 I noticed this singularity. 
 " And may I ask," said the stranger, " where 
 you met this dupUcate of mine ?"' 
 I told him. 
 " How might he have been engaged on these 
 
 occasions r 
 
 " On the first, in making love ; on the second, 
 in threshing pickpockets.'" 
 
 " I fancy I know your friend,"" said the 
 stranger. " Would you favour me with the 
 particulars of these adventures ?" 
 
 I consented ; and during the recital he laugh- 
 ed immoderately, while the bride appeared to 
 be equally amused. 
 
 " Well, sir," he observed, when my narrative 
 was ended, " your acquaintance is in truth 
 " my loving cousin" — one who in name and re- 
 semblance is said to be my counterpart, but 
 whom, I suppose either for sake of distinction, or 
 from his superior vivacity, it has pleased his asso- 
 ciates to designate as ' Jack the Devil." " 
 
 I groaned ; — the identity was proven, and 
 the sobriquet indubitably belonged to my wor- 
 thy friend, the wild-looking gentleman. 
 
 '' Good God !" I exclaimed, " how stupid and
 
 xvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 unpardonable must this intrusion of mine ap- 
 pear !" 
 
 " Far from it," said the bridegroom; " I have 
 heard of you repeatedly from my kinsman ; and 
 
 Colonel "*s name is quite familiar to Emily 
 
 and me. Will you wave ceremony, and break 
 our matrimonial tete-a-tete ? and after dinner I 
 will give you the last intelligence which has 
 reached me of our excellent countryman, ' Jack 
 the Devil f'^ 
 
 Little inducement was requisite to make me 
 accept his invitation ; and from that day, I 
 date the commencement of a friendship that 
 promises only to terminate with life I have 
 been for months together domesticated with 
 my friends, and, during morning rides and 
 evening potations, collected those details of 
 personal adventure, which, mutato nomine^ and 
 with slight omissions, the following memoir so 
 faithfully records. 
 
 London, March 1835.
 
 MY LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MY BIRTH. 
 
 King Henry. Is the queen delivered T 
 
 Say, aye ; and of a boy. 
 
 Lady. Aye, aye, my liege ; 
 
 And of a lovely boy. 
 
 Shakspeabe. 
 
 It was a \\dld and blustrous night in the 
 month of February, in the year of Grace one 
 thousand seven hundred and ninety-nine — The 
 jail-clock struck one. My father^s household 
 had long since retired to their respective dor- 
 mitories, and a solitary watch-light twinkled in 
 the chamber- window where my mother slept. 
 All was quiet as a regular sou- wester would per- 
 mit. Doors creacked, windows rattled, while 
 the wind, eddying in hollow gnists through nar- 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 MY LIFE. 
 
 row lanes and gateways, came roaring awfully 
 down the chimneys. There were no passengers 
 abroad, for the foul weather had cleared the 
 streets effectually of their usual gang of noc- 
 turnal wanderers ; and the veriest drunkard 
 appeared to have anticipated the storm, and 
 managed to stagger home before the fury of 
 the gale was at its height. The ancient elms 
 which overhung the road leading from the 
 barracks to the jail, groaned fearfully above 
 the picket, as with great coats buttoned to their 
 noses, they hurried to their guard-room from 
 patrolling — the sentries kept snug within their 
 boxes — and in all Castlebar but one man could 
 have been discovered out of doors, and he, as it 
 will appear, was a dead one. 
 
 Just then, a figure might have been observed 
 moving hastily across my mother's chamber. 
 Presently the bell rang ; the warning peal was 
 repeated ; a loud and peremptory voice aroused 
 the sleeping servants ; and, without even waiting 
 to bless himself, Mark Haggarty slipped on his 
 red-plush breeches, tumbled over a turf-creel, 
 which the housemaid, for better convenience, 
 had judiciously laid across the passage, and as
 
 MY LIFE. S 
 
 he gathered himself up, in tones which told how 
 desperately he was alarmed, ejaculated, " Bless- 
 ed Virgin ! is the house coming down ?''' 
 
 " The mistress is ill,'''' exclaimed my father. 
 " Run for Doctor Donovan. Take the short 
 way across the Mall, and be back again like 
 lightning/' 
 
 " Why then, by my own soul, I wont,"'' re- 
 turned he of the red-plush breeches. "ilfe 
 crass the Mall, and Kimlin swinging on a tree I 
 Mona mondiaoul^* if I would take a hatful! of 
 pound-notes and venture. But I '11 cut round 
 the lane and raise the doctor in a jiffy/' 
 
 Accordingly, without waiting for his other 
 habiliments, Mark Haggarty bolted out of the 
 door, and started at a killing pace, upholding 
 with his better hand, the solitary garment by 
 the waistband. 
 
 Meanwhile the whole establishment was in 
 general commotion. Half-a-score of domestics, 
 male and female, in that interesting and un- 
 adorned state when beauty is said to be most 
 bewitching, careered over the house, and tilted 
 against each other in the lobbies. The men 
 
 • An Irish imprecation. 
 
 b2
 
 4 MY LIFE. 
 
 cursed, and the women crossed themselves ; 
 lights flared, dogs barked, boys kicked them 
 for the same, and the uproar within, beat the 
 storm without, all to nothing. At this moment 
 Mark Haggarty returned " fairly kilt wid run- 
 nin,'' to announce the advent of the doctor, so 
 soon as Biddy Boyle, his favourite hand-maiden, 
 could manage " to shake him into his clothes/'' 
 
 Let critics say what they please, in the best 
 biographies, digressions will be frequent ; and 
 even at this eventful period I must leave my 
 mother to her fate, while I put my readers in 
 possession of certain matters, which I deem ne- 
 cessary to illustrate and connect these memoirs. 
 
 Every body who is aware that this history 
 commences in 1799, will recollect that the re- 
 bellion had occurred during the preceding sum- 
 mer, and that although the insurrection had 
 been suppressed, the country was still fearfully 
 disturbed, and especially by ruffians who had 
 been in arms with the disaffected, and who, 
 having been excluded from mercy by their 
 crimes, had still contrived to elude the hand of 
 justice, and exist by terrorism and plunder. 
 At this time martial-law was in full force ; Denis
 
 MY LIFE. 5 
 
 Browne reigned in undisputed supremacy ; his 
 sway over the north-western division of the 
 kingdom of Connaught was absolute, as if he 
 had formed an integral fraction of the Holy 
 Alliance ; and his autocracy over " the finest 
 peasantry on earth," not inferior even to that of 
 Mr. Daniel O'Connel, whom God long preserve ! 
 With the persons and properties of his subjects 
 Denis took occasional liberties, loosing and 
 binding as he pleased — and when example was 
 thought preferable to precept, hanging a delin- 
 quent " out of the face," for the general benefit 
 of the body politic. True it is, that in after 
 days, short-sighted politicians have questioned 
 the utility of the gallows, and even mooted the 
 authority of the defunct Denis to employ it as 
 he did. But these important questions are not 
 for us to decide, and we shall consign them ac- 
 cordingly to the future historian. 
 
 Three days before the opening of this story, 
 an occurrence took place which procured for 
 the worthy citizens of Castlebar the unexpected 
 pleasure of witnessing an execution. An out- 
 law named Kimlin, who had escaped the gene- 
 ral slaughter which visited the rebel allies when
 
 6 MY LIFE. 
 
 the French surrendered at Ballinamuck, had 
 infested the country for the last winter at the 
 head of a numerous and ferocious band. He 
 was a daring, desperate scoundrel — and, render- 
 ed confident by his previous success in evading 
 the many attempts that had been made to ar- 
 rest him, imprudently ventured within a short 
 distance of the town, and appeared at a bridal 
 dance which was given in a neighbouring vil- 
 lage. As a reward of one hundred pounds had 
 been oiFered for his apprehension, it is not sur- 
 prising that his propinquity to the town was 
 speedily communicated, and a few of the yeo- 
 manry, having ascertained the house where he 
 would harbour for the night, marched hastily to 
 the spot, and surrounded and attacked it. Al- 
 though surprised, Kimlin made a desperate resist- 
 ance : the leader of the party was shot through 
 the heart, two others severely wounded, and it 
 was not until the house was in flames and the 
 outlaw's ammunition expended, that he could be 
 overpowered and secured. Tied upon a car, with 
 the dead yeoman placed beside him, Kimlin was 
 conveyed by his captors in triumph to Castlebar. 
 The party proceeded directly with their pri-
 
 MY LIFE. 7 
 
 soner to the court-house, where Denis Browne 
 was at the moment sitting in judgment, upon 
 a broken head incurred at a recent hurHng 
 match. 
 
 When the important event was communi- 
 cated to the autocrat of Mayo, that the felon 
 who had evaded pursuit so long was at last 
 within his power, the hurlers, plaintiiF and de- 
 fendant, were most unceremoniously ejected 
 from the bar of justice. Kimlin, pinioned and 
 guarded by a yeoman with a naked bayonet at 
 either side, was placed at the foot of the table, 
 directly opposite to the arm-chair where Denis 
 Browne was seated; the dead body was de- 
 posited outside in the lobby; and one of the 
 captors desired to state briefly the particulars of 
 the morning adventure. 
 
 While this ceremony was proceeding, Kim- 
 lin, with a dogged resolution, listened in sullen 
 silence to his accuser. The detail ended, Denis 
 turning upon the undaunted felon a look that 
 would have quailed the stoutest heart, demand- 
 ed to know the names and haunts of his com- 
 panions. But the robber spoke not, and met the 
 eye of his judge with a scowl of deadly hatred.
 
 8 MY LIFE. 
 
 " Dost thou hear me, ruffian ? Answer at 
 once, and truly, or before the sun is at its height 
 you shall dangle on yonder tree," and he point- 
 ed to a tall elm, whose bare and ragged boughs 
 were visible from the court-house window. 
 
 Kimlin looked up ; it was a look that united 
 fiendish scorn with unflinching desperation. 
 
 " Not so fast, Right Honourable,*"* said the 
 robber with a sneer : " you'll bring me to the 
 drum-head, I suppose, at any rate — and, with all 
 your hurry, you'll scarcely strap me up till 
 sunset. As to my comrades, they are who 
 they are ; and for their haunts, why, look till 
 ye find them, and then you'll not have lost the 
 labour." 
 
 The judge smiled bitterly. " Think ye, 
 friend," he replied, " that a murderer and arm- 
 ed rebel, with the blood of the king's trusty 
 soldiers on his hands, shall cumber the earth till 
 he undergoes the forms of law intended for bet- 
 ter regulated subjects ?" He paused, and, tak- 
 ing out his watch, examined the dial attentively, 
 and whispered the jailor beside him, who di- 
 rectly left the room ; then, in a voice as cold 
 
 * The title by which Denis was universally known.
 
 MY LIFE. 9 
 
 and passionless as if he was ordering his car- 
 riage to the door, he thus continued : " Kim- 
 lin, it wants five minutes to eleven ; at 
 twelve you dangle upon yonder elm," and he 
 pointed with his finger to the tree. 
 
 " Devil may care V replied the undaunted 
 ruffian : " will ye let me have a priest ?"" 
 
 His wish was granted, and a messenger 
 despatched for the confessor. In a few mi- 
 nutes, and by different doors, two functionaries 
 entered the chamber, and placed themselves at 
 either side of the doomed murderer. 
 
 The first of these was an old grey-haired 
 man, whose coat of dingy black, and long 
 coarse horse-skin boots, announced him to be 
 a travelling friar. He crossed himself while 
 addressing the prisoner, and muttered to him 
 from time to time some Latin formulae, inter- 
 spersed with admonitory observations, incul- 
 cating the necessity of speedy repentance, and 
 the making of his peace with God. 
 
 The other was a very different personage. 
 
 He was a tall negro, with a face of amazing 
 
 ugliness, and frame of gigantic proportions. 
 
 His dress was of that peculiar and remarkable 
 
 B 5
 
 10 MY LIFE. 
 
 costume with which the time-beaters in mihtary 
 bands are generally invested. He had large 
 rings in his ears, and a crooked sabre at his 
 side, while his turban or cap, formed of red and 
 yellow calico, added at least eighteen inches to 
 his height. But, striking as his dress and 
 figure were, on one thing the undivided observa- 
 tion of the spectators was directed — and that 
 was a small coil of rope which he carried in his 
 hand, having one end simply knotted, while the 
 other was provided with an eye, spliced with 
 a neatness that told the negro had been once a 
 sailor. 
 
 " Sambo," said the judge, with an encou- 
 raging nod, " we require a cast of your 
 craft this morning ; and, like a good and pro- 
 vident workman, you have not forgotten your 
 tools." 
 
 The negro's lips divided, and his grin dis- 
 closed a set of teeth firm and white as the 
 tusks of a boar-hound. 
 
 " Hegh, massa ! me alway ready ; but rope 
 has broke a strand ;" and, pointing out the 
 frayed part, he directed a careless look to the 
 convict, who had retired to a corner with the
 
 MY LIFE. 11 
 
 confessor — " Me want new rope ; him there 
 not tall, but dam heavy." 
 
 " It will do, Sambo — it will do ;" said the 
 justice, with a smile. 
 
 " But," returned the executioner, " Massa 
 Browne, me not paid last job. Him jailor 
 there, him dam rogue ; him promise a one 
 pound-note, besides the clothes." 
 
 " Ay, Snowball," repHed the accused, " and 
 did ye not get every rag that Conolly had on, 
 with every thing in the pockets, and that into 
 the bargain ?" 
 
 " Hegh, hegh !" and the sable functionary 
 grinned ; "great matter that! Him had noting 
 in him pocket but thread and thimble ; him 
 clothes not worth a broken drum-stick — all 
 tore, though himself was a tailor. Beside, this 
 here a dam place. No one will buy dead man's 
 clothes, for fear him ghost come at night to 
 claim them :" and Sambo laughed heartily, in 
 which the judge and jailor joined. 
 
 While this conversation was carried on at 
 the table, the felon and the churchman were 
 busily employed in the corner of the room. 
 Between religious exercises, the friar was en-
 
 12 MY LIFE. 
 
 deavouring to extract a confession, which Kim- 
 lin appeared to make reluctantly, as his replies 
 were given in hasty and querulous tones. 
 
 " Did I not tell ye I was there already ?*" 
 was his answer to the priesf s question. 
 
 Again the friar whispered — " No,"" returned 
 the convict, " Connor, that was hung in Fox- 
 ford, fired the shot that killed him." 
 
 " Who murdered Peter Donovan ?" said the 
 confessor. 
 
 " How do I know ? I was in Roscommon 
 the night it happened."" 
 
 " You fired at Mr. O'Roark," observed the 
 priest. 
 
 " Well, if I did, I missed him — and more 's 
 the pity.'"* 
 
 " Were you not at Marley's robbery?"" asked 
 the friar. 
 
 " Arrah! ye bother one wid questionin"* — I 
 was, and I '11 tell ye no more !""' 
 
 " Well, attend to me,"*"* repHed the friar ; 
 " are ye sorry for your crimes, and do ye 
 heartily repent ?"" 
 
 " I ""11 tell ye what I repint most," said the 
 villain with a ferocious oath ; " and that is,
 
 MY LIFE. 13 
 
 that I had'nt more cartridges, and, by , I 
 
 would have shot as many of them blood-hounds," 
 and he pointed to the yeomen, " as would have 
 covered that table, and it 's a long one — and, 
 now will ye give me the rites ?" 
 
 " I '11 give you the rope r exclaimed the 
 judge, who had overheard the sanguinary de- 
 claration — "Away with him at once ; and be- 
 fore twelve strikes, let me see him strapped 
 up!" 
 
 Immediately the captors seized the prisoner, 
 and the black drummer resumed his coil, which 
 he had deposited on the table. 
 
 " Massa Browne," said the sable artist, 
 " mind, two poun"* due now ; me come back 
 for money when the job done — me have child 
 to cristin — him beauty — black as a crow — co- 
 lour of him father — him beauty :" and Sambo 
 showed his white tusks as he laughed heartily. 
 At the door the convict paused, turned on the 
 judge a look of undying hatred — " May my 
 curse light upon you and yours, Denis Browne !" 
 he ejaculated ; then clinching his teeth together, 
 without murmuring another word, he doggedly 
 accompanied his escort.
 
 14 MY LIFE. 
 
 The look and imprecation were not lost on 
 the person to whom they were addressed. They 
 produced no other effect, however, than elicit- 
 ing a bitter and sarcastic smile ; and in ten 
 minutes, Denis Browne was calmly contem- 
 plating from his window the agonized struggles 
 of the expiring robber. 
 
 It was determined that the body should be 
 suspended for several days, as a wholesome 
 example to the " mauvais sujets "'"' of the neigh- 
 bourhood ; and, accordingly a manifesto to that 
 effect was issued by the " Right Honourable."''' 
 Aware that Kimlin's gang were in the vicinity 
 of the town, and that they would naturally 
 wish to remove their deceased leader, precau- 
 tionary measures were adojDted to protect the 
 corpse against any attempt at abstraction. As 
 the Mall was directly opposite the jail, of course 
 the fatal tree was visible to the sentries round 
 the prison. It was, therefore, intimated to the 
 guard, that Mr. Kimhn was placed under their 
 especial surveillance^ and that to the living cri- 
 minals beneath their charge, they had received 
 the addition of a dead one. 
 
 Three days passed, and every thing went on
 
 MY LIFE. 15 
 
 as usual. Mayo was minus a robber, and 
 Sambo richer by two pound-notes and a suit of 
 clothes. Kimlin ceased to be a lion — the maid- 
 servants were tired of admiring him — and there 
 was not a nurse for miles around, who had not 
 gratified her infant charge with an exhibition 
 of the departed murderer. To Sambo alone 
 the sight was still an interesting one, and this 
 was from a pardonable vanity. Every evening, 
 at tattoo, while exercising the large drum, as he 
 passed underneath the tree that bore his handy- 
 work, he grinned as he looked up, and remark- 
 ed to the mulatto who operated on the tam- 
 bourine beside him, " Hegh, Bill, him robber 
 well hung ; dam good hemp too, or two strands 
 would never hold so big a villain up f and his 
 vigorous stick would descend with additional 
 force upon the sheep-skin. Enough for example 
 had now been done ; and it was decided that, 
 on the next day, Kimlin should be committed 
 to his mother earth. 
 
 We have already described the evening as 
 stormy. At midnight the gale was awful, and 
 the sentries, as they peered from their boxes, 
 could occasionally observe through the gloom,
 
 16 MY LIFE. 
 
 the body of the dead outlaw oscillating wildly 
 back and forward in every blast of wind. With- 
 in the prison, the jail-guard were circled round 
 a blazing turf fire ; yet it was in truth a cold 
 and dreary watch ; and Sergeant 0'*Tool feel- 
 ing an unusual chilliness of the stomach, des- 
 patched private RaiFerty to procure some whis- 
 key to correct the same, precisely at the mo- 
 ment when the accoucheur departed from his 
 house, hurrying to the assistance of my mother. 
 
 Now, Doctor Donovan was well skilled in 
 pharmacy and obstetrics — ^but, moreover, he was 
 an adept in freemasonry, and a worthy pro- 
 fessor of that ancient and honom-able craft. 
 That night he had presided over "• the enlight- 
 ened few," and whether obnubilated by the 
 arcana of the mysterious science, confused by 
 Mark Haggarty's alarm, or bothered by the 
 storm, he could never himself discover ; but 
 certain it is, that totally oblivious of Mr. Kim- 
 lin being suspended in the Mall, he took the 
 short cut, which he of the red-plush breeches 
 had so judiciously avoided. 
 
 Before the doctor sallied forth, Biddy Boyle, 
 to the best of her abilities, endeavoured to
 
 MY LIFE. 17 
 
 secure him against the inclemency of the wea- 
 ther. She encased him in a large coat ; his face 
 was defended to the very eyes by a shawl ; a 
 silk bandana, tied below his chin, prevented his 
 hat from levanting ; while a horseman's cloak 
 over all, appeared to set the tempest at de- 
 fiance. 
 
 While the doctor continued under the shelter 
 of the houses, he progressed gallantly, but the 
 corner turned, he then experienced the fury of 
 the gale. Short and corpulent, he presented a 
 square and compact surface to the action of the 
 wind, which, being in nautical parlance^ " right 
 aft,**' hurried him along with astonishing velocity. 
 He had reached the centre of the trees, when a 
 squall raised the capes of his cloak suddenly. 
 To stop was impossible. Hoodwinked, he was 
 impelled forward, till striking against a tree, he 
 endeavoured to arrest his course by catching at 
 it. In the attempt he grasped an object — it 
 was a man's leg ! Before he could relinquish 
 his hold, a heavy body bore him to the earth, 
 and the dead murderer lay over him. 
 
 Private Rafferty succeeded in his mission, 
 having procured a bottle of " the native"*'
 
 18 MY LIFE. 
 
 for the especial comfort of his commander. 
 Crossing an angle of the Mall, he cast a hasty 
 glance towards the spot where Kimlin had buf- 
 fetted the storm, and vainly strained his vision 
 to assure himself that the person of the outlaw 
 was secure. No opaque form, however, pre- 
 sented itself in the partial moon-light. " Holy 
 Virgin ! can this be possible ?" he exclaimed, 
 rubbing his eyes anew ; but the branch that 
 " bore the weight of Antony" was bare and 
 unadorned as any of its kindred boughs. Pat 
 RaiFerty, albeit as stout a sentinel " as ever 
 called stand to a true man," was no hero where 
 a dead one was concerned ; he was just as con- 
 tiguous to the departed patriot as liis fancy 
 would require, and accordingly contenting him- 
 self with a distant " reconnoissance," he pro- 
 ceeded to the guard-room to deliver at the 
 same time his whiskey and tidings to the su- 
 perior officer. 
 
 " Cead fealteagh !"* exclaimed Sergeant CTool, 
 as he eyed the bottle in his comrade"'s hand : 
 " I niver needed a drap so badly, for I feel as 
 if I had swallowed a snow-ball : give us a ^al- 
 
 * A word of welcome.
 
 MY LIFE. 19 
 
 liogue, Patshiene ;"* and presenting a glass, it 
 was filled and discussed with marvellous cele- 
 rity. " That puts life in a man. Phew ! 
 there's a squall ! Fresh hands at the bellows, 
 gintlemen. What a swing Kimlin got !" 
 
 " The devil a swing," replied the bottle- 
 holder, turning down a bumper in imitation of 
 his worthy commander : " Kimlin has bate 
 a retrate, as sure as my name is Pat Raf- 
 ferty." 
 
 " Death an nouns ! asy with yeeV jokes," 
 exclaimed the gallant sergeant. 
 
 " Jokes ! By this book" — and here he press- 
 ed the bottle reverently to his lips — " there 's 
 not a rag of him on the tree, more than I 'm 
 there." 
 
 " Mona mondiaoul f"" said the sergeant, 
 " we 're ruined, horse and foot ! Corporal, 
 avournee{7i,f run for the sake of Jasus — take a 
 squint outside, and tell us what ye see." 
 
 Short was the corporal's absence ; and when 
 lie returned, the fatal news was certified. 
 
 '' Och, murder !" said Mr. O'Tool ; " the 
 Right Hanarable will hang us every mother 
 ♦ Anglice, " A glass-full, Pat." -|- Corporal, darling.
 
 20 MY LIFE. 
 
 sowl ! Come along some of ye ;" and seizing 
 a lantern, which he lighted, oiF ran the ser- 
 geant, followed by five or six files of the jail 
 guard. 
 
 It was a fortunate circumstance for the un- 
 lucky accoucheur that the descent of Mr. Kim- 
 lin had been so speedily discovered ; and great 
 was the astonishment of Sergeant O'Tool, when 
 he found that in place of one body, he had a 
 second to account for. 
 
 " Blood and thunder, boys ! where did 
 this one drap from ? Why, this ' bates Ban- 
 nagher.'" A groan interrupted him. " Mo- 
 ther of God ! which of thim was that ?''"' and 
 he crossed himself. " Hold the light down. 
 Why, this one's alive ! Hallo ! dacent man, 
 who the divil are ye ? Lord, how wild he 
 looks ! Phew ! I comprehind it ; he was 
 Stalin the corpse. Arrah, bad manners to ye — 
 I Ve done worse before now than put the bay- 
 nit through your carcass.^' Another long and 
 hollow groan succeeded. " He 's dacently 
 dressed too, the thief of the world ! Lift him C 
 and by main force the doctor was raised to a 
 perpendicular. " What have ye to say, ye
 
 MY LIFE. 21 
 
 divil, for this attimpt — Sorra take ye, wantin 
 rob the Right Hanarable — Arrah, who the 
 blazes are ye P'' 
 
 But before the sergeant could be answered, a 
 recruit lifted the lantern and scrutinized the 
 features of the supposed culprit. 
 
 " Holy St. Patrick ! can this be Doctor Do- 
 novan ?'"* A feeble affirmative was groaned out. 
 
 " Oh, thin, it 's larkin ye were, doctor ?'" 
 said the sergeant. " Arrah, for shame, to pull 
 the crature about, after the tassing and tum- 
 bling he has underwint these three days. Go 
 to your warm bed — it 's no night for a steady 
 little man like you to be out upon the batter. 
 Help him home some of ye ; for, by my con- 
 science, whether it 's fear or liquor, the devil a 
 leg the man can lay before the other." 
 
 With considerable difficulty Doctor Donovan 
 was carried by the soldiers to his own house, 
 just as Mark Haggerty arrived a second time, to 
 hurry him to attend my mother. One glance 
 at the unlucky accoucheur, satisfied him of the 
 red-plush breeches, that he must seek assistance 
 elsewhere. Having heard a brief and confused 
 narrative of the accident from the guard, Mark
 
 22 MY LIFE. 
 
 hastened back to my father, who was pacing the 
 hall impatiently. 
 
 " Is he coming ?" asked the latter. 
 
 " He ^s kilt," was the reply. " My curse at- 
 tend ye, Kimlin !'" 
 
 Dreadful was the consternation which Mark 
 Haggerty's intelligence created : all and every, 
 from the cook to the kitchen-maid, crossed 
 themselves devoutly, and aves and paternosters 
 were plentifully ejaculated. And while the but- 
 ler was despatched to rouse the regimental sur- 
 geon, and my father was striving to conjecture 
 by what ingenious device a dead man had con- 
 trived to finish a living one, the old nurse- 
 tender shouted from the stair-head that my 
 mother had produced an heir, " and, och, but 
 he 's a born beauty !"" 
 
 Gentle reader, such were the circumstances 
 attendant on my entree into life ; for the nurse's 
 beauty was myself, your humble servant.
 
 MY LIFE. 23 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MEMOIR OF MY FATHER. 
 
 Says the priest to ray parents, ye ugly ould pair, 
 Arrah, where could you get such a beautiful heir! 
 
 Irish Ballad. 
 
 How strictly the latter part of this admired 
 distich might have been applicable to myself, 
 modesty will prevent me insinuating ; but cer- 
 tainly the former was not so to my parents, for 
 both were young and handsome. 
 
 Caesar Blake (for thus my father was desig- 
 nated) was the descendant of an ancient family, 
 and the youngest of four brothers. The eldest 
 succeeded to ancestral dignities and estates, and 
 had been duly indoctrinated in fox-hunting and 
 field-sports, electioneering, drinking, and duel- 
 ling ; in short, in all those accomplishments 
 which, for time immemorial, have been consi-
 
 24 MY LIFE. 
 
 dered by the best authorities, the sole end for 
 which Irish gentlemen were originally created. 
 The second was a field-officer in the Austrian 
 service. The third held a command in the 
 Spanish marine. The fourth, my father, en- 
 tered the British army when a boy, where he 
 attained the rank of major. 
 
 Caesar Blake was a general favourite with his 
 regiment, which, though a flashy corps, was 
 in no way remarkable for strictness in its dis- 
 cipline. The men were chiefly Irish, and con- 
 sequently there were among them not a few of 
 that description, known among soldiers by the 
 title of " the king's bad bargains." The officers 
 were young, wild, and gentlemanly. The co- 
 lonel, an easy-tempered, good-hearted, hard- 
 drinking veteran, averse to all manner of seve- 
 rity, and of course obnoxious to being imposed 
 upon by the men. Hence the regiment was 
 frequently in scrapes — the officers perpetrating 
 all sorts of mischief, and the men fighting with 
 any who would so far oblige them. Complaints 
 being eternally forwarded to the general of 
 the district, at last the case came under serious 
 consideration at the Horse Guards ; and to
 
 MY LIFE. 25 
 
 abate the evil, it was deemed advisable to re- 
 move the old commander, and replace him with 
 a tartar. 
 
 But, from his previous services, there was no 
 small difficulty in depriving Colonel Selby of his 
 regiment. Fortunately a staff appointment be- 
 came vacant, and Colonel Macleod was gazetted 
 to the command of the 18th " vice Selby pro- 
 moted.""' 
 
 The veteran parted from his companions in 
 arms with unfeigned regret. To the senior 
 officers he was endeared by many a recollection 
 of " Auld lang syne ;*" and on the younger he 
 looked with the feelings of a too indulgent 
 father, who forgives juvenile aberrations he 
 should correct, from a mistaken but excusable 
 affection. " My dear boys," he said, as on the 
 morning of his departure he addressed himself 
 to a group of wild ones, among whom my father 
 was a leader — " be more upon your guard. Re- 
 member it is not the ' old man' with whom you 
 will have to deal in future. Others may not 
 make allowances for the exuberance of youthful 
 spirits. Be cautious, my darling boys, and 
 when I 'm far away, recollect my parting adnio- 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 MY LIFE. 
 
 nition.'' They did so before long, as the sequel 
 will demonstrate. 
 
 Colonel Selby intended quitting the barrack 
 by the back-gate, for his heart was too full to 
 permit his looking at the regiment for the 
 last time with tolerable composure. The men 
 were formed on parade, when their beloved 
 commander was observed issuing from his quar- 
 ters, leaning on my father's arm. Then a 
 singular scene of military excitement ensued. 
 The soldiers piled their arms, and rushed for- 
 ward in one wild tumultuary mass. A chair 
 was procured, and the colonel elevated on the 
 shoulders of the tallest of the grenadiers. The 
 band formed in front, and followed by the 
 whole corps, officers and drum-boys, lightbobs 
 and pioneers, women and children, and all the 
 tag-rag and bobtail appertaining to a regiment, 
 they proceeded in glorious confusion round the 
 streets, and passed the inn with deafening 
 cheers, just as the old man's successor stepped 
 from a hackney-chaise. 
 
 Whether it was that no enthusiastic tokens 
 of regret had marked the new commander's 
 parting with the regiment he had quitted, cer-
 
 MY LIFE. 27 
 
 tain it is, that this public demonstration of at- 
 tachment to his predecessor did not operate 
 favourably on his temper, when afterwards re- 
 ceiving the complimentary visits of his new 
 companions. He was a hard, weather-beaten, 
 thin, tall, bilious Scotsman, who had passed 
 every gradation of service from a drum-boy to 
 the command. He was a teasing martinet, and 
 an unforgiving disciplinarian. A constitutional 
 harshness in temper and appearance was so re- 
 markable, that an Irish corporal, in describing 
 him to a comrade, declared that " he was cut 
 out of a crab-tree, while the carpenter, to get 
 all the knots in the stick, had kept as near the 
 root as possible.^'' 
 
 It so happened that an elderly gentlewoman 
 of some property, who had never been seduced 
 into matrimony, resided in the town. She was a 
 personage of goodly size, great hospitality, and 
 inveterate devotion to the card-table. Shortly 
 before Colonel Selby's departure, a feud had 
 broken out between this lady and some juniors 
 of the regiment. She loved loo — they patro- 
 nized country-dancing — and at her last fete, 
 taking umbrage at the obstinacy with which 
 c 2
 
 ^8 MY LIFE. 
 
 slie rejected the introduction of a fiddle, they 
 unceremoniously left the room, declaring on6 
 and all, that they would stand loo no longer. 
 
 This was bad enough in all conscience ; but 
 here the delinquency did not end. Unfortu- 
 nately, in their " exit in a huff,'"' they passed the 
 supper-room. The door was open, the servants 
 otherwise engaged, and the table already cover- 
 ed. This was a tempting sight certainly, and 
 it was hard, at that late hour, to retire fasting. 
 A consultation ensued. To return up-stairs was 
 determined to be " infra dignitatem," to depart 
 supperless a thing not to be tolerated. The 
 course of action was soon decided — one seized 
 a ham, another chose a turkey, my father 
 adopted a chicken-pie, and a fourth selected a 
 cooper of port. None departed empty-handed ; 
 and so rapidly was the larceny eifected, that 
 the delinquents were quietly refreshing them- 
 selves with the abstracted property, and taking 
 their ease in the next inn, before the astonished 
 mistress of the house was advertised, that the 
 better moiety of her entertainment had departed 
 with her rebellious guests. 
 
 Deep was the indignation of the hostess.
 
 MY LIFE. 29 
 
 She, one of the Macnamaras of Clare, to he 
 
 treated with mcivihty, and that too in her own 
 
 house, was 
 
 *' To beard the lion in his den, 
 The Douglass in his hall !" 
 
 That night she never closed an eye, and early 
 next morning indited a letter to her kinsman 
 Captain Antony O'Dogherty, quondam of the 
 Bufis, to require that he should exact due satis- 
 faction for the injury, and take immediate ven- 
 geance on the persons of the offenders. But on 
 reflection, she recollected that honest Antony's 
 pistol-hand had been already damaged in action ; 
 and even were he in full force, he was hut 
 one man, and what was that among so many. 
 Legal redress came next under consideration, 
 and her solicitor, Billy Davock, was consulted 
 in form. 
 
 Billy was a short, punchy little man, wore 
 a light-coloured scratch-wig, took brown snuff, 
 and was reputed the best opinion in cases of 
 assault and battery, " this side of Dublin.'' 
 He heard the story attentively, took a long and 
 deliberative pinch of high-toast, shook his head, 
 and requested to have the advantage of a night's
 
 30 MY LIFE. 
 
 reflection, — for which he subsequently intro- 
 duced an item in his bill, under the denomina- 
 tion of " loss of sleep, ISs. M.''"' 
 
 Next morning, Billy Davock visited his fair 
 client right early. He had turned the case over 
 attentively ; and, flagrant as it was, he neverthe- 
 less admitted that doubts and dubitations had 
 arisen. Great caution would be necessary in 
 framing the indictment. If Major Cassar Blake, 
 whom might the Lord mend ! was charged in 
 the counts with stealing the ham, he would 
 escape condign punishment, if he, the major, 
 could satisfy the jury that he had merely pur- 
 loined the turkey. Beside, the delinquents might 
 prove an alibi. By the evidence of the company, 
 she. Miss Macnamara, it is true, might establish 
 the fact of the said Caesar, with others named in 
 the indictment, having been on her premises the 
 night of the larceny. But then the barrack- 
 guard would swear any tiling they were directed 
 to swear by their ofiicers, as a matter of course. 
 Consequently they, the defendants, would prove, 
 by the afiidavits of a sergeant, corporal, and 
 twelve privates, that they had never left the
 
 MY LIFE. 31 
 
 mess-room. If the prosecution failed, the tra- 
 versers would have a good action for defamation 
 and loss of character, and heavy damages would 
 be recovered. Under these perplexing circum- 
 stances, he, Billy Davock, would advise a case 
 to be submitted to counsel ; and he would ac- 
 cordingly, if his client so instructed him, take 
 the opinion of certain persons, whom he enume- 
 rated as being learned in the law. 
 
 But, on mature consideration, Miss Macna- 
 mara, alarmed at the complexity of the case, 
 abandoned all hope of legal redress. She had, 
 she discovered, but one safe remedy against the 
 parties, and that was their eternal exclusion 
 from her card and supper tables. 
 
 It is to be lamented that this merciful de- 
 termination of the injured gentlewoman did not 
 operate upon the offenders as it should. Whether 
 it was that, hardened by impunity, or piqued 
 because at the next entertainment their names 
 were not found among those bidden to the feast, 
 does not appear ; but certain it is, that having 
 discussed an additional quantity of old port, 
 they, " suadente diabolo,''' sallied out at mid-
 
 m MY LIFE. 
 
 night, to concert and carry on measures of 
 retaliation upon the already sinned against 
 Miss Macnamara. 
 
 The house of this persecuted lady was situate 
 in the centre of the town ; yet being, what is in 
 Connaught termed, " a lone woman,'' to pre- 
 serve property and person, it behoved her to 
 have her domicile well secured. Accordingly, 
 the lower windows were defended by iron 
 stanchions that effectually prevented ingress to, 
 or egress from the mansion. Of this the con- 
 spirators took advantage : they screwed gimlets 
 silently into the doors and door-posts, front and 
 rear, lashed them together by a stout cord, and 
 thus Miss Macnamara and her guests were ille- 
 gally deprived of liberty. 
 
 This eifected, a slater's ladder was procured 
 from an adjacent yard, a horse-sheet saturated 
 with water, and one of the party, who had been 
 formerly in the navy, mounting the roof clam- 
 bered to the chimney-top, and effectually chok- 
 ed the funnel by stuffing it with the wet cloth. 
 
 All within the mansion was joy and revelry ; 
 supper had ended, and it was, as all admitted, 
 excellent and extensive enough to have made
 
 MY LIFE. 3S 
 
 amply up for the spoliation of its predecessor. 
 The gentlemen were indulging in brandy punch, 
 and the ladies refreshing themselves with port- 
 wine neg-us. Miss Macnamara, having "cleaned 
 out" the company at loo, was of course in glo- 
 rious spirits ; and Colonel Macleod, who occu- 
 pied the post of honour beside t he hostess, 
 apparently infected by the general hilarity, 
 twisted his saturnine features into what he in- 
 tended for a smile. A probationer from May- 
 nooth had just favoured the revellers with that 
 celebrated drinking song, intituled, '' Jolly 
 mortals, fill your glasses,"' and a debutante from 
 Mrs. Mac GreaFs finishing school at Cloona- 
 kilty, was arranging her mouth to execute 
 " Will you come to the bower ?*" — ladies 
 laughed, gentlemen pinched them beneath the 
 table-cloth, fun was the order of the night, 
 care might go hang himself, 
 
 " And all went merry as a marriage bell ! " 
 Just then a long continuous volume of dense 
 smoke came rolling down the chimney; " Mur- 
 der !" cried the chief attendant. " Bad luck to 
 them thieves, the sweeps ! they promised to 
 have been here a week ago." Puff, puff, puff, 
 c 5
 
 34< MY LIFE. 
 
 went the chimney. " Raise the windows !'' 
 exclaimed the hostess, who happened to be con- 
 stitutionally ^AicAr-winded. PufF, pufF, puiF — 
 " Holy Virgin ! I 'm smothered V ejaculated 
 Captain O'Dowd, who had recently returned 
 to his native town, with a confirmed asthma and 
 increased pension. Puff, pufF, puff — " Open the 
 hall door !'" roared the priest. 
 " It 's fastened without." 
 Puff, puff — " Try the back one, for the love 
 of Heaven I" 
 
 " It won't open."" 
 
 The consternation was awful ; the company 
 hurried from the supper-room ; and the Colonel, 
 who, from a pulmonary infirmity, was necessi- 
 tated to make a rapid retreat, having inserted 
 his spurs in the table-cloth, removed it, glasses 
 and all, without the assistance of the servants. 
 Death appeared inevitable, and the only reason- 
 able doubt was, whether the coroner would at- 
 tribute it to fright or suffocation. That nicer 
 etiquette, which in ordinary cases prohibits 
 interviews in bedchambers to all ladies and 
 gentlemen who have not been joined in holy 
 wedlock, was now disregarded, and sufferers of
 
 MY LIFE. 85 
 
 both sexes might have been discovered in all 
 departments of the establishment, in search of a 
 more endurable atmosphere. At that moment 
 of general distress, a voice from the street ex- 
 claimed, " The top of the morning to you, 
 mother Macnamara ! Will ye give us ' Jolly 
 mortals' again, if you please." 
 
 " It 's them thieves of the world from the 
 barrack V exclaimed the butler. " Open the 
 door and let us out, or, by the etarnal frost, 
 I '11 sware my life agin yees in the mornin' !"' 
 But equally vain would have been threats or 
 solicitations on the blockading party, had not se- 
 veral lanterns been seen approaching. Off the 
 delinquents scampered, leaving their deliverance 
 from captivity to be achieved by the domestics 
 of the detenu^ who fortunately were at hand. 
 
 If Miss Sally Macnamara was mortally of- 
 fended at this daring attempt upon the lives and 
 liberties of her loo party. Colonel Macleod was 
 not less incensed at having been confined by 
 his own corps, and smoked by them with as 
 scanty ceremony as they would have extended 
 to a badger. The delinquents were threatened 
 with courts-martial by the commander, and ap-
 
 S6 MY LIFE. 
 
 prized that law proceedings were instituted for 
 false imprisonment by Billy Davock, who, nn- 
 fortmiately for them, had been among the num- 
 ber of the sufferers. 
 
 The parting admonition of the old Colonel 
 was now painfully recollected ; and, too late, 
 the wild youths discovered that his successor 
 was one of different mould. To some, the 
 consequences of their mad exploit would have 
 been ruinous ; and, undervaluing the result, 
 or calculating with false security on superior 
 rank to shield him, my father generously 
 took the blame upon himself, and became re- 
 sponsible alone for the late foray against the 
 spinster. True, that by this course he exposed 
 himself to the wrath of Antony O'Dogherty, 
 with every asthmatic loo-player in the town ; 
 but this was of minor import to one who more 
 than once had " burned powder." After much 
 diplomacy and letter-writing, it was intimated 
 as a sine qua non, that a public apology was re- 
 quired, and this my father peremptorily refus- 
 ed. A formal complaint was in consequence 
 transmitted to the general of the district ; and 
 the result was, that to Major Caesar Blake it
 
 MY LIFE. 37 
 
 was officially notified that he had the option to 
 retire from the regiment, or stand a court-mar- 
 tial. Irritated at his colonel's conduct in the 
 transaction, my father chose the former alterna- 
 tive, and at the early age of twenty-four he left 
 the service in disgust — a major upon half-pay. 
 
 Turned adrift upon the world, the major's 
 first impulse would have determined him to join 
 his second brother, who held a military com- 
 mand in Germany, but an incident had already 
 decided the future career of my unlucky and 
 light-hearted parent. 
 
 It happened that, during the preceding spring, 
 when the 18th were quartered in Manchester, 
 my father had obtained a short leave of absence 
 to run up to London, and in the stage-coach 
 accidentally encountered a gentleman and his 
 daughter, to whom during the journey he con- 
 trived in some way to be serviceable. The lady 
 was returning from a watering-place, whither she 
 had accompanied her father. She was very 
 young, very pretty, and very romantic ; and it 
 would have been extraordinary indeed, if the 
 marked attentions of the handsome traveller 
 should have escaped her observation. The
 
 38 MY LIFE. 
 
 major at first sight was exceedingly enamoured. 
 He was, however, no Romeo, but a firm believer 
 in that leading axiom of a soldier's creed, that 
 he is bound, as a point of duty, " to love all that 
 is lovely, and all that he can'" — and at that time 
 he was unfortunately a pluralist in flirtations, 
 having three affairs to occupy his leisure, and 
 each of them important ones too. The old 
 gentleman was shy and repulsive, as his daughter 
 was winning and unsuspicious ; and for the 
 greater portion of the journey, the former eschew- 
 ed all approximation towards companionship. 
 Still the constant and gentlemanly attention of 
 his fellow-traveller could not be entirely disre- 
 garded ; and when his carriage met the stage, 
 he interchanged cards with the polite passenger, 
 and gave him an invitation to visit him when 
 returning from the metropolis. While with 
 jealous care the old traveller watched the trans- 
 fer of his luggage, the yomig ones were taking 
 a hasty farewell, and, I suspect, a tender one. 
 Ellen Harrison departed deep in love, and for 
 the two next stages, my father was silent and 
 melancholy as a Trappist. 
 
 How long the fit would have continued is un-
 
 MY LIFE. 39 
 
 certain ; but, fortunately for his peace of mind, 
 a young dress-maker joined the coach in Coven- 
 try. He was thinking on his absent love — the 
 soft seductive eye — the glance, downcast and 
 furtive — the rosy lip — the flushing cheek, were 
 all affectionately recalled ; and that artless look 
 at parting, so silent and so eloquent — lingering 
 and loving, as it stole from beneath her silken 
 lashes, while the carriages were being separated. 
 He sighed hea\41y ; and how could he help it ? 
 The sigh was responded by a gentle suspiration. 
 He glanced hastily at liis solitary companion, 
 and a lightning look from the blackest eyes in 
 Coventry met his ! She too, poor soul, was a 
 sentimentalist. She had parted from her lover 
 in a pet ; and, God knows, that was enough to 
 make any tender-hearted gentlewoman unhappy. 
 Was it wonderful then, that two afflicted beings, 
 tete-a-tete in a stage-coach, should approximate 
 in their distresses ? Would it be pardonable in 
 an Irish major of foot to encourage solitary 
 melancholy, with the prettiest corset-maker in 
 Coventry to console and be consoled ? Could 
 my father emulate Saint Senanus of frigid me- 
 mory, and he enfiladed by the fire of an eye.
 
 40 MY LIFE. 
 
 " soft, floating, dark," which would have puz- 
 zled that holy man to have resisted ? No — he 
 did endeavour to solace his suffering companion — 
 gradually Miss Minchin recovered her serenity ; 
 and when the Manchester Rocket stopped at 
 the White Horse Cellar in Piccadilly, and the 
 travellers departed in a hackney-coach, so 
 tenderly did the gallant major enfold his fair 
 friend in his military roquelaure, that the cad de- 
 clared they were indubitably a newly-married 
 couple, while the coachman averred upon his 
 conscience, that the lady must be a runaway 
 wife, " because the Irish gentleman was so very 
 attentive ; and every one knew that they pre- 
 fered anybody's to their own/' 
 
 Whether it was that Miss Minchin's black 
 eye operated as a counter-charm to Miss Har- 
 rison's blue one, I cannot say, but my father 
 nearly managed to forget her ; and yet circum- 
 stances did occasionally recall her to his me- 
 mory. One mornhig, a nameless billet brought 
 him a beautiful ringlet of light brown hair. 
 Whose was it ? It was puzzling, but he did 
 not think the event worth the trouble of investi-
 
 MY LIFE. 41 
 
 gation. The truth was, the major was a lady- 
 killer, billets doux were no novelties to him, and 
 ringlets reached him by every post, as various in 
 their colours as the tints of the rainbow. 
 
 His removal from his regiment also created a 
 general sensation. He had an extensive mili- 
 tary connection, and had been a favourite in 
 the different towns where he had been quarter- 
 ed with his corps. Wildness, if the offender be 
 well-looking, is a venial crime in woman\s eyes ; 
 therefore the dashing major was considered a 
 proper subject for female sympathy. Colonel 
 Macleod was universally disliked, consequently 
 Caesar Blake was declared by his male ac- 
 quaintances an injured man — and they resolved 
 unanimously that it was a hard case to lose 
 one's commission for stuffing an old maid's 
 chimney with a wet horse-cloth. No wonder, 
 then, that my father, commiserated by both 
 sexes, bore his misfortunes bravely ; and when 
 he returned to his brother's at Castle Blake, and 
 Connaught cousins to the third and fourth tjene- 
 ration rose en masse to welcome him in ge- 
 nuine obsolete Irish hospitality, every regret
 
 4i3 MY LIFE. 
 
 was banislied, and the ex-major was as happy 
 as fox-hunting and cock-shooting, dancing and 
 drinking, coukl make him. 
 
 Yet at times, and it was natural enough, okl 
 recollections would cause a sigh. At his bro- 
 ther's jovial board, the memory of the mess- 
 table would obtrude itself; and even in the 
 merriest dance, other balls and other beauties 
 would pass in " shadowy review."" Sometimes 
 he contrasted the rival belles who now besieged 
 him with his absent loves, and the result was 
 not favourable. Harriette Kirwan, " the Cyn- 
 thia of the minute,"" was a glorious, joyous, 
 unsophisticated madcap. All with her was 
 natural and unstudied, whether she sailed 
 through the mazes of a country-dance, or rode 
 with masculine intrepidity to the fastest fox- 
 hounds in the county, her light green habit and 
 veil, like a streamer behind, " floating loose as 
 mountain breezes."*"* But Harriette''s spirits were 
 at times too exuberant — and when once she 
 flogged a shepherd for letting a field-gate close 
 against the counter of her thorough-bred mare, 
 my father shuddered at this amazonian feat, and 
 felt afraid lest in the married estate this passion
 
 MY LIFE. 43 
 
 for the horsewlilp might continue, and in connu- 
 bial discussion, if all other arguments failed, the 
 devil might tempt her, as a last resource, to try 
 what virtue lay in flagellation. 
 
 Such was Csesar Blake's state of feeling, when 
 a letter addressed to him, bearing an English 
 post-mark, was left upon the breakfast-table. 
 The hand-writing of the direction, and the 
 motto and device upon the seal, told that his 
 correspondent was a female. Harriette Kirwan's 
 eyes flashed while she observed the colour rise 
 upon my father's cheek, as he perused the fair 
 one's billet ; and when he rose suddenly and left 
 the room, and afterwards, under some light 
 pretext, declined riding with her to make a 
 morning call in the neighbourhood, her jealousy 
 was confirmed ; for Harriette loved him. 
 
 The letter that interested the major so much, 
 ran thus : — 
 
 " I hardly know in what terms to address 
 you. Still I feel the effort must be made, and 
 that too without farther preface. During many, 
 many months, I have indulged the cherished ex- 
 pectation of seeing you again. You promised
 
 44 MY LIFE. 
 
 this at parting, and I have clung to the hope, 
 until to hope longer would be foolish. 
 
 " I address you with diffidence ; for, in doing 
 so, perhaps I shall incur your contempt. But 
 even that I must risk ; and more I can scarcely 
 suffer than I have already done from concealed 
 anguish and suspense. 
 
 " If I overstep the barrier prescribed by cus- 
 tom to my sex, do not judge of me unfavourably. 
 She who does so, has nothing but the purity of 
 her motives to console her. If she errs, she errs 
 from principle ; and while she knows the act 
 may be indehcate, she proudly feels that her 
 honour is stainless as your own. 
 
 " When I met you, Blake, my heart had 
 never felt any attachment, nor owned warmer 
 impressions than those which natural affections 
 produce. Since then, one object has haunted 
 my imagination — I have thought of you, pray- 
 ed for you, dreamed of you. If this open and 
 undisguised expression of my feelings offend, I 
 shall be sufficiently punished by your indiffer- 
 ence. I have no other fear ; I confide my se- 
 cret to a soldier — my confidence is not mis-
 
 MY LIFE. 45 
 
 placed, and I implicitly rely on your silence 
 with regard to this communication. 
 
 " I may have done wrong in encouraging 
 fancies, which in maturer age I should have 
 known were improper. I may be deemed by 
 you a silly and romantic girl ; but this confes- 
 sion would not have been made — this weakness 
 exposed — had not circumstances rendered a dis- 
 closure, otherwise indelicate, now, on my part, 
 an imperious duty. 
 
 " Blake — Oh ! that I dare add the epithet 
 my heart suggests — I am addressed by one 
 in every respect my equal : and he is encouraged 
 by my only parent. I cannot love him ; my 
 hand he may obtain, but he will have no heart 
 to accompany it. Would I not be wrong, 
 would I not be criminal, did I plight my troth 
 to him at the altar of my God, when my 
 thoughts by day, my dreams by night, wander 
 to another ? 
 
 " With bitter anguish I observed that, for 
 some trifling misunderstanding with your com- 
 manding officer, you had in pique retired from 
 the regiment. I know nothing of the causes ;
 
 46 MY LIFE. 
 
 it is enough for me that you retired with un- 
 blemished honour. How far your circumstances 
 may be aiFected by this professional misfortune 
 I cannot conjecture ; but — why does my cheek 
 glow- — why does my hand tremble — why blush 
 at the avowal ? — if my small fortune could be 
 an object, it is freely, entirely yours. Would 
 that I could win your heart ; mine, alas ! is all 
 your own. 
 
 " Blake — dear, dear Blake — pardon this 
 madness. Alas ! I know not what to do : I 
 have no sister to console, no mother to direct 
 me. My father loves me ; but he is stern and 
 cold — I dare not confide in him — his very look 
 would kill me. Will you come to me ? Ah I 
 no ; seas probably divide us : but write to me, 
 dear Blake. If your heart is another's, in 
 mercy tell me so : that cruelty will be kind- 
 ness ; then must I tear your image from my 
 heart, though the effort break it. 
 
 " Farewell, dear, dear Blake. I feel that I 
 have taken a fearful step, and suspense will 
 now be insupportable. If I knew that to love 
 you would be hopeless, vain, criminal, I might 
 forget you. Be candid with me, and if your
 
 MY LIFE. 47 
 
 affections are not for me, still pity the weakness 
 of a woman, and think favourably of one, who, 
 were it permitted, would be thine, and thine for 
 ever. Dearest^ adieu ! 
 
 " E. h;^ 
 
 " Stainsbury Park." 
 
 The effect of this letter upon my father was 
 decisive. The young, and beautiful, and artless 
 Ellen loved him ! This was not the passion 
 that lives but in the sunshine, and, when the 
 horizon is overcast, droops and dies. Ah, no : 
 when gay, courted, and distingue^ she loved 
 him, but she loved in secret ; but when for- 
 tune frowned — when youthful indiscretion ex- 
 posed him to consequences that might have been 
 fatal to his future prospects — " when every 
 tongue his follies named," then, with a devo- 
 tion that seemed romantic — the timid girl 
 disclosed her latent passion, and took the out- 
 cast to her heart. Was not this love — deep, 
 enduring, ingenuous love ? — and Caesar Blake's 
 determination was instantly formed to start 
 without delay for Stainsbury. 
 
 Thus resolving, he had insensibly wandered 
 through the shrubbery, and, following a by-
 
 48 MY LIFE. 
 
 path, found himself in a coppice which over- 
 hung a small lake, some distance from the hall. 
 Flinging himself upon a fallen tree, he perused 
 again the letter of his artless and devoted mis- 
 tress. " I shall not waste an hour," he said 
 aloud, conscious that in this remote place none 
 could overhear his soliloquy. " Yes, Ellen, 
 quick as winds and distance will admit, I 
 will prove how securely you have placed your 
 love, and how fond and ardent its return shall 
 be.'' He pressed the letter to his lips — re- 
 placed it carefully in his bosom — rose to com- 
 mence preparations for an immediate departure, 
 when a deep sigh startled him. Hastily he 
 looked round, and Harriette Kirwan stood be- 
 side him. 
 
 Wild, reckless, and impetuous, she watched 
 from her window the direction he had taken 
 when he left the house. Maddened by jealousy 
 — agitated by the tempest of her passions, 
 without any definite object to direct her, she 
 determined to risk an interview. She quickly 
 followed him, while, unconscious that he was 
 observed, my father took the very path which, 
 above all others, he should have shunned.
 
 MY LIFE. 49 
 
 Her fluslied cheeks and sparkling eyes alarm- 
 ed him ; her bonnet was carelessly thrown back, 
 and her magnificent dark hair escaping over- 
 spread her neck and shoulders. 
 
 " Gracious God !"" exclaimed my father, " has 
 anything alarmed you, Harriette ?'"* She was 
 silent for some time, till, bursting into a passion- 
 ate flood of tears, she sobbed hysterically. Her 
 astonished companion seated her on the fallen 
 oak, and placed himself beside her. " Harriette, 
 for Heaven's sake, coinpose yourself; what has 
 occurred ?" Still no reply. " Dear Harriette, 
 can I assist, can I relieve you ?" No answer 
 yet. " Speak to me — tell me what distresses 
 vou — you know, Harriette, I have no cousin T 
 ove so well as you.'' 
 
 " And do you love me ?" she exclaimed with 
 animation, as she turned her wild and delighted 
 eyes upon his. " Oh, Caesar, say so again !-^ 
 say you do love me, and I shall be then too 
 happy !" 
 
 " Dear Harriette," — and my father made an 
 awkward and embarrassing pause — " you know 
 I ever loved you as a sister." 
 
 " As a sister !" and she pouted sullenly ; " a 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 MY LIFE. 
 
 sister's is not the love I feel towards you : Cae- 
 sar, I cannot live. Unless you let me love you 
 fondly, warmly, ardently, as a woman loves, I 
 shall die !"' and she flung her arms round him, 
 and hid her burning face upon his breast. 
 
 My father was fearfully agitated. He 
 young, impetuous, and unreflecting — the undis- 
 guised passion of one so dangerously beautiful 
 as Harriette Kirwan, might have wrought their 
 mutual ruin. She hung upon his bosom, her 
 eyes swimming with tears ; and when he strove 
 to calm her agitated spirits, and reason with her 
 coolly, his lips unluckily met hers, and a fervid 
 kiss of those impassioned lips interrupted, alas ! 
 the philosophic homily he had prepared himself 
 to deliver. 
 
 It was indeed for both a trying moment : 
 beautiful arms were wound around him, and 
 looks, dark and lustrous, turned passionately 
 upon his ; — eyes that required the direct inter- 
 vention of a patron saint to disarm — that none 
 but an anchorite could resist — that an Irish 
 gentleman should more especially avoid, as 
 
 " He that knows 
 His heart is weak, to Heaven should pray 
 To guard him against looks like those."
 
 MY LIFE. 51 
 
 Just then a noise was heard — a red setter 
 burst through the copse — a woodcock flushed — 
 a gun exploded- — and, breaking the hazle boughs 
 above their heads, the dead bird fell at my 
 father's foot. Instantly, hurrying his dangerous 
 cousin along the path, before the sportsman 
 could reload, the major and his companion were 
 clear of the shrubbery, and directing their steps 
 to the house by the open carriage drive. 
 
 It may be conjectured that the soldier care- 
 fully avoided another tete-a-tete. Harriette, mis- 
 taking the cause of my father's agitation during 
 their morning interview, 'ascribed it to very dif- 
 ferent feelings, and indulging in hopes ground- 
 less and delusory, prepared to follow up her 
 success. But the major, like an able com- 
 mander, would leave nothing to chance, and 
 had determined on retreating without " beat of 
 drum.'' Secretly, therefore, orders of readiness 
 were issued to Denis O'Brien, whom he had 
 " purchased out" when he left the 18th. The 
 baggage was packed without parade ; and be- 
 fore daylight next morning, while the blooming 
 Harriette dreamed of her dashing kinsman, the 
 false commander was levanting upon the coach- 
 d2 
 
 lIBRARt — 
 UNiVERSnV OF WWOW
 
 52 MY LIFE. 
 
 box of the Galway mail, with Denis and a 
 brown portmanteau on the roof, the valet lilting 
 an Irish song, and the master blowing " a com- 
 fortable cloud," with as much indifference as if 
 they had bidden a ceremonious farewell to all in 
 Castle Blake, " nor left a breaking heart be- 
 hind." 
 
 It would be irrelevant to notice the fair one^s 
 rage when the departure of Caesar Blake was 
 first announced. In her chamber, she gave 
 vent to feelings that were wild and tempestuous 
 enough. Meanwhile the beloved one was post- 
 ing to her favoured rival. The winds blew fa- 
 vourably and distance lessened — until on the 
 fifth evening, by the hght of a splendid moon, 
 the major drove into the remote village, adjacent 
 to which the mansion and domain of Mr. Harri- 
 son lay.
 
 MY LIFE. 5S 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE CROSS KEYS AND THE INTERVIEW. 
 
 It is the hour when from the boughs 
 The nightingale's high note is heard ; 
 
 It is the hour when lovers' vows 
 
 Seem sweet in every whisper'd word ; — 
 
 And gentle winds, and waters near, 
 
 Make music to the lonely ear. 
 
 Each flower the dews have lightly wet, 
 
 And in the sky the stars are met, 
 
 And on the wave is deeper blue, 
 
 And on the leaf a browner hue, 
 
 And in the heaven that clear obscure, 
 
 So softly dark, and darkly pure. 
 
 Which follows the decline of day. 
 
 As twilight melts beneath the moon away. 
 
 But it is not to list to the waterfall. 
 
 That Parasina leaves her hall ; 
 
 And it is not to gaze on the heavenly light. 
 
 That the lady walks in the shadow of night j 
 
 And if she sits in Este's bower, 
 
 'Tis not for the sake of its full-blown flower; 
 
 She listens, but not for the nightingale. 
 
 Though her ear expects as soft a tale. 
 
 There glides a step through the foliage thick, 
 
 And her cheek grows pale, and her heartbeats quick ; 
 
 There whispers a voice through the rustling leaves, 
 
 And her blush returns, and her bosom heaves : 
 
 A moment more, and they shall meet — 
 
 'Tis past — her lover 's at her feet ! 
 
 Parasina. 
 
 The Cross Keys at Stainsbury was one of 
 those comfortable country inns, which the ex-
 
 54 MY LIFE. 
 
 perienced traveller prefers to the noisier houses 
 of public accommodation that are to be found 
 in larger jDlaces. It was " a low snug dwelling, 
 and in good repair," flanked on one side by an 
 extensive row of stabling, and on the other by 
 a crowded stackyard. In front appeared a well 
 cropped garden, with its flower-knots, and api- 
 ary, and close-cut hedges. There was a gene- 
 ral neatness out of doors which told " mine 
 host " was no sloven : within, every thing was 
 orderly and scrupulously clean ; and when the 
 traveller looked at the well-appointed parlour, 
 he could not but contrast it with the dirty, 
 dreary, rackety caravanseras, which even the 
 best of the Hibernian hostels at that time 
 were. 
 
 The arrival of the gallant major occasioned 
 some bustle among the household of the Cross 
 Keys. The soldier having now reached the 
 scene of action, settled himself before the cheer- 
 ful wood fii'e to arrange his plans for opening 
 the campaign, by communicating his arrival 
 to his " lady love." This, as it was the first, 
 would probably be the most difficult movement 
 — a failure would be fatal, and, therefore, due
 
 MY LIFE. 55 
 
 caution must be exercised. In Denis O'Brien 
 he had an efficient and devoted ally, and, 
 barring blunders, never did a more accomplish- 
 ed valet assist in the abstraction of an heiress. 
 Denis had a bold heart, a stout arm, a ready- 
 wit, and brass enough to qualify for a Lon- 
 don footman ; but he had his failings, and 
 these were an inveterate brogue, an unquench- 
 able thirst, and an aversion to cool argument, 
 which sometimes induced him to strike first, 
 and reason afterwards. 
 
 While my father was ruminating upon his 
 plans, the table had been covered with a snowy 
 cloth, and other necessary appendages for his 
 immediate refreshment. Whether hunger or 
 love had rendered his perceptions less acute 
 than ordinary, I cannot say, but as he sate in 
 moody silence, beating the " devil's tattoo" 
 upon his boot, and gazing on the fire, the land- 
 lord's handsome daughter had visited and left 
 the apartment thrice, without being noticed by 
 the guest. This insensibility of the stranger 
 piqued the demoiselle, who determined to inter- 
 rupt his meditations. — " Did you order wine, 
 sir ?" she said, poking her pretty face over my
 
 56 MY LIFE. 
 
 father's shoulder. But the traveller continued 
 tapping the metal stove with the point of his 
 cane. " Sir — sir, are you asleep, or at your 
 prayers P"' and she lightly touched his arm. My 
 father raised his eyes carelessly, and they en- 
 countered a pair of as brilliant hazle ones, as 
 ever undid a devotee. 
 
 " Now, Heaven pardon you," said the travel- 
 ler, " I had just made resolutions against tempt- 
 ation, and you come here to overset them." 
 
 " Sir — sir, for shame ; how could you kiss 
 one so, and the window open ?''^ 
 
 " Well, child, and who 's to blame for that ? 
 Draw the curtains, and we 11 talk about the 
 wine. I 'm so modest ! it 's a failing, I know — 
 but who is faultless ?" 
 
 " Modest ! are you an Irishman ?" 
 
 " Yes, pretty one, sit down upon my knee, 
 and I '11 give you all the particulars of my birth, 
 parentage, and education." 
 
 " Can it be possible ?" exclaimed the young 
 attendant. " Gallant sir, have I ever seen that 
 modest face before ? Nay, I am not near- 
 sighted, and am just as safe with the table 
 between us. Have I had the honour of tra-
 
 MY LIFE. 57 
 
 veiling in company with a crusty old man, a 
 beautiful girl, and a most impertinent major, 
 who, while the honest gentleman was engaged 
 in attending to his trunks, did not neglect that 
 opportunity, to bestow his parting benediction 
 on the lips of the blushing daughter ?"" 
 
 " Now, who the deuce are you ?'' cried the 
 soldier. " Speak, or I '11 jump over the table 
 and kiss you to death upon the spot I*" 
 
 " What a desperado the man must be I'' said 
 the maid of the inn. " Shall I tell a tale that 
 happened not a hundred years ago. Once upon a 
 time, a young lady went to a watering-place with 
 her papa, and a cross papa he was. The day be- 
 fore she left home, her maid took a fancy to get 
 married, and what was to be done ? She could not 
 get a servant, and persuaded her nurse's daugh- 
 ter to be her attendant for the time. On the 
 return of the lady by the stage, (for papa would 
 not travel as other people do, in their own car- 
 riages,) unfortunately a tall, impudent, well- 
 looking Irish major was a fellow-passenger. 
 Argus-eyed as the old man was, the soldier 
 out-manoeuvred him — persuaded the poor girl 
 that she was in love, and in that belief she has 
 D 5
 
 58 MY LIFE. 
 
 since continued. Now, the attendant was not 
 blind ; she saw from behind the carriage that, 
 while papa was rummaging the boot, the major 
 was kissing his daughter, while he placed an 
 emerald ring upon her finger, which ring the 
 silly girl has worn next her heart since they 
 parted." 
 
 " Stop ! you have my secret — Am I safe — 
 may I place confidence in you, my pretty 
 one ?" 
 
 " Listen," she replied, " and you will best 
 judge. My father and mother were fellow- 
 servants at the hall, which they left upon their 
 marriage. This inn and farm belong to Mr. 
 Harrison, and when they became vacant he 
 placed my parents here. Soon afterwards, Miss 
 Ellen's mother died in giving her birth, and the 
 charge and nursing of the pretty orphan were 
 entrusted to mine. Never did sister love another 
 better than I do her. I know how her affections 
 are disposed of. If she weds to please her fa- 
 ther, her misery for life is certain. If she weds 
 to please herself, she will be deserted and disin- 
 herited ; for there lives not a more unbending 
 and unrelenting parent than hers. She has, it
 
 MY LIFE. 59 
 
 is true, a fortune in her own right, which none 
 can control ; but to all else (and her father^s 
 power over his estates is absolute) let her bid 
 adieu. You, sir, have no trifling difficulties to 
 surmount. You must be prompt, and at the 
 same time, cautious. Beyond a day or two, 
 here you cannot remain unknown and undis- 
 covered. If a suspicion arises, you and Ellen 
 are separated for ever. My father is devoted 
 to his master. Take care of him. But what 
 errand brought you here ? AVhat reason can 
 you assign for stopping at an obscure inn, and 
 at a remote village ? You cannot pass for a 
 farmer, or a bagman, or a horse-dealer, or any 
 thing connected with an honest calling. That 
 military swagger and impudent look, and the 
 mad Irishman who accompanies you, would at 
 once betray your cut-throat trade. The fellow 
 was scarcely in the house before he squabbled 
 with the exciseman, and tumbled the dairy-maid 
 about as if he had known her for a twelve- 
 month. Pray, what business brought you here ?" 
 
 " Upon my conscience, my dear girl, that's 
 a poser !'' returned my father. 
 
 " I have it — here — read this,'' and Phoebe
 
 60 MY LIFE. 
 
 handed the major a country paper, while a loud 
 voice called to her from without, to say that 
 dinner was ready ; and when she left the room, 
 my father perused the advertisement. 
 
 It was a sale of horses, the property of a de- 
 parted fox-hunter, who lived a few miles from 
 Stainsbury ; and they were, as the newspaper 
 announced, to come in a few days " unreserved- 
 ly to the hammer.""' This was indeed a lucky 
 event ; and the major decided, that to buy 
 horses should be his errand, and that he would 
 accommodate himself during his sojourn at the 
 Cross Keys, with the name of an old friend in 
 the Enniskillen dragoons, at present quartered 
 at Ipswich. Mr. O'Brien was quickly sum- 
 moned ; and before Phoebe re-entered with din- 
 ner, Denis was fully instructed in the object of 
 their visit to the inn, and cautioned, moreover, 
 to abstain from disorganizing dairy-maids and 
 quarrelling with excisemen. 
 
 When dinner was removed, as Phoebe laid 
 the wine upon the table, she addressed the 
 major in an under voice, — 
 
 '' Fortune favours you to-night. A monthly 
 club, of which my father is a member, meets at
 
 MY LIFE. 61 
 
 the Reel Lion, on the other side of the bridge. 
 This will remove a very troublesome and in- 
 quisitive neighbour for the evening, and enable 
 me to apprise Miss Ellen of your arrival, which, 
 without rousing his suspicions, I could scarcely 
 have ventured to have done at this late hour. 
 But hark ! I hear the keeper's voice in the 
 kitchen, and from him I may probably ascertain 
 how the folks at the hall are occupied." So 
 saying, she left the room. 
 
 Nor was she long absent ; and on her return 
 there was an excitement in look and manner, 
 that told her to be the bearer of important 
 news. 
 
 " Every thing favours you, gallant sir. There 
 is a party of gentlemen at the hall. Mr. Har- 
 rison will be of course engaged with his com- 
 pany, and Miss Ellen most probably in the 
 drawing-room or her own chamber. If this be 
 the case, you shall in j^erson announce your 
 arrival. Attend to me. The window is low ; 
 open the lattice, step gently out, turn round the 
 corner of the stables, and you will find yourself 
 in a narrow lane ; it leads to a wicket in tlie 
 park-wall, for which I have a key. Wait for
 
 62 MY LIFE. 
 
 me there, and keep close under the hedge, lest 
 your figure be discovered by the moonlight. 
 I will join you speedily ; and I shall send your 
 servant in to close the casement, after you have 
 passed through it/"* 
 
 My father was a daring, devil-may-care fel- 
 low, and quickly as events hurried on, he was all 
 ready for action. Denis was duly apprised of 
 the intended expedition, admonished to be on 
 the alert, and to be sure to keep his mouth 
 close, and ears and eyes open. My father put 
 on his hat, filled a bumper, and pointing to the 
 decanter, intimated that Mr. O'Brien might 
 follow the example. " Here's luck," said the 
 master, as the wine disappeared ; " Amen," 
 responded the attendant ; and next moment the 
 major stepped gingerly out, and Denis closed 
 the lattice. 
 
 Never was there a sweeter night to spirit a 
 lady off, or achieve other feats, to which the 
 garish light of day is supposed to be unfavour- 
 able. Following the directions of his pretty 
 guide, the major easily found out the path and 
 reached the wicket. Denis remained upon the 
 qui vive^ visited the parlour with fuel, and
 
 MY LIFE. 63 
 
 appeared to be in close attendance on his 
 master, while Phoebe departed for the hall with 
 a parcel, which fortunately had arrived by the 
 evening stage, and which she stoutly declared 
 to be an article of paramount importance, re- 
 quiring an immediate delivery. All was ably 
 executed ; and in a quarter of an hour Caesar 
 Blake found himself safe within the park-walls 
 which enclosed his gentle mistress. Phoebe 
 conducted him by a private walk to the rear of 
 the mansion, and ensconced him in a clump of 
 evergreens, while she proceeded to execute her 
 embassy. 
 
 It was quite evident that the whole establish- 
 ment of the hall had ample occupation. The 
 noise of joyous revelry reached the major in his 
 ambuscade. Lights flashed across the passages, 
 and figures appeared and vanished. The oppo- 
 site wing of the building was the scene of the 
 evening festivity. Thence the noises came, and 
 there the windows were illuminated; while those 
 before which the concealed soldier was posted 
 were lighted only by the moon, and unfrequent- 
 ed by any of the revellers. 
 
 While my father listened and looked from his
 
 64 MY LIFE. 
 
 ambuscade, a solitary figure appeared at the 
 window immediately before him, and by the 
 stream of moonlight, it was evidently a female 
 form. To judge from her attitude she was no 
 sharer in the general festivity ; for she rested 
 her head against the casement, and seemed ab- 
 sorbed in sombre meditations. Was it Ellen ? 
 The figure was fuller and taller than his pretty 
 mistress ; but this alteration a year might have 
 effected. Should he venture to attract the at- 
 tention of the solitary fair one ? It was ha- 
 zardous ; it might be one of the domestics ; a 
 discovery would undo him, and he determined 
 to leave all to fate and Phoebe. Nor was he 
 wrong : in a few minutes a second form was 
 visible, and the dress and figure announced it to 
 be his guide. 
 
 Brief as the dialogue was that ensued, the ma- 
 jor watched for its termination with impatience. 
 The action of the parties apprised him, that his 
 proximity was being communicated by the maid 
 of the inn. He observed the taller figure fling 
 her arms round her companion''s neck ; he saw 
 the casement open ; he heard his own name 
 softly whispered. Bounding from his conceal-
 
 MY LIFE. 65 
 
 ment, he approached — passed through the win- 
 dow, and pressed to his bosom his beloved and 
 beautiful mistress. 
 
 Joy and terror prevented Ellen Harrison 
 from speaking ; and while my father supported 
 her to a sofa, Phoebe, like a prudent sentinel, 
 took care to secure the door, and bolt out all 
 inti-uders. Poor Ellen was completely over- 
 powered by conflicting passions, as the soldier 
 covered her lips with kisses, and plighted his 
 ardent love. — " Oh ! can you, will you pardon 
 me, dear, dear Blake ! Was it not wrong in 
 me to write so boldly ?" 
 
 The major pressed her still closer to his heart. 
 — " Oh, no ; my best beloved ! that candour 
 has bound me to you for ever ! But time flies, 
 and every moment is precious ! Wilt thou fly 
 with me, Ellen ? — me ! a discarded soldier ? 
 Wilt thou share my humble lot, while rank 
 and wealth are at your refusal ?"" 
 
 " Yes ; my own love ! all will I give up for 
 thee — thou wouldst not deceive me ! I, who 
 trust all — yours I am, and yours for ever !"" 
 
 How long this lover-like rhapsodizing might 
 have been continued, those who have experi-
 
 66 MY LIFE. 
 
 enced the tender passion can best deter- 
 mine. To Phoebe it appeared necessary to 
 interrupt it, and accordingly she approached 
 the sofe — 
 
 "Come, gallant major — Is this a time for 
 heroics ? There is one not far distant who, 
 did he but suspect the present tete-a-tete, I fear 
 would be rude enough tajnake one of the party. 
 Surely, between this and Gretna there is many 
 a long mile, and you will have ample time to 
 bill and coo upon the journey. Come, Miss 
 Ellen, the major must march. Give her one 
 parting kiss. Lord ! did I tell you to give her 
 twenty ?" 
 
 The arguments of the soubrette were too just 
 to admit of disputation. In a few minutes the 
 necessary arrangements for an elopement on the 
 next night were completed, and my mother 
 agreed to leave her home for ever, and share 
 the fortunes of one almost a stranger. 
 
 Favoured by the occupation of the household, 
 the major and his handsome guide retreated 
 from the enemy's cantonments without obser- 
 vation, and reached the Cross Keys safely. 
 Phoebe stole in by the back-door unnoticed,
 
 MY LIFE. 67 
 
 while her companion halted in front of the cara- 
 vansera, to reconnoitre the premises, before he 
 would attempt a re-entry by the casement. 
 
 There was no cause of suspicion, however, 
 that either his absence, or that of '' the maid of 
 the inn,'" had been remarked. The major peeped 
 through the lattice of the kitchen, and the ap- 
 pearance of the company was satisfactory. A 
 glorious fire blazed within, where, on chairs and 
 settles, divers guests were seen comfortably re- 
 freshing themselves. One, and the most pro- 
 minent of the group, stood before the fire, and 
 in him the major had no difficulty in recognizing 
 his own worthy attendant, Mr. Denis O'Brien. 
 He appeared to be at the moment undergoing a 
 very searching examination, relative to his own 
 and his master's motives for visiting the good 
 town of Stainsbury ; and to judge by that por- 
 tion of the colloquy which the latter overheard, 
 the interlocutor, as the Scotch call it, had small 
 reason to j^lume himself upon the result of his 
 inquisition. 
 
 " And it is to buy horses your master is 
 come here ?*" said a short, red-nosed personage, 
 directing a fiery grey eye upon the valet.
 
 6S MY LIFE. 
 
 " It 's yourself may say that, with your own 
 purty mouth," replied Denis O'Brien. 
 
 " What does he want them for ?" said the 
 gentleman with the red nose. 
 
 " Just to keep his feet from the pavement,"' 
 returned Denis. 
 
 "Is he a dealer, or a coach-master ?'' asked 
 ferret-eye. 
 
 Denis whistled a few bars of a song, — " He 's 
 only a dragoon, jewel, and they take an oath 
 at Highgate, niver to walk when they have a 
 horse, and prefer riding into the bargain ;'' and 
 he lilted up the butt-end of a ballad — 
 
 " Says the judge, you must bundle to Botany Bay ; 
 My lord, then, says Bob, I won't walk the whole way. 
 Singing, Dig e dum di, dura dee V 
 
 " You are an Irishman," continued the 
 querist — " Pray what part of Ireland are you 
 from ?" 
 
 " 'Pon my soul !" replied Mr. O'Brien, " you 
 will oblige me particularly by telling me what 
 part of it I 'm not from ?" and he sung — 
 
 " I courted in Cavan, play'd cards in Ardee, 
 Kiss'd the maid in Dromore, and broke glass in Tralee ; 
 I married in Sligo, got drunk at Arboe, 
 And what 's that to any one, whether or no ? "
 
 MY LIFE. 69 
 
 " Is your master married ?" said the stout 
 stranger. 
 
 "If he ^s not, he 's fairly promised ;" was 
 the reply. 
 
 " Pray, what family does he belong to ? for 
 I was some time in Ireland ;" rejoined he with 
 the red nose. 
 
 "What family?'' replied Denis O'Brien, 
 
 " Arrah, is it joking ye are ? He 's a true 
 
 discindint of the kings of Connaught, and 
 
 blood-relation to every Burke, Blake, and 
 
 Bodkin, from Loughrea to Limerick. 
 
 " I lave my pate to Darby Tate, 
 My face to the O'Gradys : 
 And I lave my legs to Daniel Begs, 
 To shake among the ladies. 
 
 Sing modereen roo, a roo, a roo." 
 
 And now, that I think of it, I '11 go and see whe- 
 ther he wants more fire;'^ and Mr. O'Brien swag- 
 gered out, leaving the stout gentleman rather 
 dissatisfied with his information, much of which, 
 by the by, he suspected to be apocryphal. 
 
 Nothing could have been more successful 
 than the opening of the campaign. Luck was 
 certainly on my father's side ; and " luck," Mr. 
 O'Brien averred, " was every thing." Before he
 
 70 MY LIFE. 
 
 retired for the night, the major held a cabinet 
 council with his friend Phoebe, and it was then 
 and there determined that, to elude suspicion, 
 he should leave the Cross Keys next day, pro- 
 ceed to the next town, there remain perdu till 
 evening, provide a carriage, return at midnight, 
 and, with the assistance of his fair ally, enter 
 the park and bear away his mistress. 
 
 All this was accordingly put in train. Denis 
 received orders of readiness ; and, by eleven 
 o'clock next morning, the major and his man 
 were on the road, after taking an affectionate 
 farewell of the landlord and the curious gentle- 
 man with the red nose. 
 
 Allerton was but eight miles distant, and 
 there my father established his head-quarters. 
 The day, " big with the fate " of my parents, 
 wore heavily through. The major was uncom- 
 fortable, and so was the major's man — for Denis 
 was on duty ; and when on duty, Denis, from 
 military habitude, dispensed T\dth the comforts 
 of the bottle, to which on other occasions it 
 was his fancy to apply. 
 
 Time kept moving, evening came on apace, 
 and the weather, threatening since morning,
 
 MY LIFE. 71 
 
 hourly grew worse. The wind rose, the rain 
 fell sharply against the casement, as the cold 
 shower was driven on by frequent gusts. The 
 moon was hidden behind an impenetrable mass 
 of clouds, and night fell with all that could 
 render it dreary and unpropitious. 
 
 My father and his man Denis were not free 
 from those superstitious fancies to which the 
 natives of the "land of saints" are generally 
 prone ; and both, in private, drew from this 
 elemental change, sinister auguries touching the 
 success of their nocturnal expedition. 
 • Eight, nine, ten, pealed from the town-clock. 
 My father roused himself for action, and Denis 
 fortified his person " again harm"'^ by turning 
 down a full bumper of cogniac. A bill was 
 called, a post-chaise ordered round instanter ; 
 and while Mr. O'Brien saw his effects duly de- 
 posited in the carriage, the major carefully ex- 
 amined the loading of his pistols. At half-past 
 ten the master and man ascended the vehicle, 
 and, to the astonishment of the household of the 
 Black Bull, drove from that comfoi-table house 
 of accommodation, upon anight when a Christian 
 would not reject the dog of his enemy.
 
 72 MY LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE ELOPEMENT. 
 
 Oh, lady, at thy window be, 
 
 It is the wished, the trysted hour. 
 
 Scotch Song. 
 
 Let it be so, thy truth then be thy dower : 
 For, by the sacred radiance of the sun, 
 The mysteries of Hecate and the night, 
 By all the operations of the orbs, 
 From whom we do exist, and cease to be ; 
 Here I disclaim all my paternal care, 
 Propinquity, and property of blood, 
 And as a stranger to my heart and me 
 Hold thee, from this, for ever. 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 It was not until the travellers had cleared the 
 streets of Allerton that they were fully aware 
 of the dreary drive before them. The night 
 was pitch-dark ; the carriage unprovided with 
 lamps ; while through the leafless hedgerows 
 the wind howled mournfully. How different
 
 MY LIFE. 73 
 
 was this from the preceding evening — all then 
 so calm and bright and exhilarating. It was 
 
 " But the daylight sick, 
 Looking a Uttle paler." 
 
 Notwithstanding the difficulty attendant upon 
 driving over intricate cross-roads, they reached 
 their destination in safety, and while the car- 
 riage was placed at a convenient distance from 
 the park-gate, the steeple-clock of Stainsbury 
 struck twelve. 
 
 At the Cross Keys the inmates had retired to 
 rest. The sign-board creaked in the breeze ; 
 the mastiff was sleeping before the kitchen-fire ; 
 the hostler was snoring in his crib ; and the 
 dairy-maid dreaming of new ribbons, and the 
 next fair. There was but one waking, and that 
 one was the pretty Phoebe. My father ap- 
 proached the casement silently, where, to direct 
 him, a flickering light was visible. His tap was 
 answered promptly ; — the maid of the inn ap- 
 peared, dressed and ready to accompany him ; 
 and, as the window was low, the gallant major 
 received her in his arms, and deposited her 
 safely on the ground. 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 MY LIFE. 
 
 " Laws, how you do stop one's breath !" said 
 the soubrette archly. " I should suppose on 
 this occasion you had no kisses to dispose of. 
 How I pity Miss Ellen — she will be suffocated 
 before you reach Gretna. But hush ! — we 
 must be silent. I am half afraid to venture, 
 for I am certain Mr. Harrison's keepers are 
 afoot. There has been sad havoc lately among 
 the pheasants, and the squire is outrageous, and 
 determined to detect the poachers. Little does 
 he imagine, while he is intent only on preserving 
 game, that it would be far more necessary for 
 him to protect his daughter. His keepers were 
 drinking at the tap this evening, with three or 
 four discharged soldiers whom he has hired as 
 assistants. Are we not a daring party to ven- 
 ture to the house at midnight ? But, major, I 
 was, so frightened after you left us this morning. 
 You were scarcely clear of the village, before 
 down came that nasty fellow with the red nose, 
 whom you saw at the bar when you were bid- 
 ding me good-bye. And Lord ! he did so 
 question me about you. Well, when he was 
 gone some time, the squire himself rode up to
 
 MY LIFE. 7 
 
 the door, and called out father. What passed 
 I cannot guess, but the conversation was very 
 earnest, and I half-imagmed that I overheard 
 your name. Yet, if Miss Ellen has been pru- 
 dent, and made preparations for her journey 
 without creating suspicion, we can have little to 
 fear. God grant we may not be interrupted ! 
 a failure now would ruin your hopes and her 
 happiness." 
 
 While Phoebe was speaking, the party not- 
 withstanding the extreme darkness, reached the 
 wicket and unlocked the door, and advancing 
 cautiously through the shrubbery, halted at the 
 clump of evergreens which had sheltered the 
 gallant major on the preceding evening. 
 
 Their vigil was a short one. In a few mi- 
 nutes the drawing-room window opened, and 
 a figure was indistinctly seen. My father 
 stepped silently from his ambuscade. " Ellen, 
 my own loved Ellen !'"* he murmured. 
 
 " I am ready, dear Blake," replied a sweet 
 voice, whose smothered sobs told how fearfully 
 she was agitated. 
 
 " Haste, gentle love !" said the enamoured 
 E 2
 
 76 MY LIFE. 
 
 soldier, as he received the trembHng girl in his 
 arms, and pressed her to his bosom tenderly. 
 
 " Arrah ! bedershin.* No love-making, 
 major dear, if you plase at present," said Mr. 
 O'Brien as he shouldered a trunk. 
 
 '' On, gallant sir," whispered Phoebe, who 
 took possession of a dressing-case, while the 
 lover passed his arm for support around the 
 beautiful refugee, and endeavoured to assure 
 her that all danger was at an end. And so 
 thought Denis O'Brien. 
 
 " Come along, Phaybe, my jewel !" he ex- 
 claimed to his fair companion, " Would ye 
 turn the light of yeer eye, if ye plase, upon the 
 path, for a darker night a man nevir marched 
 on. Holy Patrick I" he continued, " it's your- 
 self that stood our friend. They may talk of 
 St. George and Saint Denis — and he's my own 
 blessed namesake; but Patrick awourneein^ give 
 me yourself at a pinch against the calendar. 
 By all that's beautiful, you'r the dacentist saint 
 that ever a sinner crooked a leg to I" 
 
 " Silence !" said my father, interrupting this 
 ebullition of pious gratitude. " In a few 
 
 * Anglice. Be quiet !
 
 MY LIFE. li 
 
 minutes, my Ellen, we will be secure from all 
 pursuit. Forward !*" 
 
 " Stop !" thundered a loud voice, as five or 
 six men sprang from the evergreens where they 
 had been concealed, and threw themselves ui)on 
 the refugees. An Instant scuffle succeeded. 
 The women shrieked ; Denis asked no ques- 
 tions, but pitched away the trunk, and hit down 
 two of the assailants, while his master prostrated 
 the man who seized him, and shook himself by 
 a powerful exertion clear of a second opponent. 
 Ellen clung to her lover's arm ; and though she 
 impeded his efforts at defence, her presence pro- 
 tected him from the violence of the attacking 
 party, w^ho appeared to turn their chief ven- 
 geance against the unlucky attendant. But 
 Denis, to use the parlance of " the fancy,"' was 
 a " troublesome customer.'' He was not a per- 
 son to be easily overpowered. Many a hard 
 knock he received, and to all he made a con- 
 scientious return. His earlier accomplishments 
 in hurling and foot-ball were not in this ex- 
 tremity forgotten. He was reputed in Con- 
 naught to be " mighty handy with the foot" — 
 the darkness was favourable to the exercise of
 
 78 MY LIFE. 
 
 this talent ; and it was rather difficult to de- 
 cide whether the feet or fists of Mr. O'Brien 
 were most efficient. 
 
 While the man was offering a desperate re- 
 sistance, the master's hot temper fired at this 
 attempt to arrest him. To rob him of his 
 mistress, was to rend the deer from the tiger. 
 
 " Stand off!" he cried with a deep impreca- 
 tion, " or I'll make ghosts of some of you !" 
 
 " Lay hold of him !" responded the voice of 
 one, who seemed the leader of the rest. 
 
 Ellen clung wildly to her lover's arm, for 
 one of them had grasped her cloak, and he 
 drew a pistol from his bosom. 
 
 " Now, by my souFs hope," he exclaimed, 
 " the first man that lays a finger on the lady is 
 a corpse !" Daunted by the determination with 
 which it was apparent the lover would protect 
 his mistress, the men fell back save one, and he 
 grappled at the major. " Ha, fellow i wilt 
 thou cross me ? Lift but a finger, and I drive 
 a bullet through your heart !" and he pressed 
 the muzzle of the weapon against the stranger's 
 breast. But Ellen shrieked —
 
 MY LIFE 79 
 
 " Oh I stop — hold your hand — it is — it is my 
 father !'' 
 
 " Nay, fear not, my love. Stand back, sir ! 
 Unhand my servant, fellows — What would you 
 with us ?'' 
 
 " Give up your arms," said the leader. 
 
 " When I give up life, and not till then,'" 
 was the reply. 
 
 " Surrender !" exclaimed the father of Ellen. 
 
 " Oh do, dear, dear Blake — 'tis madness to 
 resist," cried the fainting girl. 
 
 " What, and lose thee ? Never !" 
 
 " You will not lose me," she said in a low 
 firm tone ; " none shall separate us now." 
 
 " We will accompany you, sir," said my 
 father, addressing Mr. Harrison : " walk on, 
 we follow ;" and the major uncocked and re- 
 turned the pistol to his breast, and supporting 
 Ellen, he entered the mansion of her father ; 
 Mr. O'Brien following in durance vile, while 
 Phoebe brought up the rear, in the close custody 
 of one of the keepers. 
 
 Mr. Harrison, when they entered the hall, 
 called loudly for lights, which he ordered to be
 
 80 MY LIFE. 
 
 placed in the dining-room. Danger, imminent, 
 inevitable danger, has, it is asserted, sometimes 
 changed the coward to a hero, and the extraor- 
 dinary events of this night, had a singular effect 
 upon the youthful and timid maiden. Aware 
 that there was no alternative left her but a 
 decided assertion of free will, she determined to 
 brave the worst consequences of parental anger, 
 and dare the denunciation of her father's eter- 
 nal displeasure. Her lover felt the gentle pres- 
 sure of her arm against his ; he turned his eyes, 
 still flashing with excitement, upon those of his 
 gentle companion, and he read there a look of 
 confiding love and meek determination. 
 
 " You will not leave me, Blake ? — Will any- 
 thing induce you to give me up P'"* she said in a 
 soft and entreating tone. 
 
 Her lover pressed her hand. 
 
 " Sooner, Ellen, shall my heart's blood co- 
 lour the floor I stand on I" and, regardless of 
 the presence of an angry father, he bent his 
 lips to hers. Mr. Harrison noticed it ; he 
 turned pale as death, but controlled his feel- 
 ings. The servant returning, announced that 
 the dining-room was lighted.
 
 MY LIFE. 81 
 
 *' Have the kindness, sir and madam, to 
 follow me,"' he said coldly, " and let the other 
 prisoners stop here.'' 
 
 " Prisoners ! — we 're no prisoners," exclaimed 
 Mr. Denis O'Brien. " Phaybe, darlin, don't 
 mind him ; we 're only what they call upon 
 parole, and that manes that we'll nather smash 
 heads nor brake windows, but just go quiet and 
 asy. Arrah ! honour bright, ould gentleman ; 
 or say the word, and by Jasus, we'll light it 
 over again." But his master gave a signal 
 which the valet appeared to comprehend. " Oh, 
 I see — it's to settle terms of surrender, as we 
 used to say in Holland. Some of ye, and the 
 divil speed yeer manners ! might have handed 
 one a drop of drink, after the tossing and tum- 
 bling we had without. Mona mondiaoul ! if 
 iver I was so flustered with an insigniiied 
 skrimage ; I 'm as hot as if 1 had been at the 
 clearing of a pattern." 
 
 " Bring the fellow some ale," said the master 
 of the house ; and while Denis was left to dis- 
 cuss a tankard, his master with the " old man's 
 daughter" on his arm, were ushered into the 
 lighted chamber.
 
 82 MY LIFE. 
 
 The scene was an uncommon one. Mr. Har- 
 rison settled himself coolly in his accustomed 
 arm-chair ; the soldier firmly confronted him, 
 while Ellen, half sinking with terror and dis- 
 may, clung to him heavily for support. There 
 was on her father's countenance a cold, and 
 withering, and passionless resolution, which au- 
 gured badly for his offending child, if any hope 
 had remained of pardon. He scanned the ma- 
 jor over from head to foot, and read in the bold 
 and reckless bearing of his daughter's lover that 
 before him was an unbending spirit that neither 
 present threats nor future consequences could 
 waver for a moment. He glanced at his only 
 child, and, momentary as the look was, upon 
 both the effect was powerful. A paleness co- 
 vered his face, which had before been flushed 
 with subdued passion, while Ellen quivered 
 like an aspen in the breeze. The lover noticed 
 her distress. There was wine upon the table, 
 and filling a glass, he carried it to her lips — an 
 effort of which agitation rendered herself inca- 
 pable. Several minutes passed in silence : at 
 last the old gentleman spoke.
 
 MY LIFE. 83 
 
 '' Your name, sir ?" he said, addressing my 
 father, whom he continued to question. 
 
 " Caesar Blake." 
 
 " Your country ?"*' 
 
 " An Irishman." 
 
 " YourcalHng?" 
 
 " A soldier." 
 
 " Your rank ?" 
 
 " A major upon half-pay." 
 
 " I seldom notice military matters, but I 
 believe you were lately removed from your re- 
 giment : may I ask for what crime ?" 
 
 "For none : I took upon myself the conse- 
 quences of a youthful folly which others were 
 engaged in, and to whom the results might 
 have been ruinous." 
 
 " What was the offence, then .?" 
 
 " Covering a chimney with a horse-cloth." 
 
 " Humph ! — a sensible exploit. Have you 
 any means ?''"' 
 
 " But small ones." 
 
 " Name them." 
 
 " Regimental half-pay, and one hundred a 
 year from my brother."
 
 84 MY LIFE. 
 
 " What brought you here to-night ?"" 
 
 "To carry off your daughter."*'' 
 
 " You are lovers, it would appear, and she 
 was cognizant of the design. How was your 
 intrigue carried on .?" 
 
 " You must use a more correct term if you 
 expect a reply from me.""* 
 
 " Humph I — well, courtship be it." 
 
 " I met her in the stage-coach by accident — 
 loved her, wooed her, won her.*" 
 
 " You have achieved a wondrous conquest, 
 as you imagine ?" 
 
 " I think so ; I have won one that will make 
 me happy."" 
 
 " Will you wed her against my wish P"*^ 
 
 " Most assuredly, if Ellen will consent ."*"' 
 
 " Did you point a pistol at my breast to- 
 night ?" 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " Was it loaded ?" 
 
 " Yes, with a brace of bullets."" 
 
 " Would you have shot me ?"" 
 
 " Certainly, had you persevered in detaining 
 me, and I been unapprised by Ellen who you 
 were.""
 
 MY LIFE. 85 
 
 *' Who is the cut-throat who accompanies 
 you?" 
 
 " I presume you mean my servant. "*' 
 
 " Who is the quean who roams tln^ough pri- 
 vate parks at midnight with idle renegades ?'' 
 
 " She is no quean, nor I a renegade/"* 
 
 " Oh, your pardon !" was replied sarcastically. 
 " Well, who is that modest gentlewoman whom 
 we found among the bushes ?'' 
 
 " Daughter to the landlord of the Cross 
 Keys." 
 
 " Ho-ho ! am I then betrayed by my own 
 servants and dependants ?" 
 
 " Certainly not : he of the Keys knew no- 
 thing of the attempt." 
 
 " And you will marry ufy daughter, although 
 I peremptorily forbid it ?" 
 
 " I have already answered you." 
 " Enough, Sir." 
 
 He rose from his chair, filled a glass of wine, 
 drank it, took two or three tm-ns across the 
 chamber, then seating himself, fixed a search- 
 ing and unmoved look upon his trembling 
 daughter. 
 
 " Ellen," he said in a low and tremulous tone,
 
 Ob MY LIFE. 
 
 that might either be occasioned by anger or af- 
 fection — " Ellen, attend to me, for it is probable 
 that this is the last time I may address you. 
 How is it that I find you regardless of the duty 
 you owe to me as your natural protector — re- 
 gardless of brilliant prospects of rank and opu- 
 lence, which, in your own country, and among 
 your own connexions, you may realize when 
 you please ? How comes it that duty and in- 
 terest are alike abandoned, and that you sacri- 
 fice all to share the shattered fortunes of a dis- 
 banded soldier, and, for aught you or I can 
 tell, a profligate and a beggar ?" 
 
 My father's cheek reddened, his eye blaz- 
 ed, his blood boiled, and it was easy to ob- 
 serve that there was a volcano labouring in his 
 breast that required but small additional insult 
 to explode. 
 
 " You cling to him," continued Mr. Harri- 
 son — " Am, the acquaintance of some hours, and 
 you leave me. Well, be it so. I shall ask you 
 but a few questions : take heed, weak girl, for on 
 your answers it depends, whether I shall pardon 
 your disobedience, receive you as my child, pro- 
 claim you as my heiress, or cast you from me a
 
 MY LIFE. 87 
 
 worthless and repudiated daughter. Hear me ! 
 — You have five thousand pounds when at age, 
 to which none can gainsay your right; I, if 
 you are deserving, will leave you twelve thou- 
 sand pounds a-year. If you have been hitherto 
 too much in confinement, you may with my full 
 concurrence mix in the world, and wed a man 
 your equal."" 
 
 Ellen shook her head, and Mr. Harrison con- 
 tinued. 
 
 " Well, I shall not press that union if you 
 dislike it; in this, or any other matter, I will 
 assert no parental authority: if you are not 
 obedient from a sense of duty, I will not seek 
 it by compulsion. Reply to me with candour, 
 and then determine by whom you will abide — 
 your father or yonder gentleman."" 
 
 He paused, and seemed to hesitate ; but 
 promptly he thus continued : 
 
 " You love him ?" 
 
 " Dearer than life !'' returned a feeble voice, 
 so inarticulate as to be almost inaudible. 
 
 " And will you for him give up home and 
 father, fortune, kindred, country ?"" 
 
 "All will 1 give up if required. But,
 
 88 MY LIFE. 
 
 O my father, pardon me, pardon him ! and make 
 us for life your slaves." 
 
 Mr. Harrison coldly waved his hand. 
 
 " Pause," he said, " before you repeat this 
 resolution, for, let it be repeated, and the same 
 roof shall never cover us again." 
 
 There was a momentary, a dreadful silence. 
 Ellen raised her eyes; she looked upon the 
 cold marble countenance of her father, she met 
 the fond and anxious glances of the handsome 
 stranger, and love prevailed. 
 
 " Wilt thou abide by him ?" 
 
 " Till death !" she murmured, and fainted in 
 her lover's arms. 
 
 " It is settled," replied Mr. Harrison, as he 
 rang the bell and ordered his own carriage to 
 the door immediately ; while the major placed 
 Ellen in a chair, and bathed her lips and tem- 
 ples with water. Kneeling beside her, he called 
 her by every term of endearment, and in two or 
 three minutes he saw her sufficiently recovered. 
 
 While this scene was passing, Mr. Harrison 
 stood a looker on, with his back against the 
 mantel-piece, until the carriage wheels were
 
 MY LIFE. 89 
 
 heard. In a cool and collected voice he or- 
 dered Miss Ellen's trunks to be put in. 
 
 " You are bound," he said, turning to my 
 father, " I j^resume, to Scotland, for I trust you 
 mean my daughter honourably ;"*' and a bitter 
 smile crossed over his pale and sarcastic counte- 
 nance. Again my father's cheek blazed. " Nay, 
 gallant sir, do not be irate ; I know little of the 
 world, but I have heard that sometimes these 
 midnight meetings end with scanty ceremony. 
 Might I request you to favour me with a certi- 
 ficate of marriage, so soon as this prudent and 
 dutiful young lady becomes an honoured wife ? 
 — Give me my writing-desk." It was brought, 
 and he unlocked it ; then, turning to his daugh- 
 ter, he continued — " You must not leave this 
 house a beggar," and, averting his head, he 
 held a note-case towards her. She, poor soul, 
 made a last desperate effort — she flung herself 
 at his feet, and clasped his knees in speechless 
 agony. liut Mr. Harrison had an iron heart 
 and iron nerves, and he coldly disengaged him- 
 self. " The carriage waits, sir," he said, ad- 
 dressing the major : " it will convey you to the
 
 90 MY LIFE. 
 
 next stage. You had better secure that pocket- 
 book ; it contams all you will ever get from me 
 — one thousand pounds. I once invited you 
 here, but now you are an intruder C and re- 
 tiring from the room, his steps were heard de- 
 liberately pacing the corridor, as if nothing 
 unusual had occurred. 
 
 My father raised his lifeless bride and bore 
 her through the hall ; none resisted him ; Denis 
 jumped up behind the carriage — Phoebe had 
 disappeared in the general confusion — and, on 
 a wild and fearful night, my mother deserted 
 her home. The park-gates closed after her for 
 ever — she flung herself distractedly into her 
 lover^s arms, " and now the world was all be- 
 fore her."
 
 MY LIFE. 91 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 NEWSPAPERS AND A DRAGGING HOME. 
 
 And such paragraphs in the newspapers." 
 
 The Rivah. 
 
 O'Roarke's noble feast will ne'er be forgot, 
 By those that were there, and by those that were not. 
 
 Old Ballad. 
 
 After my mother's marriage she accom- 
 panied my father to Ireland. They delayed a 
 few weeks in Edinburgh, under the plea of see- 
 ing that ancient and interesting city, but in 
 reality, from a hope that some channel for a re- 
 conciliation might open between Ellen and her 
 irritated parent. 
 
 Probably the wish expressed by the latter, 
 that a certificate of his daughter's marriage' 
 should be transmitted, encouraged this expecta- 
 tion. The major accordingly obeyed his wishes ;
 
 92 MY LIFE.' 
 
 and in forwarding a document from the cele- 
 brated artist of Gretna, enclosed it in a manly 
 and respectful letter from himself, in which he 
 requested to be forgiven for the step he had 
 taken. Poor Ellen also accompanied her hus- 
 band's epistle with a strong appeal to the feel- 
 ings of her father. In due course of post the 
 receipt of the certificate was formally acknow- 
 ledged by Mr. Harrison, the soldier's letter 
 totally unnoticed, and his lady's returned with 
 an unbroken seal. This latter circumstance the 
 major concealed from his gentle bride, who was 
 already suffering under the effects of parental 
 displeasure. 
 
 In all besides, Ellen was truly happy, tier's 
 was a heart formed for a tender and undying 
 attachment. Before she wedded, she loved her 
 husband with girlish romance, but now she ido- 
 lized him as woman will, when she turns the un- 
 divided affections of a warm heart upon one sole 
 and cherished object. Without a murmur she 
 prepared to leave her native land ; and strong 
 in all-confiding love, consigned every hope of 
 happiness to one comparatively a stranger. 
 While on the evening preceding their embark-
 
 MY LIFE. 93 
 
 ation, he pictured the lonely spot on which the 
 house of his fathers stood ; while he described 
 rude hills and savage scenery, and a wild popu- 
 lation professing another faith, and speaking a 
 different tongue — " And wilt thou venture 
 thither, Ellen ?" 
 
 Clasping him in her arms, she turned her soft 
 expressive eyes on his, as she repeated the beau- 
 tiful passage from Scripture : 
 
 " Whither thou goest I will go. Thy people 
 shall be my people, and thy God my God !" 
 
 The reception my mother met from my fa- 
 ther's family was as enthusiastic as she could 
 have anticipated. Before the gallant Caesar 
 had even intimated to his brother, as "head 
 of the house,"' any intention upon his part 
 of committing matrimony, the English news- 
 papers teemed with an account of his elope- 
 ment with " the beautiful heiress of the 
 wealthy Mr. Harrison.'' The singular cause 
 that induced him to retire from his regiment 
 was still fresh in public recollection, and the 
 absurd manner in which these two exploits 
 were ridiculously coupled in the same para- 
 graphs was indeed provoking enough. The
 
 94 MY LIFE. 
 
 Morning Post thus announced my father's mar- 
 riage : 
 
 " Major C — s — r B — — ke, who it will be 
 remembered, abruptly retired from the 18th 
 some months since, for stopping up a chimney- 
 flue, by which two persons were unfortunately 
 suffocated, passed through Carlisle on Sunday 
 last, in a carriage-and-four, accompanied by 
 the beautiful heiress of Stainsbury Hall. No 
 pursuit after the fugitives was attempted, as 
 Mr. H — rr — n lies without the least hope of 
 recovery, from a wound of a pistol-ball receiv- 
 ed in the unfortunate melee that occurred on 
 the recent occasion. The report that two 
 keepers and the major''s servant are dead, is at 
 least premature. Of the recovery of one of the 
 former we know that sanguine hopes are enter- 
 tained." 
 
 The Morning Chronicle thus delivered it- 
 self:— 
 
 " We have often to lament the culpable in- 
 accuracy of some of our contemporaries. In a 
 morning journal of yesterday, a very imperfect 
 statement is given of a recent occurrence in high 
 life, of which we have been in full possession,
 
 MY LIFE. 95 
 
 but which, through delicacy to the feehngs of 
 the parties concerned, we have abstained from 
 noticing. It will be a subject of gratification 
 to the numerous and distinguished connexions of 
 
 ' both the houses,^ to learn that Mr. H n, 
 
 whose leg it was found necessary to amputate 
 above the knee, bore the operation well ; and 
 that the gallant ex-major, after having the ball 
 very skilfully extracted by Doctor Drench of 
 Newark, was able to proceed to Gretna with the 
 agitated but beautiful bride. The domestic who 
 unhappily lost his life on this lamentable occa- 
 sion, was under-butler at Stainsbury Park, 
 where he had lived for fifteen years and a half, 
 greatly respected. He leaves a widow and 
 seven young children to lament his premature 
 death.'' 
 
 " The Globe'^ had another version of " the 
 affair," from which, however, '■'the Sun^'' took 
 care to differ. ''The Evening MaiV denied the 
 suffocation point-blank ; and " the Courier''' as- 
 sured the world, that neither man, woman, nor 
 child were killed, wounded, or missing, save and 
 except the young lady and a poodle-dog, which 
 latter, by the accidental falling of an imperial.
 
 96 MY LIFE. 
 
 had been maimed for life. Now, though all this 
 was to the parties very provoking, and particu- 
 larly annoying to Mr. Harrison, yet it eclated 
 the business gloriously in Connaught. Nothing 
 could have been more consonant to the general 
 taste of the aristocracy of that favoured corner 
 of the earth. First, there was an elopement. 
 Second, it was with an heiress. Third, the suc- 
 cessful swain was a member of " the tribes''* — 
 a genuine scion of the ould stock. Fourth, 
 there were divers lives lost on the occasion. 
 Fifth, judging from conflicting statements, there 
 must have been a general rookawn^-f without 
 which a runaway match would not be worth a 
 straw. In short, it was unanimously resolved, 
 that Caesar Blake was " a broth of a boy ;"" that 
 his lady, in person and purse, would be a useful 
 addition to the neighbourhood ; and that if 
 elderly gentlemen, under-butlers, and poodle- 
 dogs interrupt half-pay majors, they must abide 
 the consequences. To this general commenda- 
 tion, even Miss Sally Macnamara, oblivious of 
 
 * The most ancient families in Gal way are known by 
 this title. 
 
 f liookawn, in English, means a general row.
 
 MY LIFE. 97 
 
 stuiFed flues and false imprisonment, magnani- 
 mously assented. 
 
 My mother's journey into Connaught was one 
 of novelty and interest. She had been hitherto 
 secluded, and almost caged from infancy within 
 her father's mansion, and to her the world was 
 new, strange, and imposing. Mr. Harrison 
 from boyhood had indulged a general dislike 
 towards female society. He married, rather as 
 a matter of family necessity to perpetuate his 
 name, and prevent his large estates from pass- 
 ing to a collateral branch. He had lost his wife 
 soon after his union ; and whether their tempers 
 had been dissimilar, or that he had a fancy to 
 remain unshackled, he ever afterwards eschewed 
 " the holy estate."" Had Ellen been a boy, he 
 might have probably bestowed more attention 
 in cultivating the temper, and gaining the affec- 
 tions of his only offspring. But in childhood 
 Ellen was confided to a nurse and governess ; 
 and when she approached maturity, her father 
 was more solicitous to estrange his daughter 
 from the world, than, by a judicious introduction 
 to society, correct the deficiencies inseparable 
 from an imperfect education. It is true, that 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 MY LIFE. 
 
 from competent instructors she had acquired the 
 usual routine of fashionable accomplishments. 
 She learned languages, understood music, was 
 conversant with books, but perfectly unacquaint- 
 ed with mankind. Hence her rapid and ro- 
 mantic attachment to my father might have 
 possibly originated ; and with an ardent imagi- 
 nation and feeling heart, no wonder that her 
 fancy overcame her prudence. She had no 
 countervailing passion to check the first out- 
 breakings of youthful passion. To her father 
 she looked with reverence ; but she looked with 
 fear. There were no sympathies between them. 
 She lacked an object on whom to bestow her 
 young affections; and one like Caesar Blake, 
 handsome, showy, imposing, and distingue, 
 was the likeliest person in the world to obtain 
 them. 
 
 As the major and his bride landed at a 
 northern port, their route to Counaught lay 
 through a desolate but romantic country. The 
 language, the scenery, and the people, were 
 new to the pretty sasanach.* The risk of tra- 
 versing a kingdom on the eve of a convulsion, 
 * A term applied to the English.
 
 MY LIFE. 99 
 
 and where a civil war had already broken out, 
 was alarming to one who had scarcely passed 
 the boundaries of her father's park. Every 
 group of peasants alarmed the timid traveller, 
 for every thing bespoke apprehension and inse- 
 curity. The preparations of her husband and 
 his attendant against attack ; the frequency of 
 military posts ; the marching of troops ; the oc- 
 casional interruptions from patrols; and even 
 her husband's communications with the pea- 
 santry in a strange tongue, — all tended to divert 
 my mother's attention, and prevent her from 
 dwelling upon the home she had deserted, and 
 the parent of whom her own act had bereaved 
 her. 
 
 The bleak and uninteresting country between 
 Enniskillen and Sligo had been safely passed ; 
 and after a necessary rest, the travellers pro- 
 ceeded to cross the wild but romantic baronies 
 of Tireragh and Tyrawley. That mountain- 
 road, destined to witness soon the movements 
 of an invading army, was still quiet — and having 
 reached the boundary of Gal way, my father 
 stopped at a solitary inn, where the carriage 
 of his kinsman was in waiting. 
 f2
 
 100 MY LIFE. 
 
 The sun was setting gloriously on Lough 
 Corrib, and that magnificent sheet of water 
 was blazing in the red stream of departing day. 
 Around, mountain was piled on mountain ; their 
 dark and rocky bases, finely contrasted with 
 their pointed summits, now covered with a cap 
 of snow. For miles the road was cut through 
 the declivity of a hill, leading through defiles 
 or overhung by precipices, which, to a timid 
 traveller, were alarming enough. The last 
 gleam of daylight disappeared as the carriage 
 cleared a deep mountain gorge, and entered 
 a flat and extensive valley, rendered addition- 
 ally gloomy from the height of the hills which 
 on either side shut it in. 
 
 At the extremity of this highland glen, the 
 ancient mansion of the Blakes was erected. 
 The major, in the feeble moonlight, endeavoured 
 to point out the edifice to his bride, and direct- 
 ed her attention to the dusky outline which ^^-as 
 indistinctly visible. While she looked in the 
 direction, lights appeared and vanished, while 
 on the right and left of the road, others danced 
 along the hills, or flashed through the copse- 
 wood ; and at the extremity of the glen, a
 
 MY LIFE. 101 
 
 ruddy flare from a stationary fire was discern- 
 ible. The fair traveller was about to inquire 
 what those meteors were, when the carriage 
 turning an angle of the road, disclosed a dark 
 mass of human beings moving rapidly towards 
 them. Suddenly, a wild yell arose from an 
 adjacent hillock, a horn was shrilly blown, a 
 thousand torches were lighted up, and the road, 
 the rocks, and every rising ground, appeared 
 crowded with a countless multitude of fierce 
 and savage-looking people. A number of them 
 rushed forward — the carriage stopped — and a 
 tremendous shout echoed through the valley. 
 Ellen screamed and clung to her husband for 
 protection. " Gracious God !"" she exclaimed, 
 as the horses were being taken off; " are they 
 about to murder us 4^" 
 
 " Arrah ! no, my lady," replied the well- 
 known tones of Mr. Denis O'Brien ; " they 're 
 only going to drag your honour home r* 
 
 " Drag me home ! what does this all mean, 
 my love ?'''' she said, addressing my father. 
 
 " Nothing, dear Ellen, but that the tenants 
 
 * A dragging home — is the conveying the bride to her 
 husband's house with a full attendance of all the clan.
 
 102 MY LIFE. 
 
 are come here to bid you welcome in their own 
 wild fashion, and conduct you to my brother's 
 house. You have nothing to apprehend from 
 them ; for there is not one of these men who 
 would not die to protect you." 
 
 Even with this assurance, my mother's heart 
 beat violently, as she looked on the formidable 
 escort that on every side surrounded the car- 
 riage. The lurid glare of torch-light, the fierce 
 and savage air of the men, their wild yells, and 
 wilder gestures, the scene, the hour — all were 
 calculated for effect, and made, accordingly, a 
 lasting impression upon the timid stranger. 
 
 In half an hour, a huge ivy-covered archway 
 admitted the vehicle, and an ancient castellated 
 building was seen at the extremity of a long 
 straight approach, having on each side a row of 
 stately elms. A fire of immense size was blaz- 
 ing before the house, and a myriad of women 
 and children flitted backward and forward, and 
 returned yell for yell to the crowd, that en- 
 circled the carriage as it advanced slowly along 
 the avenue. At the grand gate a group of 
 young girls, bearing a garland formed of artifi- 
 cial flowers, interspersed with laurel branches
 
 MY LIFE. 103 
 
 and gay-coloured ribbons, headed the proces- 
 sion. A shout that pealed over dell and moun- 
 tain welcomed the bride on entering* the do- 
 main, and a salvo from some small guns upon 
 the battlements of the castle made a suitable 
 response. A dozen pipers struck up " O'Roark's 
 return to Connaught," while a thousand wel- 
 comes, in English and Irish, were repeated 
 from as many mouths. 
 
 From the denseness of the crowd, the car- 
 riage was obliged to draw up at some distance 
 from the hall ; but a personage of uncommon 
 height descended the steps promptly, and buf- 
 feting the mob aside, unclosed the door. " Cae- 
 sar, my darlin boy !'' — " Manus, my dear bro- 
 ther !'' were mutually repeated, as my father 
 and the stranger grasped each other's hand. 
 The latter took the bride gently in his arms, 
 and pronounced some Irish words in a voice of 
 thunder : a lane through the multitude was in- 
 stantly opened, and, lightly as if she had been 
 an infant, he bore her up the steps, and into a 
 huge hall crowded with persons of both sexes. 
 Placing her on the floor, he looked at her for a 
 moment ; then, pressing her to his bosom, he
 
 104 MY LIFE. 
 
 kissed her with a fervour that dyed her cheeks 
 with bhishes. 
 
 " Cead mille fealtagh, my pretty sister," ex- 
 claimed the herculean stranger ; " Mona mon- 
 diaoul ! but I 'm proud of you, Caesar Blake !" 
 Then presenting her to a crowd of cousins, he 
 surrendered up his fair charge to be kissed and 
 congratulated ad libitum. 
 
 When the first hurry of salutations was over, 
 the timid bride looked round to see if her hus- 
 band was near her ; but he was not in the hall. 
 Through the open door, however, she recog- 
 nized him, borne on the shoulders of the multi- 
 tude without. 
 
 " They will not harm him ?'' she whispered 
 to Denis O'Brien, who was bustling after his 
 mistress with a cloak. 
 
 " Harm him !"" ejaculated the valet with a 
 stare ; " if there was a man yonder that would 
 say black was the white of his eye, by the holy 
 trout of Killgeever,* they would pitch him into 
 
 * No fish in ichthyology, cuts a more distinguished figure 
 than this celebrated trout. 
 
 There is a ruined chapel and holy well about a mile from 
 the village of Louisburgb, much frequented by all good Ca- 
 tholics, who consider that a little penance and purgation in
 
 MY LIFE. 105 
 
 the fire, as a gassoon* would toss in the shm- 
 bone of a horse !"' — and Denis was right, for 
 the namesake of the redoubted Roman, after 
 making a circuit of the lawn, was safely depo- 
 sited on the steps. 
 
 this life may clear off that large arrear which improvident 
 sinners allow to accumulate with a kind of compound in- 
 terest. This blessed well, in the year 98, was tenanted 
 by a trout of great sanctity and immense size ; he was a 
 holy and a happy fish, for the pilgrims fed him to his heart's 
 content, and he had nothing to do but eat, drink, and 
 amuse himself. 
 
 It happened that a party of Scotch fencibles had been 
 detached from head-quarters to Louisburgh, and on their 
 return, in passing the well, an ungodly Highlander, sua- 
 dente dialwlo, determined to abstract its blessed occupant. 
 He did so, and on arriving at his barracks, proceeded to 
 refresh himself. The fire was lighted, the trout duly pre- 
 pared, and, amid the ribald jests of the profane soldiery, 
 the devoted fish was tossed into the fryingpan; when, lo I 
 with a clap of thunder, the trout flew up the chimney, and, 
 without the loss of a scale, returned uninjured to Killgeever. 
 There he lived for many a long year afterwards, gladdening 
 the hearts of true believers, until from age and obesity he 
 went the way of all fish. 
 
 We lament to think* that, from the infidelity of the times, 
 persons may be found sceptical enough to question the 
 truth of this miracle. If such there be, should they find it 
 advisable to operate at a holy well for their souls' weal, we 
 recommend them not to select Killgeever. 
 
 * A boy. 
 
 F 5
 
 106 MY LIFE. 
 
 The banquet was duly served — the pipes com- 
 menced lilting in the hall — the bottle circulated 
 merrily — the mob outside danced, drank whis- 
 key, shouted " Caesar for ivir !" and broke each 
 other's heads — and all was a glorious chaos of 
 fighting, love-making, and intoxication. 
 
 Early in the night, the bride pleaded fatigue, 
 and begged permission to retire, which was 
 politely granted. 
 
 One circumstance struck my mother as being 
 singularly characteristic of the chieftain of her 
 husband's clan. Before she retired, her new 
 relative requested her to accompany him to the 
 lawn, where the garland was erected on a pole, 
 and the elite of the young peasants dancing 
 beneath it. Ellen good-humouredly assented, 
 and, leaning on his arm, passed through the 
 crowd. The whiskey, which was distributed in 
 awful quantities, had done its duty, if blows 
 and kisses were a proof. A young fellow, who 
 did not observe the chieftain's approach, flou- 
 rished a cudgel so near my mother as to startle 
 her. Manus Blake made a long stride to bring 
 the offender within reach of his arm, and with a 
 blow felled him to the earth, from which he of
 
 MY LIFE. 107 
 
 the cudgel appeared in no hurry to get up. 
 This feat, however, did not even interrupt the 
 sentence he was deHvering, which, by the way, 
 was a solemn assurance that a more peaceable 
 and orderly set of subjects were not in posses- 
 sion of the king, God bless him ! than his own 
 good tenants of Blake Hall. 
 
 Afterwards, when my mother expressed re- 
 gret at the occurrence to Denis O'Brien, who 
 attended her as closely as if he had been bred 
 a page of honour — 
 
 " Arrah, my lady,"' said the lackey, " don't 
 be after botherin yer head about spalpeens of 
 that sort, at all at all : what the divil business 
 had he to be handlin a boltheine^* good or bad, 
 and it yer honor's draggin-home ? He 's a 
 bad member any how. I wonder if his jaw 's 
 broke ? for a clout from the master — May the 
 Lord strengthen his arm ! — is liker a kick from 
 a horse than a clip from a christian !" 
 
 With Denis's remark my mother fully coin- 
 cided — for, in good truth, Manus Blake was a 
 hard hitter. 
 
 * Bollheine, means the lesser moiety of a flail.
 
 108 MY LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AN IRISH LODGE. HARRIETTE KIRWAN's MARRIAGE. 
 
 Oh ! did you ne'er hear of Kate Kearney ? 
 She lives on the banks of Killarney. 
 From the glance of her eye, shun danger and fly, 
 Forfatal's the glance of Kate Kearney. 
 
 Old Ballad. 
 
 The first month of my mother\s sojourn in 
 Castle Blake was an endless round of rude 
 and rackety dissipation. From the corners 
 of the earth all the collateral branches of the 
 ancient name, congregated to welcome their 
 English relative. As each personage was at- 
 tended by a suitable following, befitting the 
 high occasion of the visit, and in nowise par- 
 ticular as to the period of departure, large 
 as the mansion was, it was marvellous how 
 it could contain the crowd, who occupied every
 
 MY LIFE. 109 
 
 nook and cranny from the attic to the cellars. 
 These multitudinous ramifications from the pa- 
 rent stem rivalled each other in their attentions 
 to the bride. All seemed bent on offering and 
 accepting hospitality; and so numerous were 
 the invitations pressed upon my parents, that a 
 whole year would not have enabled them to 
 fulfil a moiety of the same. 
 
 Yet my mother was far from happy. Her 
 gentle disposition was unsuited to the exuberant 
 spirits with which all around were gifted. Her 
 memory recurred to the unhappy circumstances 
 attendant on her hurried marriage ; and she 
 remembered that it was unhallowed by a pa- 
 rent's blessing. True, when she looked upon 
 her handsome husband, love found a powerful 
 plea to atone for filial disobedience ; but in her 
 solitary hours the parting-scene with her angry 
 and deserted father embittered her happiness, 
 and saddened that halcj^on season, which should, 
 without any thing to alloy it, have succeeded 
 her union with him whom she so devotedly 
 loved. 
 
 Nor were other causes wanted to increase 
 these regrets. One so secluded from the world
 
 110 MY LIFE. 
 
 till now, found herself suddenly thrown among 
 strangers, and the member of a society con- 
 stituted very differently from any she had 
 been previously acquainted with. The cold and 
 formal order of English visiting, the quiet and 
 regulated character of its social intercourse, and 
 the systematic arrangements of that home she 
 had abandoned, painfully contrasted with the 
 wild scene and wilder people, with whom she 
 must be naturalized in future. Those now 
 around her appeared a separate race from any 
 she had been accustomed to. Careless of the 
 present, reckless of the future, they acted from 
 momentary impulse, and seemed indifferent 
 whether the result was right or wrong. The 
 women rode, visited, dressed, flirted, danced, 
 and married. The men hunted, shot, played, 
 drank, quarrelled, fought, and made friends 
 again. Out of doors, there was clamour and 
 confusion ; within, a wasteful, irregular, comfort- 
 less course of dissipation, to which neither time 
 nor tide appeared to place a limit. While my 
 mother with gratitude acknowledged the kind- 
 ness with which she was universally regarded, 
 the very efforts to prove attachment were over-
 
 MY LIFE. Ill 
 
 powering to a timid stranger. To anticipate 
 what she wished, to discover if possible aught 
 that would give her pleasure, to mark her as 
 the sole object of general attention and respect — 
 all this was done ; and yet the days when Caesar 
 hunted appeared interminable, and before the 
 established order of Milesian banqueting would 
 allow the unwilling reveller to steal from the 
 late carouse, poor Ellen would count the weary 
 hours as they sounded from the belfry, and pray 
 for some peaceful home, where she might hold 
 a more tranquil communion with him, for whom 
 country and kindred had been left. 
 
 It was not long before an accidental disclosure 
 of her feelings, apprized her liege lord that his 
 wife would prefer a life of less excitement, to 
 that which she led in Castle Blake. Whether 
 from an anxiety to render her more happy than 
 she appeared, or that his own wishes were fa- 
 vourably disposed to domestic quietude, my 
 father expressed a ready assent; and a beautiful 
 shooting-lodge at no great distance from his 
 paternal mansion happening at the time to be 
 unoccupied, he rented it immediately ; and 
 overruling all the objections of his hospitable
 
 112 MY LIFE. 
 
 brother, preparations were made for a speedy 
 departure. 
 
 On a sweet spring morning, Caesar Blake and 
 his small household left the hall of his fathers 
 to occupy their new abode. Wild as the ap- 
 proach to Castle Blake had looked to the fair 
 stranger, on the memorable evening of her 
 " dragging home,"' the scenery that surprised 
 her then, was tame and common-place to that 
 w^hich her present route presented. The point 
 to which their course seemed to be directed, was 
 buried in the very heart of mountains, which ap- 
 peared to present insuperable obstacles to any 
 human effort to fix a habitation within them. 
 To approach these highlands, a rude path had 
 been scarped through the rocky bases of the 
 hills, or carried over ravines and along the ridge 
 of precipices, which nature had vainly intended 
 as a barrier against man. While passing these 
 defiles, my mother was terror-stricken at the 
 fearful consequences which a horse starting or a 
 broken trace might occasion; but, these diffi- 
 culties overcome, a scene of romantic grandeur 
 was suddenly disclosed. 
 
 When the gorge of the mountain-pass was
 
 MY LIFE. 113 
 
 cleared, a long heathy valley, intersprinkled with 
 grassy hillocks, presented itself. A chain of 
 Alpine heights enclosed it at either side, and 
 one of superior altitude to all the others, seemed 
 to block up the extremity of the glen. Through- 
 out the whole extent of the valley, a beautiful 
 stream flowed with the capricious irregularity 
 that distinguishes a highland river ; at one time 
 winding sluggishly through a morass, and at an- 
 other bounding over some ledge of whinstone ; 
 now creeping through a flat surface of verdant 
 heath, and again brawling along a shrubby 
 channel, half-choked with fallen rocks and masses 
 of turf, which the violence of winter-floods de- 
 tached from the sides of the mountain. 
 
 As the travellers neared the extremity of 
 the glen, the source of the stream, along whose 
 banks they journeyed, suddenly became visible. 
 It was a long irregular sheet of dark-blue water, 
 overhung by precipitous rocks, which sprang 
 upwards from the margin of the tarn.* The 
 black and beetling heights cast their shadows on 
 the deep waters beneath them, which, unruflled 
 by a breath of wind, exhibited a surface dimpled 
 * A highland lough.
 
 114 MY LIFE. 
 
 into a thousand circles, by the rising of the 
 trouts and gambols of the water-fowls. On the 
 very apex of the mountain, to which a perpen- 
 dicular wall of grey granite had forbidden hu- 
 man approach, two eagles had built an aerie. 
 Sweeping in lazy circles round the nest, their 
 wild and piercing screams disturbed the silence 
 of the mountain-glens, while nothing beside was 
 heard but the bleating of sheep and the rushing 
 of the stream. Here the road appeared to ter- 
 minate ; but no human dwelling was visible on 
 the dreary expanse of this lone valley. 
 
 When, however, the travellers reached the 
 very margin of the lake, a fissure in the hill- 
 side, deep and narrow as if riven through the 
 mountain by an earthquake, offered them a 
 road. They passed the chasm safely, and in a 
 spot, wild, lonely, and romantic beyond the 
 power of imagining, the fairy edifice suddenly 
 was seen. 
 
 It was a modern cottage, elegantly designed, 
 and erected in a circular dell, formed by the 
 bases of three precipitous hills. A small high- 
 land lake extended in front of the building, 
 Avhile about it pleasure-grounds were tastefully
 
 MY LIFE. 115 
 
 disposed, with gardens and shrubberies, and 
 every detached building which modern luxury 
 requires. Early as it was, roses bloomed 
 through the trellis of the verandas ; berries of 
 pensile plants festooned the casements richly, 
 while the evergreens contrasted their gay foliage 
 with the forest-trees, whose leafless branches 
 were only breaking into bud. All around this 
 secluded habitation bespoke the successful efforts 
 of human cultivation, which, triumphing over 
 natural obstacles, had formed a garden in a 
 wilderness — an oasis among brown heaths and 
 naked stones. 
 
 Nor did the interior of the villa disappoint 
 the expectations its exterior elegance might oc- 
 casion : all within was in excellent taste, and 
 that best resource in solitude, the library, had 
 been formed with considerable judgment. My 
 mother was delighted with her new residence ; 
 her quiet but romantic fancy had here every- 
 thing it panted for — here, with the man of her 
 heart, and removed from the hurry of the world, 
 the pretty visionary found in this highland glen 
 " a paradise both pure and lonely.^** 
 
 When Caesar Blake readily gratified his lady's
 
 116 MY LIFE. 
 
 longing for retirement, he was not uninfluenced 
 by private considerations. Marriage had sobered 
 the wild soldier, and he was wearied with the 
 endless racketing which in Castle Blake was 
 the order of. the day. His brother was a cu- 
 rious relic of " auld lang syne^' — the priest de- 
 clared him " ultimus Romanorum ;" and in 
 sooth he was one of the last of those Milesian 
 potentates, to whom ancestral virtues and vices 
 had descended regularly with the family estates. 
 Manus Blake was, after his own manner, as 
 proud as he surnamed the " Morning Star t*" 
 with him the usages of his forefathers were 
 sacred, and the roof-tree of his mansion 
 was, in his estimation, hallowed as the sanc- 
 tuary of the church. His ideas of hospitality 
 made it the first duty of life ; and he believed 
 that he held his revenues in trust for the enter- 
 tainment of all that pleased to claim it. To 
 him noise and excitement were indispensable, 
 and the clamour of the field without, must be 
 succeeded by " tipsy mirth and jollity^'' within. 
 Although a benedict for several years, he 
 was childless, and therefore wanted those en- 
 dearing ties which alone can render domestic
 
 MY LIFE. 117 
 
 quietude endurable. In politics he took no in- 
 terest : he was too independent to truckle to 
 the government, and too honourable and open- 
 hearted to plot with the wretched demagogues 
 of the day. 
 
 But Caesar Blake had more cogent reasons 
 than he thought it necessary to explain, which 
 caused him to abridge his visit to his kinsman 
 — a fair and dangerous relative had intimated 
 her intention of honouring Castle Blake with 
 her presence ; and although she had bestowed 
 her hand upon a lover, who had erst- while sighed 
 in vain, the ex-major determined to avoid her. 
 
 During the period while my father had been 
 absent, Harriette herself had not been unem- 
 ployed. Deeply as she felt mortified at the 
 unceremonious departure of him who proved in- 
 sensible to her attractions, the full measure of 
 her wrath was reserved for the morning, when 
 the object of his secret expedition first transpired, 
 and his elopement was officially gazetted with 
 all its varied accompaniments. To conceal her 
 feelings at this annoying disclosure was impos- 
 sible, and a burst of wounded pride and hope- 
 less passion ensued, that to the iron nerves of
 
 118 MY LIFE. 
 
 Manus Blake himself, appeared alarming. For 
 some clays the deserted one secluded herself 
 from all society ; but on the fourth morning she 
 surprised the family at the breakfast-table, and 
 then and there, announced her immediate de- 
 parture for the capital on a visit to her aunt. 
 This was natural enough ; none opposed her re- 
 solution, and she left accordingly for Dublin, 
 greatly pitied by every female of the establish- 
 ment, who declared her case a hopeless one — 
 the disease was mortal, for the arrow was at 
 her heart — and her next a23pearance would be, 
 mider a canopy of white plumes, on her route 
 to Cahirmore, the last resting-place of the Kir- 
 wans. But they were wrong. 
 
 Harriett e was " too fine an animal," as a 
 puppy in the — Light Dragoons termed her, 
 not to be extensively addressed, and she might 
 have entered into the holy estate more than 
 once, had she pleased ; for, as the song goes — 
 
 " Of lovers she'd plenty." 
 But her fancy, not to say her heart, had never 
 been engaged but by one, and on him her fas- 
 cinations were thrown away. In the number of 
 her suitors, a Mr. Donovan was probably the
 
 MY LIFE. 119 
 
 most ardent, as he was avowedly the most de- 
 tested; and as he was a leading character in 
 my father's brief history, we must formally in- 
 troduce him. 
 
 He was descended from an obscure family, be- 
 came early an orphan, was apprenticed to a trade 
 he disliked, left it without ceremony, and found 
 himself at twenty-two an adventurer on the 
 world, without a single friend or a second gui- 
 nea. With neither talent, education, or even 
 good looks, to recommend him, he contrived to 
 push his way to a commission through an under- 
 hand and dirty channel. His character was not 
 uncommon : low-minded, but cunning, he pos- 
 sessed great self-possession and unmeasured 
 impudence : a bully, without being brave ; a 
 swaggerer, but not a gentleman. In every 
 game of chance he was an adept, and lived by 
 shifts and resources, which the unfortunate rage 
 for play among the ujjper classes, tends to a 
 certain degree to legitimize. Many an unlucky 
 dupe he directed to the road to ruin ; and many 
 a time, from disastrous play, himself was re- 
 duced to the verge of destitution and despair. 
 Generally disliked, he seldom retained a com-
 
 120 MY LIFE. 
 
 panion long, for, occasionally, bad temper and 
 bad manners overcame his habitual self-control. 
 Hence he never continued long in a regiment : 
 of course, his rank advanced not, and, a few 
 months before the marriage of my father, he 
 was finally removed from the army, being 
 cashiered for shooting unfairly in a duel a 
 young officer, whom he had plundered to his 
 last guinea. 
 
 Mr. Donovan was unhappily no stranger to 
 my father. Four years before, Caesar Blake 
 had been appointed to a company over his 
 head, which he had made certain, through se- 
 cret influence, to obtain for himself. Smother- 
 ing his rage, he marked my father for a victim. 
 He tried play, but the young captain disliked 
 it, and gradually Donovan's character became 
 developed, and Caesar Blake discovered, fortu- 
 nately before it was too late to remedy the 
 mischief, that Donovan had nearly estranged 
 him from every officer in the corps. The rage 
 of his dupe was boundless, an explanation was 
 demanded, and a scene ensued. For a moment 
 Donovan essayed the bully : but it failed ; my 
 father was a top shot, and it was quite evident
 
 MY LIFE. 121 
 
 that, in the event of a meeting, Captain Caesar 
 Blake would be very apt to shoot his best on 
 the occasion. Mr. Donovan, therefore, pru- 
 dently left the regiment, and from the moment 
 he departed, his quondam dupe became first 
 favourite with all around him. 
 
 When finally forced from the service, he ar- 
 rived in Dublin without a shilling, and at a 
 moment when his uncle, an opulent tradesman, 
 was on the eve of dissolution. This relative of 
 the disgraced subaltern, had by the most despi- 
 cable penury accumulated a considerable ^vo- 
 perty. Although childless, he fancied to invest 
 it in purchasing an estate, and he left Con- 
 naught to perfect this intention. His nephew 
 had just arrived ; he was utterly destitute : he 
 asked assistance, and it was coldly refused. 
 
 Fortune is a slippery gentlewoman. Peter 
 Donovan paraded the streets of Dublin for two 
 days, supporting existence by the meanest sub- 
 terfuges that desperate poverty could invent — 
 and on the third morning he found himself worth 
 two thousand pounds a-year. Wonderful was 
 his luck ; he who would not have bestowed a 
 sixpence to save his nephew from the gallo^\'s 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 MY LIFE. 
 
 and wlio had drafted a will, and laid it before 
 counsel, to guard even against the contingency 
 of his succession, dropped off before the do- 
 cument was arranged for signature, leaving to 
 the person whom he abominated, every shilling 
 which, through a long life, he had by every vil- 
 lany managed to scrape together. 
 
 In his appearance Peter Donovan was uncom- 
 monly repulsive. He was tall, thin, shapeless, 
 and inelegant ; his face sharp, his cheeks hol- 
 low, with straight flaxen hair, and light eyes ; 
 in short, a tout ensemble^ that man dislikes and 
 woman loves not. 
 
 Such was the suitor who bowed at the shrine 
 of the divinity, who more than once, had scorn- 
 fully rejected his advances. Then, it is true, he 
 was but a needy adventurer, and " of no estima- 
 tion"' — and Harriette, " fancy free," was sur- 
 rounded by a troop of admirers. He came now 
 a wealthy wooer, and found the once haughty 
 fair one in a very different mood to any which 
 he had previously experienced. 
 
 Certainly, it required more self-control than 
 Harriette ever pretended that she possessed, to 
 enable her to assume a tolerable composure.
 
 MY LIFE. 123 
 
 Her overtures were rejected, her love despised, her 
 charms undervalued, and a stranger preferred. 
 One moment, in a storm of jealous rage, she could 
 have stabbed her lover to the heart ; and yet, 
 when the gust of passion calmed down, tender 
 recollections would occupy her thoughts, and 
 she would dwell in tears and tenderness on the 
 hours she had passed with that adored object, 
 who was now lost to her for ever. 
 
 She was in this mood when the postman's 
 knock was heard, and her maid handed in 
 a Galway newspaper. Hastily it was open- 
 ed, and Harriette's quick eye lighted on a 
 flaming paragraph, descriptive of my mother's 
 welcome at Castle Blake, and detailing the 
 various festivities which evidenced the general 
 joy at " the arrival of the rich and beautiful 
 bride." The blood rushed to her face, till the 
 veins were almost bursting. The beauty of 
 her rival, the eclat of her reception, drove her 
 nearly frantic. She flung the paper in the fire, 
 and, in a paroxysm of passion, stamped over 
 the carpet. " Caesar,"* she muttered, " I loved 
 you as I shall never love another ! I existed 
 only in your presence — I lived upon your 
 G 2
 
 1^4 MY LIFE. 
 
 smiles ! I would have followed you to the 
 world's end ! I would have clung to you in 
 beggary — I would have been to you more than 
 woman ever was to man — your mistress — your 
 minion — your slave ! Now, by my hopes of 
 heaven, I would drug the bowl, or whet the 
 knife, that destroyed you !'' 
 
 She was still in high excitement, when the 
 door unclosed, and unannounced, Donovan stood 
 before her. Flashing eyes and heightened 
 colour bespoke her agitation, but they added to 
 her natural charms — for she looked a beautiful 
 bacchante. The man who could have seen such 
 loveliness unmoved, must have been insensible 
 indeed. Short was the interview that suc- 
 ceeded — Donovan offered his hand, and Har- 
 riette accepted it. 
 
 In a few days she knelt at the altar of God 
 with a being she detested. Her vows of con- 
 stancy and affection were " false as dicers'* 
 oaths," and she left the church, a perjured 
 wife and wretched ^voman !
 
 MY LIFE. 125 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 FRENCH LANDING, NIGHT ADVENTURE. 
 
 But here I leave the general concern, 
 To track our hero on his path of fame — 
 
 ****** 
 
 The dying man cried, ' Hold! I 've got my gruel !' 
 
 Don Juan. 
 
 Time passed rapidly ; month succeeded 
 month, and the moimtain retreat of Caesar 
 Blake bloomed m all its beauty. The event- 
 ful summer of Ninety-eight had set in with 
 unusual sultriness, for it was the hottest that 
 the oldest man could recollect. For weeks to- 
 gether, not a shower refreshed the parched 
 earth, and a cloudless sun shone with an in- 
 tensity, that appeared better suited to a southern 
 sky, than to the humid and capricious climate 
 of the Emerald Isle. The insurrection, Avhich
 
 126 MY LIFE. 
 
 for the past year had been on the eve of explo- 
 sion, suddenly broke out upon the twenty-third 
 of May, and after a continued scene of ferocious 
 crime, in which a savage population and an 
 excited soldiery, seemed to emulate each other 
 in deeds of blood and rapine, it was suppress- 
 ed, although, for many a month afterwards, the 
 country was devastated by banditti, and the 
 towns disgraced by military executions. 
 
 The ferocious character of the Irish rebellion 
 was not without exceptions. The Western 
 insurgents were of milder mood than their 
 Leinster brethren ; and plunder was the chief 
 crime that marked the out-breaking of the 
 peasantry in Connaught. Few lives were con- 
 sequently lost among the loyalists, although 
 the vengeance of the executive descended with 
 frightful severity on the miserable adherents of 
 the French, after the republican troops had 
 surrendered at Ballinamuck. 
 
 Until the landing of Humbert, the ex-major 
 remained quietly in his romantic dwelling — 
 and from its remoteness, but vague reports of 
 scenes of violence elsewhere transacted, reached 
 this secluded family. While others left their
 
 MY LIFE. 127 
 
 houses, and flocked into garrison towns for pro- 
 tection, Caesar Blake dwelt in his mountain- 
 home without any apprehension. Indeed, he 
 had little to fear : the shepherds and fishermen 
 who lived among the hills, or occupied the little 
 village on an inlet of the sea, contiguous to 
 the lodge, were utterly unacquainted with pass- 
 ing events, and knew and cared about the pro- 
 gress of the insurrection as little, as though the 
 scene had been placed in Japan. 
 
 As my father'*s isolated residence was entire- 
 ly out of the line of operations of either royal- 
 ists or rebels, he had nothing to apprehend but 
 from straggling plunderers, and his own follow- 
 ers were quite sufficient to repel any aggression 
 of that kind. Hence, in his highland retreat, 
 he remained in undisturbed tranquillity; and 
 while the storm was raging at a distance, the 
 glen that contained his youthful bride was a 
 sort of Goshen, where the danger that menaced 
 life and property elsewhere was unknown. 
 
 It may be readily imagined, that the gallant 
 major was not of a temper to remain inactive 
 when martial scenes were passing in his father- 
 land, had not other feelings restrained his mili-
 
 128 MY LIFE. 
 
 tary ardour. To leave the timid and beloved 
 stranger with none but servants to comfort and 
 protect her in the wild dwelling in which he had 
 placed her, would have been cruel and unmanly. 
 As yet, no overt acts of violence had occurred ; 
 and it seemed, judging from appearances, that 
 unnecessary alarm had been raised, and useless 
 severity exercised by those functionaries to 
 whom government had confided the safety of 
 the country. Caesar Blake, moreover, felt that 
 he had been, on the occasion of his recent 
 retirement from his regiment, very indifferently 
 treated by the commander-in-chief; he con- 
 sidered himself an ill-used man, and resolved 
 to remain a quiet speptator of a popular com- 
 motion, that he felt persuaded had been fos- 
 tered for sinister purposes by those in power, 
 who had ample means of suppression in their 
 hands, so soon as the political objects for which 
 the storm was raised should be effected. 
 
 But these resolutions were at once abandon- 
 ed, when a trusty courier brought him intelli- 
 gence that the French had landed in force at 
 Killalla. Love and pique were overcome by 
 the master-passion of a soldier, and he deter-
 
 MY LIFE. 1^9 
 
 mined to set off, without delay, for the head- 
 quarters of the royaHsts at Castlebar, and join 
 some regiment as a volunteer, until a battle should 
 decide the fate of the bold invaders, and prove 
 how far a French demonstration could produce 
 a general outbreaking of the disaffected. Leav- 
 ing his little garrison under the charge of Denis 
 O'Brien, he feigned an apology for a short ab- 
 sence, by pretending that important business 
 called him suddenly to Castle Blake, and took 
 a tender farewell of the gentle Ellen, who little 
 imagined that her adored husband was leavinof 
 her arms for a battle-field. 
 
 Caesar Blake selected the cool of evening for 
 crossing the mountains that divided the neigh- 
 bouring garrison from his highland home. The 
 dew was rising from the fen, the moon was 
 dancing on the lake, and never had a lovelier 
 evening closed upon the romantic valley he was 
 quitting. Mounted on a trained and powerful 
 charger, with pistols in his holsters, a sabre at 
 his side, and a small valise behind the saddle, 
 to contain a change of linen, the soldier, with 
 his military-cloak flung round him, rode un- 
 attended along the path, which wound through 
 G 5
 
 130 MY LIFE. 
 
 the hills for several miles, before it reached the 
 main road. All was silent as the grave, and 
 nothing was heard at this sweet hour, but the 
 challenge of the cock-grouse, or bleatings from 
 the sheep-pens. Now and again the shepherd's 
 dog, roused by the hoof-sounds of the traveller, 
 alarmed the tenants of the lonely bouillie ,-* but 
 all else was quiet as the grave, and without 
 interruption the belated traveller reached the 
 defile, which united the mountain-path with the 
 road that led to his destination. 
 
 This gorge into the hill-country was formed 
 by a deep ravine between cliffs of grey lime- 
 stone. The moonlight was shaded by the rocks, 
 and the pass was dark and embarrassed by loose 
 stones which had fallen from the face of the 
 heights. The horseman was consequently obliged 
 to ride with caution, and at a deliberate pace 
 he entered the defile. 
 
 He had reached the centre of the pass when 
 the foot-falls of an advancing traveller were 
 heard. It was an awkward place to meet an 
 enemy. My father tightened his reins, and 
 
 * Bouillies, are summer bivouacs, used by shepherds 
 -when depasturing their flocks in the mountains.
 
 MY LIFE. 131 
 
 drew a pistol from the holster, and next moment 
 a rider appeared through the gloom. 
 
 " Who goes there ?" demanded the soldier. 
 
 " Who are you ?" responded the unknown 
 horseman. 
 
 " Advance a step and I fire !" rejoined the 
 major. 
 
 " That liberty 1 11 take first,'' was the cool 
 reply, as a pistol flashed, and a bullet whistled 
 past my father. 
 
 Caesar was no sluggard. Promptly the fire 
 was returned, and forcing his horse forward 
 with the spur, in a second he was sword-in- 
 hand alongside his assailant, ready to cut him 
 down. 
 
 " Hold !"" cried a voice, with a groan. 
 " Your sword is needless, friend. The pistol 
 did its duty. That shot broke my arm, and I 
 surrender. But, good God ! whom have we 
 here ? What ! Caesar Blake ?" 
 
 " The same — Conolly ! Is it possible ?'' and 
 the riders mutually recognised each other. 
 
 " What a cursed chance !" exclaimed the 
 wounded horseman. " Who the devil could 
 have expected that you should at this late
 
 132 MY LIFE. 
 
 hour be wandering among the mountains. That 
 scarlet cloak deceived me, and I took you for a 
 patrol." 
 
 " And what brings you here, ConoUy ? No 
 treason, I trust ?" 
 
 " Why, my dear Caesar, the truth may fairly 
 out. I am sped for many a long day ; and as 
 the French say, hors de combat. Humbert is 
 advancing on Castlebar, and I was despatched 
 from head-quarters to visit you, and raise the 
 Galway people."' 
 
 " Me r 
 
 " Ay — you. No folly with friends. I know 
 your heart is with us, and I have a splendid 
 offer from the general. Why, man, you shall 
 be ' en second,'' to himself !"' 
 
 " ConoUy, is this a time for fooling ?"' said 
 the major. 
 
 " Fooling !" replied the disabled rider. 
 " Heaven knows I am in sorry humour for that 
 to-night. Why my arm is shattered, and lies 
 as useless by my side as the scabbard of your 
 sabre. No, faith, I know you are with us ; 
 for Donovan apprised General Hutchinson, that 
 you were to hold a principal command. This
 
 MY LIFE. 133 
 
 you may depend on, for it comes through a 
 secret agent, that acquaints us with all the 
 drunken hogs are twaddling about, and the 
 channel is sure/' 
 
 " Conolly, you are sadly misinformed. 1 am 
 at this moment on my way to join the king's 
 troops, and old George has not a more devoted 
 follower." 
 
 " Humph ! After all he used you scurvily 
 enough, if that blanket and chimney business 
 be as it was generally represented,'' said the 
 stranger, with a sneer. 
 
 " No matter. I swore allegiance to old 
 square-toes. That oath with me is sacred. Not 
 but that I wish the good old gentleman had 
 better military counsellors." 
 
 " You would not, however, betray me, 
 Blake ?" 
 
 " No more than sell my soul to the foul fiend." 
 
 " I thought so," said the stranger. 
 
 " I am," replied the soldier, " a loyal sub- 
 ject, but no spy to divulge the secret which a 
 feather-headed friend communicated, without 
 taking the trouble of asking whether I was 
 with or against him."
 
 134* MY LIFE. 
 
 " Alas ! Caesar, I am completely bothered."" 
 
 " Be advised, my dear fellow, by me,*" re- 
 turned the soldier. " Hasten to the lodge. 
 Say you have been riding in the dark; that 
 your horse came down, and your arm was 
 broken, and you want it attended to. Remain 
 quietly until the storm blows over, and you will 
 not only save your limb, but most probably 
 your neck into the bargain.*" 
 
 The wounded man was silent for a minute. 
 
 " You are right, friend Caesar. I am useless 
 now, and would only be an incumbrance. There 
 are old women enough on both sides without 
 me, and I should be an ass to stretch a rope, 
 without the sorry satisfaction of striking a blow 
 or two before I graced the gallows. But time 
 presses you and me. Ride — for before twelve 
 hours, the French will enter Castlebar." 
 
 " Nonsense,'" replied the soldier. 
 
 " Nay, honest Caesar, it is true. And now, 
 God speed you ! I shall follow your advice, 
 and avail myself of your kindness. A time may 
 come ; but no matter.*''' 
 
 " Shall I be interrupted ?"" asked the royalist. 
 
 " Likely enough,"" replied the wounded horse-
 
 MY LIFE. 135 
 
 man. " If you are stopped, enquire if ' the 
 moon is near the fulh' But ask the question in 
 Irish. I must be off, for I can hardly keep 
 the saddle. Confound you, Caesar I how close 
 you shoot, where none beside yourself and the 
 owls can know a man from a haystack. And 
 yet I levelled at you pretty correctly." 
 
 " Too close to be agreeable,'*' replied the 
 royalist ; "I heard the whistle of the bullet."'' 
 
 " Well, that same is a comfort," said the 
 wounded traveller. " There is a friendly hut 
 not very distant, where I shall get my arm 
 bandaged. And now, God speed thee ! worthy 
 descendant of a lucky Roman. Farewell." 
 And turning his horse, the unfortunate cavalier 
 rode off in an opposite direction to that taken 
 by his opponent. 
 
 When my father cleared the defile, he found 
 himself in safety on the coach-road. All danger 
 was over ; for the king's troops, no doubt, took 
 care to keep the communication open. The ma- 
 jor pricked merrily on, until about a mile from 
 the mountain-pass, a long and narrow bridge, with 
 its high and ill-constructed battlements, cross- 
 ed a bold river. Built in the ancient style, its
 
 136 MY LIFE. 
 
 centre-arch rose so considerably as to shut from 
 even a mounted traveller a prospect of the ex- 
 tremity. Caesar rode forward without appre- 
 hension, until on topping the crown of the 
 bridge, he found his further progress barred by 
 a crowd of men, whose various implements of 
 destruction glanced in the moonlight, and told 
 at once that they were of the insurgent party. 
 The soldier reined up, and would have fallen 
 back, but suddenly the other end of the bridge 
 was occupied, and retreat impracticable. There 
 was no time for deliberation ; the enemy was 
 before and behind him ; the chances of danger 
 pretty equal ; and, like a good soldier, he 
 chose that in front. Drawing his second pis- 
 tol, he advanced steadily within a few paces 
 of those who occupied the pass, when a 
 rough voice in very indifferent English chal- 
 lenged him. 
 
 " Who goes there ?'' 
 
 " A friend.^' 
 
 " Whose friend are ye ?" 
 
 " The king's.^' 
 
 " You are a prisoner then,"" said a person who 
 appeared the leader, dressed in a frieze great
 
 MY LIFE. 137 
 
 coat, and armed with a musket, which he pre- 
 sented at the traveller. 
 
 " A i^risoner ! To whom, pray ?"** was the 
 firm reply. 
 
 "To us Frinch /" replied a second voice in 
 broad Irish. 
 
 My father laughed heartily at the absurdity 
 of the fellow. 
 
 " Stand back, fools !" he repHed in their 
 native language ; "is the moon near the full, 
 pray ?'' 
 
 "Pass on — ballagh^ fo^^g^^ ^ ballagh !^^* 
 exclaimed a score of voices, as they opened 
 right and left. Mending his pace, the rider 
 pushed on rapidly, and in an hour the lights in 
 Castlebar appeared flaring in the paler moon- 
 shine. 
 
 It struck the soldier as a remarkable want 
 of military precaution, that, while it was 
 known that a hostile force was in the neigh- 
 bourhood, neither picket nor patrol were on the 
 roads that led directly to the garrison. Close 
 to the entrance of the town, for the first 
 
 * Anglice, " Clear the road. "
 
 138 MY LIFE. 
 
 time, a yeomanry vidette challenged him ; but 
 my father being personally known, prevented 
 the loyalist from offering him any interrup- 
 tion, and unquestioned by any other, the 
 major rode on, and halted at the barrack- 
 gate.
 
 MY LIFE. Ii39 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 THE MESS TABLE — 'MARCH OF HUMBERT. 
 
 Who knocks so loud, and knocks so late ? 
 
 Scott. 
 
 In Heaven's name let us get some supper now, 
 And then I 'm with you, if you 're for a row. 
 
 Don Juan. 
 
 " Wha gangs there ?''"' cried a Highlander, 
 advancing his arms. 
 
 " A friend," repHed my father ; " open the 
 gate ; I wish to speak with the general."" 
 
 " Guard, turn out !" exclaimed the sentinel. 
 " Guard, turn out !" responded a second voice 
 within. An immediate shuffling of feet and 
 rattling of muskets succeeded, and apprised 
 the late traveller that considerable ceremony 
 would attend his untimely visit to the com- 
 mander of the garrison. Presently an officer 
 appeared at the wicket, and demanded his name
 
 140 MY LIFE. 
 
 and business. My father answered that he was 
 a loyaHst, and his business was private and 
 momentous. " I suspect, notwithstanding,*"' 
 repHed the Scotchman, " that ye stand a poor 
 chance of seeing the generals to-night ; they 
 dinna much Hke to talk with strangers over 
 their wine : but 1 11 go see."" 
 
 After an absence of some minutes, " the 
 Highland ancient" reappeared with a peremptory 
 refusal. " The generals," he said, " would na be 
 disturbed ; it was na time, they said, to fash 
 them wi' business — it would be time eneugh to- 
 morrow." But the traveller was not to be re- 
 pulsed by one refusal. 
 
 '' The morning will be too late," he said; 
 
 " give that card to General H , and tell 
 
 him I bear important intelligence which may 
 require the promptest consideration." 
 
 A still longer time elapsed than when on his 
 first embassy, before the commander of the 
 guard returned. 
 
 " AlPs right," he said to the sentry ; " Dun- 
 can, open the wee gate : lead in your horse, 
 friend — and I ll conduct ye to the generals."
 
 MY LIFE. 141 
 
 " The generals ! — What, are any here be- 
 sides general H ?'' 
 
 " Aye, troth, are there : gm they be gude 
 as plenty, we will be guy an weel commanded ; 
 and if they strike but half as hard as they 
 drink, the de'il liimseP will na match them for 
 a minute." 
 
 As he spoke, the ma^jor and his conductor 
 reached the building where the commanders 
 were assembled. Loud and tipsy merriment 
 was heard within ; and if Caesar Blake expected 
 to have found the gallant leaders of the king's 
 troops concerting military movements over the 
 midnight lamp, he must have been marvellously 
 disappointed. Passing a sentry at the door, 
 and half a dozen orderlies loitering about the 
 corridor, the ex-major was directed to the end 
 of the hall ; a mess- waiter in attendance opened 
 a door, announced his name, and ushered him 
 into the presence. 
 
 Albeit, though Caesar himself had not been 
 indoctrinated in military tactics at the feet of 
 the most rigid disciplinarian, yet he was shocked 
 and disgusted to witness a very unexpected
 
 142 MY LIFE. 
 
 scene. Thougli the country was in a state of in- 
 surrection, and an invading army within a few 
 hours' march, he found the royahst comman- 
 ders reveUing at the mess-tahle, surrounded by 
 their aids-de-camp and field-officers. There 
 was scarcely an individual at the board who did 
 not betray unequivocal symptoms of inebriety. 
 Two personages were already hors de combat 
 beneath the table — and others so far advanced 
 towards that comfortable condition, as to war- 
 rant a safe conclusion that a similar fate await- 
 ed them. On glancing round the room, my 
 father remarked two or three country gentle- 
 men who commanded yeomanry corps inter- 
 mingled with the regular bacchanalians, and 
 caught the cadaverous scowl of Captain Do- 
 novan furtively directed at himself. GonoUy's 
 intelligence crossed his memory, and he darted a 
 withering look at the husband of the inconstant 
 Harriette ; but the voice of General H re- 
 called his attention from his quondam acquaint- 
 ance. 
 
 " Caesar, noblest of Romans !" — (hiccup) — 
 " take a chair, fill a bumper, and then tell us
 
 MY LIFE. 143 
 
 what the devil drives you here ?" was the sin- 
 gular address. 
 
 " Hearing,'^ replied the major, " of the land- 
 ing at Killala, I deemed it my duty to join his 
 majesty"'s troops as a volunteer, and on my way 
 to head-quarters, accidentally learned some news 
 that appeared sufficiently important to warrant 
 this late and unceremonious intrusion."' 
 
 '' What may the news be ?'' inquired one of 
 the general officers, with a carelessness that half 
 implied derision. 
 
 " Am I to communicate my intelligence 
 here ? Possibly it might suit a smaller au- 
 dience," replied Caesar Blake. 
 
 " All here, sir," returned the commander 
 haughtily, " are the king's officers, or their 
 faithful allies and fellow-soldiers ; we have no 
 secrets from either." 
 
 " Enough, sir," said the traveller ; " my in- 
 telligence simply is, that the French are on 
 their march, and Humbert moving rapidly on 
 the town with all his disposable force." 
 
 " Ha-ha-ha !" roared the generals. " Ha- 
 lia-ha !" repeated the aids-de-camp. " Ha-
 
 144 MY LIFE. 
 
 ha-ha !" re-echoed the captams of the yeo- 
 manry. 
 
 My father's cheek reddened. In a voice 
 where suppressed rage was scarcely concealed, 
 he replied 
 
 "• Were my information valueless, methinks 
 at least it might have been received with that 
 civility which the commvinications of one gen- 
 tleman to another require and obtain. Pray, 
 general, should this intelligence prove correct, 
 would a French movement on the town be an 
 event worth military consideration ?'' 
 
 " Undoubtedly, most gallant Roman, it would 
 surprise us all. But sit down and wash the 
 cobwebs from thy throat" — (for my father still 
 continued standing ;) "we may probably go to 
 look for Humbert, but, believe me, Humbert 
 will not come to look for us. Why, man, our 
 advanced guard would be sufficient to cut him 
 to pieces. Where, my friend, did you learn this 
 idle story .f^'" 
 
 " General H ," said my father, with se- 
 riousness, " you admit it to be of momentous 
 consequence if true : now, from a source which 
 I shall not disclose, but which I pledge a soldier's
 
 MY LIFE. 145 
 
 honour is worthy to be implicitly relied upon, 
 I learned it ; and you are now apprized of what 
 I believe to be a f\ict, and it is for you and these 
 gentlemen to act as you please." 
 
 The decisive tone of the ex-major appeared 
 to create a sensation. 
 
 " And you consider your intelligence authen- 
 tic ?"" enquired General H . 
 
 " Can you doubt it ?" observed General T — , 
 with a sneer. " If report speaks true, none 
 should be better informed of insurrectionary 
 movements than the worthy major.'" 
 
 My father made two strides from the place 
 where he had been standing, and confronted the 
 last speaker. 
 
 " You will please to recollect, sir, that I am 
 no longer subordinate to any, and that I ac- 
 knowledge no superior in this room. I feel 
 your taunt, and am no stranger to the rancorous 
 source from which it emanated. Now, general, I 
 shall briefly tell you what I am — a gentleman of 
 as stainless honour and ancient blood as any that 
 bears the King's commission ; and furthermore, 
 as true and devoted a subject. Does any here 
 question my loyalty ? 'Tis well — T should ha\'c 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 MY LIFE. 
 
 told him to his teeth he hed. I know that at this 
 table sits one villain ; let him follow me outside 
 the gate, and he shall there know how far my 
 hand can defend my honom\ You have now 
 my tidings, gentlemen, such as they be, and to- 
 morrow will tell whether they are false or true. 
 Good night." 
 
 '' Stop, stay, my dear fellow !'' cried General 
 H , " d — n it, man, no oiFence was offer- 
 ed. I like your spirit — (hiccup.) You have 
 been misinformed. But fill a glass — devilish 
 sound claret — (hiccup). Depend upon it that 
 all 's right, and in a day or two you shall have 
 a sight of the blue-coats, unless they have re- 
 embarked already. Come, sit down.'^ 
 
 " Excuse me. General. Farewell, sir,*" he con- 
 tinued, addressing the commanding officer who 
 had so broadly insinuated his disloyalty. " A 
 Avord at parting : when the scoundrel who tra- 
 duced me next tells you that I am disaffected, 
 whisper in his ear, that Caesar Blake holds 
 him to be a cold-blooded, gambling, murderous 
 coward ; and tell him, I would part with this 
 right hand to free the ^vorld from such a mis- 
 creant as 1 believe him to be ! Adieu, gentle-
 
 MY LIFE. 147 
 
 men : before to-morrow's noon you will decide 
 whether my intelligence was fabrication, and 
 whether you should have noticed the warning 
 you have received." 
 
 So saying, he flung himself from the mess- 
 room, leaving the bacchanalian group in great 
 confusion and uncertainty. But this indecision 
 lasted but for a moment, and the ex-major's alarm 
 vanished with the next cooper. Daylight broke 
 upon them ere they separated, as, with few 
 exceptions, they were respectively carried to 
 their quarters by the orderlies in waiting. 
 
 When my father reached the gate, he found 
 the subaltern waiting his return. His horse 
 was standing at the guard-house door, covered 
 with a watch-coat, and a highlander hand-rub- 
 bing him carefully. 
 
 " He 's a bra' beast," said the commander of 
 the gate, " an' it would be a pity to neglect 
 him. I feared he might tak' cauld, so I threw 
 a coat about him. I did anither job too ; one 
 o' yeir pistels wanted loadin', so I took the 
 leeburty of tightening the flint and sticking 
 in a cartridge. Here, man, tak' a di-ap — it 's 
 right Nantz — better brandy niver to^^ped a 
 H 2
 
 148 MY LIFE. 
 
 tongue : 'twill do ye gncle, for the dew is rising 
 
 heavy."'"' 
 
 The kindness of the Scotch soldier struck my 
 father forcibly. 
 
 " Thank you, comrade,'' he said ; " possibly 
 after to-morrow, you and I shall be better ac- 
 quainted. This is my address ;" and he handed 
 him a card. 
 
 The Scotch ancient applied the address to 
 a guard-room lantern, and with slow and pre- 
 cise intonation pronounced, " Maajor Caesar 
 Blake;" then lifting his eyes slowly he said 
 in an under-voice, " Ha'e ye any news, maa- 
 jor ?" 
 
 "None," said the traveller, as he tightened his 
 girths, and led his horse through the wicket. 
 " But," and he laid his lips to the Highlander's 
 ear, " before six hours you may have an unex- 
 pected visiter, and, I fear, but a drunken re- 
 ception to welcome him with." 
 
 Donald paused, and scratched his head ; " I 
 ken it a'," he muttered ; " aye, troth, it 's like 
 eneugh ; I feared as much before it :" and he 
 wrung my father's, hand and they parted. 
 
 When the major rode from the gate, he
 
 MY LIFE. 149 
 
 began to consider where he was to seek a 
 lodgmg. Two o'clock pealed from the jail 
 clock, and he remembered that every inn and 
 public-house was filled to the very garrets, 
 while private residences were crowded with 
 numbers of refugees, who flocked for safety 
 from the adjacent country. In this difficulty 
 he recollected that a female relative still re- 
 mained at home, and occupied her mansion, 
 while others, less exposed, had been abandon- 
 ed ; and as his horse was untired, he decided 
 upon riding out to his kinswoman's, rather than 
 institute, at this early hour of the morning, 
 a tedious, and perhaps bootless research after 
 a bed and stable. Accordingly, as he had been 
 furni«hed with the parole and countersign by 
 his Highland friend, the traveller found no difli- 
 culty in passing a few straggling videttes, and 
 in less than an hour, drew bridle before his 
 kinswoman's door. 
 
 The late summons of the ex-major occasion- 
 ed considerable alarm, and he was reconnoitred 
 from divers spy-holes, until his identity Avas 
 satisfactorily ascertained. Then was he freely 
 admitted ; his horse stabled, fed, littered, and
 
 150 MY LIFE. 
 
 left to his repose ; while the master, in due 
 honour, was welcomed by his fair relative, and 
 found a supper waiting for him, that after 
 his long ride was highly acceptable. 
 
 When the traveller had sufficiently refreshed 
 himself, his hostess urged him to retire, and en- 
 deavour to procure a little sleep ; but the morn- 
 ing sun was streaming through the curtains 
 of the room, and my father preferred to lay 
 down without undressing for an hour or two 
 on a sofa. It was well that he so determined. 
 In less than half an hour, a horse at speed 
 entered the court-yard ; the family rapidly col- 
 lected ; and the rider's communication at once 
 assured my father that the French were actual- 
 ly advancing, and by a very different route to 
 that by which they might have been expected. 
 
 The pontoon-road, which skirts the beautiful 
 and picturesque shores of Lough Conn, and 
 connects the towns of Castlebar and Ballina, 
 was not then formed, nor was there a bridge 
 over the confluence of the lakes, the passage 
 being eiFected by means of a bateau or punt, 
 from which the road appears to have derived 
 its name. At that time there were two routes
 
 MY LIFE. 151 
 
 by which Castlebar could be approached from 
 the north. By the left, the lower, or Fox- 
 ford one, afforded an easy line of march to 
 an army with cannon and field equipage. 
 On the right of the lakes, the second com- 
 munication was opened by the old mountain 
 road. But this route was hilly and difficult, 
 and intersected by numerous highland streams, 
 many of which being without bridges, pre- 
 sented fords barely passable by a horseman, 
 but impracticable to every species of carriage. 
 Nearly mid-way, this road cuts the mountain- 
 chain that rises from the shores of the lake, and 
 winds through the romantic pass of Barnagee. 
 Here, for nearly two miles, the line is a suc- 
 cession of defiles, overhung by masses of rock, 
 scarped along the brows of precipices, and every- 
 where commanded by heights which enfilade 
 its entire extent. To transport the materiel of 
 an army along this liiue would be impossible. 
 Hence, the lower road was the only one deem- 
 ed worth the trouble of observation, and be- 
 yond patrolling it for two or three miles with- 
 out the town, the mountain-line was totally 
 neglected.
 
 152 MY LIFE. 
 
 When Humbert decided to march direct on 
 Castlebar, he was well aware of the great 
 disparity of his own force, compared with that 
 of the royalists. He mustered about nine hun- 
 dred infantry, some fifty hussars, with two 
 brass six-pounders; these, from the lightness of 
 their carriages, termed " curricle guns." Upon 
 the guerilla mob that would accompany him, 
 he reckoned little. They were numerous, it is 
 true, and partially clothed and appointed by 
 the republicans ; but, out of the field, they 
 were impatient of control and difficult to or- 
 ganize ; and in it, nothing but an armed 
 rabble. Opposed to him was a regular force 
 of fully three thousand men of all arms, with 
 several hundred irregulars attached, who in 
 discipline might be inferior to troops of the 
 line, but in spirit second to none in the ser- 
 vice. The cavalry were numerous and well- 
 mounted; the artillery highly efficient; while, 
 confident in numbers, fresh, in position, and 
 well aware of the smallness of the force that 
 threatened them, the loyalists had every ad- 
 vantage. They knew that an immense force 
 was marching to their support, and converging
 
 MY LIFE. 153 
 
 on every point whereon it was possible for the 
 French general to operate. The roads were 
 good, the communications open, and the yeo- 
 manry corps perfectly acquainted with the lo- 
 calities of the country, and therefore admirable 
 guides for a commander to depend upon. With 
 such a force opposed, and having these local 
 and contingent advantages, it was a bold and 
 hazardous determination of the French general 
 to become assailant — nothing to rely on but 
 his own abilities, and no resources but in the 
 tried bravery of a handful of veterans. 
 
 Humbert was aware that he must strike 
 an immediate blow, no matter how much the 
 chances of success might be against him. To 
 attempt to organize his rebel allies would have 
 been absurd ; for in a few days an overwhelm- 
 ing force would have been upon him. His 
 only hope therefore was, in making a powerful 
 impression; and to confirm the disaffected, or 
 maintain himself in the country, turned on the 
 success of a prompt and desperate attempt on 
 Castlebar. Accordingly, at midnight, he march- 
 ed from Ballina, by the lower road. This move- 
 ment, as he anticipated, was directly discover- 
 H 5
 
 154 MY LIFE. 
 
 ed, and intelligence despatched to apprize the 
 English generals. To mask his true route, 
 Humbert kept the F oxford line for several 
 miles ; but suddenly wheeling to the right, by 
 a cross road, he turned his face to the hills, 
 and falling into the mountain-path, advanced 
 on Castlebar by the defiles of Barnagee. 
 
 Fortune favours the bold — a single gun, a 
 company of light infantry, could have held him 
 in check, and maintained the pass, until he 
 must have been crushed by superior numbers, 
 or driven back on Ballina ; and the latter, in 
 its consequences, would have been as ruinous 
 as the former. 
 
 It was a singular chance, that my father was 
 fated to bring confirmation of the tidings which, 
 a few hours before, had been so unceremoni- 
 ously declared unworthy of belief. The house 
 of his relative was situated at the bottom of 
 the hill through which the pass of Barnagee 
 winds, and, from its remote locahty, had not 
 been deserted by the occupants, as other man- 
 sions were, on the first intelligence of a French 
 descent. A servant had, on the preceding 
 evening, been despatched to see that the cattle
 
 MY LIFE. 155 
 
 on a distant farm were in safety. On his re- 
 turn with the first light, he observed from a high 
 ground, the arms of the advancing troops ght- 
 tering in the earHest sunbeams that topped the 
 summit of the hills. Without stopping to ob- 
 serve their numbers or appearance, he spurred 
 on to give his mistress notice, and thus enable 
 her to reach the garrison of Castlebar ; and a 
 more unexpected and alarming messenger never 
 disturbed a household than honest Bryan, when 
 he announced that " the French, horse and 
 foot, were at his heels at Barnagee." 
 
 My father promptly mounted his horse, and 
 rode oif to ascertain the fact : none of the do- 
 mestics had any fancy to lessen the distance 
 between themselves and the invaders, and the 
 gallant major made his reconnaissance alone. 
 
 He rode rapidly to the pass : not a human 
 being was visible, and the country was more 
 quiet even than on ordinary occasions ; but 
 when he gained the crown of the defile, a 
 large body of men in blue uniforms, was seen 
 moving rapidly on in close column. 
 
 It was quite apparent to the practised eye of 
 a soldier, that the regulars were accompanied by
 
 156 MY LIFE. 
 
 a large insurgent mob, and it was difficult to 
 say what part of these allies appeared the most 
 contemptible. The clownish and unsoldierly 
 look of those whom the invaders had clothed, 
 was most ridiculous, and contrasted with the 
 villanous and banditti character, that cross-belts 
 over frieze jackets gave to the remainder of the 
 rabble. 
 
 Caesar Blake pressed forward, and gained a 
 height that commanded an uninterrupted view. 
 At the bottom of this hill a mountain-torrent 
 had formed a deep ravine across the road, and 
 the soldier suspected, that Humbert would find 
 no inconsiderable difficulty in transporting his 
 cannon over this formidable chasm ; nor was 
 he wrong. After a considerable delay, he saw 
 one gun extricated by immense exertion, but the 
 carriage of the other broke down : every attempt 
 to disengage it was useless, and the impatient 
 Frenchman spiked and abandoned it, and con- 
 tinued his march with but a solitary six-pounder. 
 
 The reconnaissance of my father had been 
 noticed, and some well-mounted men detached 
 from the main body spurred up the hill ; but 
 as Caesar had already ascertained correctly the
 
 MY LIFE. 157 
 
 number and description of the French force, 
 he had nothing more to learn, and rode off to 
 announce the veritable march of Humbert. 
 
 His horse, in fine condition and sufficiently 
 rested, carried him forward at a slapping pace ; 
 and within six hours, as he had prophesied, 
 from the period of his first visit, he re-entered 
 the barrack-gates of Castlebar, to herald the 
 rapid advance of the small but formidable corps.
 
 158 MY LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE ROUT OF CASTLEBAR. 
 
 And there was mounting in hot haste ; the steed, 
 
 The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, 
 Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, 
 
 And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; 
 And the deep thunder, peal on peal afar ; 
 
 And near, the beat of the alarming drum 
 Roused up the soldier ere the morning star ; 
 
 While thronged the citizens, with terror dumb. 
 Whispering with white lips — " The foe ! they come ! they 
 come!" Childe Harold. 
 
 " Long life to yee'r noble honor ! May ye live all yee'r 
 days, an' nobody kill ye !" exclaimed an old beggar-wo- 
 man, as she trotted down Sackville-street after General , 
 
 who was reckoned no hero. " Am'int I bound night an' 
 day to pray for ye, since ye saved my son's life at Castle- 
 bar V — " / save him ? I forget the circumstance." — " Ogh, 
 but yee'r mimrie 's bad, an' more the pity. Why, Ginirel, 
 
 you ran first, and Pat ran after you V 
 
 Joe Miller. 
 
 Two hours after my father had left the 
 British generals in full carouse, a yeoman 
 brought certain intelligence of Humberfs mid- 
 night march. He had seen him advancing by
 
 MY LIFE. 159 
 
 the lower road, and of course concluded that 
 his approach would he hy Foxford. Roused 
 from their drunken slumhers, the commanders 
 would scarcely credit the account given by the 
 loyalist ; but my father's conviction of the accu- 
 racy of his own information tallied with the 
 yeoman''s news, and at last they condescended 
 to believe it possible, that the French were ac- 
 tually on their march to attack the town. A 
 body of carbineers and light cavalry were hur- 
 riedly despatched upon the lower road, to ob- 
 serve the expected enemy, while the drums 
 beat, and the troops got under arms. 
 
 The scene which the barrack-yard present- 
 ed was not flattering to the military character 
 of the commanders ; there was a general con- 
 fusion everywhere apparent — an absence of re- 
 gularity — almost a panic, that would have dis- 
 graced a brigade of yeomanry. To judge from 
 the hurried preparations, one would have ima- 
 gined that an overwhelming force threatened the 
 garrison with destruction, nor ever dreamed that 
 those symptoms of alarm, were occasioned by the 
 advance of an enemy so numerically and physi- 
 cally inferior. But my father was not permitted
 
 160 MY LIFE. 
 
 to make further observations. An aid-de-camp 
 summoned him to the room where the generals 
 were assembled ; and there he found them in 
 council, with their respective staifs, and the offi- 
 cers commanding the artillery and cavalry. 
 
 It was quite evident that all were in a differ- 
 ent mood, to that in which he found them on 
 his former visit ; they were under feelings, in 
 which self-reproach and some alarm might be 
 detected by an acute observer. Never were 
 men worse prepared for calm but determined 
 action ; nervous, irritable, and suffering from 
 the effects of recent debauch, they could form 
 no decisive plan, or issue an intelligible order. 
 
 "Your information was correct. Major Blake," 
 
 said General H , as he offered his hand to 
 
 my father. 
 
 " Had I not been well assured of its accuracy, 
 believe me, sir, I should have been sorry to 
 disturb you so unseasonably as I did," was the 
 reply ; "I only have to regret, that my intelli- 
 gence was not considered last night as import- 
 ant as it proves to be this morning." 
 
 " I really cannot yet discover its momentous 
 importance," observed General T , with a
 
 MY LIFE. 161 
 
 sneer ; " the gallant major ap23rized us of what 
 it was jH-obable Humbert might do, but a 
 worthy yeoman has told us what he has ac- 
 tually done.'" My father bowed coldly, while 
 the commander proceeded : — " From his satis- 
 factory report, we have made the necessary 
 arrangements. It is idle to waste more words, 
 and the sooner we move the better. We are 
 perfectly agreed as to our position, General 
 H ?^^ 
 
 " Oh, certainly." 
 
 " Might I, without being guilty of presump- 
 tion, enquire where you intend to oppose the 
 
 enemy ?"' said my father to General H , 
 
 who seemed anxious to make reparation, for 
 the scepticism with which he had received his 
 tidings on the late visit. 
 
 '' I cannot consent," replied General T , 
 
 " that time should be wasted, while the curiosity 
 of every private gentleman shall be gratified, 
 who expresses a wish to canvass our intended 
 oj)erations." 
 
 My father coloured, and to the astonishment 
 of all, sarcastically replied, — " It may be true 
 that my apparent curiosity merits the rebukes,
 
 162 MY LIFE. 
 
 which on more than one occasion, I have re- 
 ceived from the gallant general. But, as I sus- 
 pect that I shall change every part of his very 
 able arrangements, I must take the liberty of 
 repeating the question. I hope for an answer 
 
 from General H . To him, and none other, 
 
 do I address myself, and from him alone will I 
 expect a reply. Is yonder gentleman your in- 
 formant ? "' and he pointed to a yeoman in at- 
 tendance. 
 
 The general answered in the affirmative, 
 while the aids-de-camp and field-officers closed 
 round, to witness the result of what appeared a 
 very singular scene. 
 
 " May I ask you, sir," said Caesar Blake, as 
 he addressed the loyalist, " when you last saw 
 Humbert, and where you conceive he may be 
 now ?" 
 
 " I saw his advanced cavalry at the two- 
 mile-stone, on the Foxford road, and," as he 
 looked at his watch, " he may now be within 
 five or six miles of Castlebar." 
 
 " You are pretty correct," said the ex-major. 
 A sneer crossed the features of General T — . 
 " And on what road is he advancing ?"
 
 MY LIFE. 163 
 
 " T^TAa^ roac? r' returned the yeoman with a 
 stare; "what, but the Foxford one ? Would 
 you have him swim up the lakes, or fly over 
 the mountains ?^' General T laughed hearti- 
 ly at the brusque reply, in which his staff, as in 
 duty bound, united. 
 
 But Caesar Blake abridged this merriment. 
 " General H ,"' he said, " I must bear tes- 
 timony to the truth of this gentleman's state- 
 ment. I have no doubt whatever that he saw 
 the French a la distance^ and at the second 
 mile-stone too ; and, moreover, he has guessed 
 their present distance with amazing accuracy. 
 But as to where they are, he knows about as 
 much as the gallant general who is so tickled 
 with his humour.'^ 
 
 All started. " And in the devil's name where 
 
 are they F" exclaimed General H ; while 
 
 the countenances of the military conclave ex- 
 pressed unqualified astonishment. 
 
 " They are moving by the mountain-road, 
 and over the pass of Barnagee ; unless they met 
 more difficulties than I can anticipate." 
 
 " H — 11 and fury !" roared General H , 
 
 *' we have sent our cavalry on the wrong road.
 
 16tt MY LIFE. 
 
 Off, Phillips,'' to an aid-de-camp, " ride for your 
 life aud recall them. My dear fellow, you are 
 fated to be our guardian angel. Give us the 
 particulars.'' 
 
 " Willingly, sir. But the sooner your in- 
 fantry commence moving, the better. I never 
 saw faster marchers than the blue-coats. Of 
 course you will meet them outside the town ?" 
 
 '' Assuredly. Go," to an aid-de-camp, '' see 
 the troops marched off without delay. And 
 now tlie detail." 
 
 " When I left the barrack this morning," 
 continued the ex-major, " I found that to obtain 
 accommodation in the town would be impos- 
 sible, and rode out to the house of Carrow 
 Keel. A herdsman, who had been despatched 
 on the preceding evening to ascertain the se- 
 curity of cattle on a distant farm, observed the 
 French advance from a high ground, and gave 
 the alarm. I rode otfto reconnoitre and satisfy 
 myself whether his report was correct or not. 
 From the summit of Barnagee, I saw the enemy 
 advancing, and waited there to ascertain their 
 force. The ravine at the bottom of the hill 
 checked the movement of the column. Their can-
 
 MY LIFE. 165 
 
 lion stuck fast, and after mnch labonr and delay, 
 they only succeeded in bringing one gun across, 
 and the other was abandoned. They are about 
 a thousand infantry, a troop of hussars, with 
 one curricle gun. And now, gentlemen, you 
 have my news." 
 
 " By heaven, you astonish me !'''' exclaimed 
 
 General H passionately; " let us mount and 
 
 be doing. Blake, we owe you much." 
 
 " You owe me nothing, sir," said the ex- 
 major haughtily. " I was once the King's 
 soldier, and, however his worthy generals may 
 deem proper to suspect my fidelity, had I one 
 drop of rebel blood within my veins, I would 
 shed it with as great satisfaction as that of any 
 man," and my father's eye turned on General 
 
 T , " no matter what his rank might be, 
 
 who for a moment dared to question my devoted 
 loyalty." 
 
 " Come, come, my dear friend," said General 
 
 H , interrupting him, " sincerely I ask your 
 
 pardon, for not treating your intelligence as it 
 well merited. You shall act as my extra aid- 
 de-camp." 
 
 " Excuse me, general ; I once held the King's
 
 166 MY LIFE. 
 
 commission, and, if I keep my present senti- 
 ments, I shall never again subject myself to the 
 insult I once received, in being obliged to retire 
 on a flimsy pretext. I shall, notwithstanding, 
 do my duty, and serve as a volunteer, until the 
 issue of this day is over. Here is my friend, 
 Captain Shortall ; he may require a well-mounted 
 messenger, and I shall attach myself to him." 
 
 " Just as you please, sir," replied General 
 
 H , in turn oiFended at my father's rejection 
 
 of acting on his staff. All left the room to ac- 
 company the troops, who were filing quickly off, 
 and marching on the Gap road. 
 
 Caesar Blake was speedily alongside the com- 
 mandant of artillery. 
 
 " A pretty piece of work these twaddlers 
 have made of it !" said Captain Shortall ; " but 
 for your arrival we should have been in full 
 march for F oxford, and politely vacated this 
 good town for the peaceable occupation of 
 Monsieur Humbert. By heaven ! Blake, it is 
 too bad, that fellows are entrusted with com- 
 mands, who are as incompetent to perform their 
 duties as yonder drum-boy. And that sulky 
 ass T , how heartily J. enjoyed his mortifi-
 
 MY LIFE. 167 
 
 cation ! Would yoii believe it, he had the 
 assurance yesterday, to point out some ima- 
 ginary defect in the limbers of my guns ! A 
 fellow that scarcely knows a cascabal from a 
 cartouch-box. Are the French so few, and 
 have they but a single field-piece ?" 
 
 " I measured them with my eye," returned 
 Caesar Blake, " while they marched more than 
 a mile ; they were in column, and I have 
 seen a strong regiment cover more ground. 
 They had but two guns ; one of them they 
 abandoned in a gully, for I saw them attach 
 the horses to the limber of that they dis- 
 engaged, and with this assistance carry it over 
 the pass." 
 
 " We should annihilate them — "said Shortall ; 
 " and yet, Blake, I have a strange misgiving as 
 to the result. Look at the Longfords there," 
 and he pointed out a militia-regiment marching 
 immediately in the rear of the guns. " How 
 sulky the scoundrels look ! Were they well- 
 afFected, they would go into action with other 
 countenances. I trust I may be wrong, but I 
 fear a disastrous issue from drunken generals 
 and disaffected soldiers. But here, as it would
 
 168 MY LIFE. 
 
 appear, is to be our position ;" as the leading 
 regiments deployed to the left off the road, 
 adjacent to the village of Roebawn. " Every 
 man to his own trade,'' continued the captain 
 of artillery. "Ay, let me see'' — and he laid a te- 
 lescope to his eye. " Fifty yards farther, the 
 guns will have yonder height, which the road 
 crosses, within good round-shot range" — and 
 Shortall unlimbered and prepared for action. 
 
 The position taken up was badly chosen, 
 and worse defended. Part of the infantry were 
 injudiciously extended, and another was crowd- 
 ed together, and from want of sj)ace, unable to 
 deploy. The extreme left was the weakest 
 point, as in front and flank the ground was 
 covered with rocks and thickets, which would 
 favour an enemy's advance, unless occupied with 
 light infantry and sharpshooters. Here, by 
 a singular stupidity, two raw Irish regiments 
 were placed in line, where an able officer would 
 have posted the best troops he could rely upon. 
 As the cavalry came up, they were stationed in 
 the rear of the right and centre ; but from the 
 nature of the ground they remained non-com- 
 batants.
 
 MY LIFE. 169 
 
 The whole front of the position was broken 
 rocky, and difficult, and no place could have 
 been better chosen for the operations of irregu- 
 lar troops. A numerous body of yeomanry and 
 gentlemen volunteers had attached themselves 
 to the garrison of Castlebar. They were ca- 
 pital marksmen, bold, hardy, and enthusiastic, 
 and admirably adapted for every purpose of 
 guerilla warfare ; while in line, from want of 
 discipline, they could be of little service. With 
 these skirmishers, the generals might have thick- 
 ly covered their front and flank. But this ad- 
 vantage was overlooked ; and the two arms, in 
 which they were most powerful, and their as- 
 sailant miserably deficient, — cavalry and sharp- 
 shooters, were never employed. 
 
 How truly the drama of life may be termed 
 serio-comic, and how often do the most ridi- 
 culous events interrupt its gravest business ! 
 The dispositions of the English commandant 
 had been just completed, when, over the rising 
 ground, in front of the guns, a man in a sort 
 of hussar jacket, was seen careering at full 
 speed. His appearance at first was so equi- 
 vocal, that a score of muskets were levelled, 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 MY LIFE. 
 
 before he was recognized to be a member of 
 a corps of mounted yeomanry. His dress and 
 hurry bespoke mortal terror; his belts were 
 crossed on the wrong side, and reversing the 
 usual mode of putting a helmet on, he had 
 placed the peak behind, apparently to protect 
 his rear. His o^vn alarm had extended to the 
 steed, who was running his best, while every 
 bound of the horseman's scabbard urged him 
 to increased velocity. On he came, as if deter- 
 mined to charge the guns, till, fortunately, when 
 within twenty yards, an open field-gate allowed 
 the steed to bolt, which he did so suddenly, as 
 to tilt the rider into a deep ditch. The fall, 
 however, was so cleverly accomplished, that 
 this brave auxiliary received no personal da- 
 mage. " Murder ! Murder !''' he ejaculated as 
 he gathered himself up, " it 's a wonder they 
 did not catch me ; there ""s twenty thousand of 
 them at the bottom of the brae !'' 
 
 The information of the unlucky chasseur 
 only elicited a roar of laughter ; and the holy 
 warrior — for he was a churchman — bustled to 
 the rear as fast as his own portliness and want 
 of wind would permit.
 
 MY LIFE. 171 
 
 At this moment another horseman crossed 
 the ridge, and rode rapidly down the road. 
 " This looks more like business," said Shortall 
 to my father ; as the vidette came on at a long 
 trot, and announced the immediate approach of 
 the enemy. 
 
 A dead silence was observed — five minutes 
 passed — suddenly the bear-skin caps of the 
 French grenadiers rose over the ridge of the 
 hill, and the head of the column, filling the 
 whole breadth of the road, displayed itself ! 
 
 The guns had been carefully laid, and Short- 
 all threw his eye along the right-hand piece 
 — " Fire !" he said deliberately — the gun 
 flashed — its sullen boom was repeated by the 
 mountain echoes, as its round-shot pitched 
 with beautiful precision directly into the co- 
 lumn, knocking over half a dozen files. In- 
 stantly the French fell back over the shelter 
 of the hill to re-form. Short was the respite. 
 The bear-skin caps crossed the ridge again, and 
 again the roar of the gun was heard, and the 
 same effect obliged the column to retire. 
 
 Humbert, when he was a second time repuls- 
 ed, covering the French with a body of insur- 
 I 2
 
 172 MY LIFE. 
 
 gents in blue uniforms, pushed them forward, 
 under the leading of a favourite aid-de-camp. 
 The column again appeared, and a third shot 
 falling upon the road, raised a cloud of dust, 
 and in its ricochet^ ploughed through the dense 
 mass. This was the most fatal discharge ; the 
 rebels broke, ran off tumultuously, and the 
 French fell back to re-form. 
 
 Three rounds of a six-pounder had half 
 defeated Humbert, and the battle was nearly 
 won. When the French general had first seen 
 the troops before him, he would have fallen 
 l)ack upon the pass, but retreat with him was 
 ruin. Desperate as his chances were, he deter- 
 mined, at last, to make a movement or two 
 before surrender, and sustain the high character 
 he had acquired in the campaign of Italy. 
 When he decided on making an effort, the 
 beautiful service of the British guns astounded 
 him ; his column, arrested by the cannonade, 
 could not even cross the heights : to move 
 down the road, under the fire of these guns, 
 would be hazardous in the extreme ; and in 
 close column too, if round-shot distance was 
 destructive, what might not be dreaded when 
 within range of grape and canister ? As
 
 MY LIFE. 173 
 
 a last effort, he changed his intended attack 
 altogether; withdrew his column, replaced it 
 with a mob of rebel auxiliaries ; and directing 
 one of his staff to lead the luckless rabble on, 
 and thus draw upon them the fire of the guns, 
 under cover of the ditches, he made a rapid 
 flank movement, which his extended order of 
 attack, and the advance of the insurgent mob 
 protected from the artillery, which he had al- 
 ready found so formidable. 
 
 At this moment a singular panic seized, or 
 appeared to seize, the suspected regiments, who 
 held the left of the position. They opened their 
 fire at a distance when it was totally inefficient ; 
 alarm or disaffection could only cause this strange 
 proceeding ; Humbert guessed the true cause, 
 and seized upon that only chance of victory. 
 
 Pushing on his voltigeurs at double-quick, he 
 gained the broken gi'ound on the left of the 
 Longford regiment, and succeeded in outflank- 
 ing it. Then the fortune of the day turned, 
 and a scene, never, thank God ! witnessed be- 
 fore or since ensued. The Longfords, with- 
 out discharging a musket, threw down their 
 firelocks, and went over by companies to tlie 
 French. The Kerry, next on their right, fol-
 
 174 MY LIFE. 
 
 lowed the example, and a general panic spread 
 through the whole Ime. Then it was that the 
 wretched imbeciles in command were found 
 wanting : enough of well-affected troops re- 
 mained to have remedied the disorder, and 
 redeemed the day ; but from actual incompe- 
 tence, the generals could not rally and re-form 
 them. A retreat was hastily commanded ; and 
 disgraceful as the order was, it was tenfold 
 aggravated in the execution. The cavalry, who 
 had neither drawn a sword, nor discharged a 
 carbine, instead of retiring leisurely on the 
 town, went off at full trot, disorganizing by 
 their reckless haste a regiment in reserve 
 behind them. The retreat, or, correctly speak- 
 ing, the rout, became universal ; and General 
 
 was seen among the foremost files of the 
 
 flying horsemen. 
 
 Meantime my father and the commandant of 
 the artillery could scarcely believe their senses. 
 A few muskets had been discharged, hardly a 
 man was hit, and the army was deserting the 
 field pellmell. Shortall had held the road 
 against every attempt which the French or 
 their allies had made to advance upon it, and
 
 MY LIFE. 175 
 
 when he noticed the flanking movement, turn- 
 ed his fire upon the left of the enemy ; but, 
 seeing the infantry give way, and deserted by 
 the dragoons altogether, he had no alternative 
 left but to retire the guns, or lose them. 
 
 " Limber-up, lads I" he said, " and be 
 moving;" and as the drivers attached the 
 horses, the rebels on the hill, observing the 
 artillery preparing to retreat, poured across 
 the ridge in hundreds. But their tumultuary 
 advance was as promptly interrupted. Shortall 
 unlimbered in a second, and opened with grape 
 upon the rabble ; the shot laned the road, and 
 the insurgents, terror-stricken, threw themselves 
 across the ditches, or fled for shelter behind 
 the hill. To the troops, disorganized as they 
 were, a mob-attack might have been ruinous ; 
 but this severe check gave the rear regiment a 
 little time, and enabled it to disengage itself. 
 
 " Pretty aflair this, Blake,"' said he of the 
 artillery : "no wonder my heart was heavy 
 this morning ; and yet, God knows ! I little an- 
 ticipated the fulness of our disgrace. Curse on 
 all fools ! give me the Highlanders and yeo- 
 manry, my own guns, a fair field, and no ge-
 
 |76 MY LIFE. 
 
 neral, and I would suffer myself to be blown 
 from a six-pounder, if we did not beat those 
 few French and the horde of banditti that run 
 after them. I hope old Cornwallis, when he 
 does arrive, if that event ever happen, will 
 hang up cowards and rebels indiscriminately. 
 I know at which end he should begin : it is no 
 treason, I hope, to speak of one's superior offi- 
 cer after he has fairly run away.'** 
 
 At this moment an aid-de-camp rode up. 
 
 " Pray, Captain Shortall, can you tell me 
 
 where General is, or where I am most 
 
 likely to fall in with him V 
 
 " As to where he is," replied Shortall dryly, 
 " much, I imagine, depends upon the speed 
 and endurance of his horse. Where he will be 
 found, is a puzzler ; I would recommend you 
 to try Athlone." 
 
 " Athlone ! why, ifs eighty miles off." 
 
 " And yet, notwithstanding the distance," 
 continued the captain, " I shrewdly suspect, 
 judging from the haste with which he started, 
 he will hardly stop short of that city." 
 
 " Well," said the aid-de-camp, " it 's rather
 
 MY LIFE. 177 
 
 too far for a morning ride, and I shall content 
 myself with the intelligence of his safety." 
 
 " Safe he is," said the commandant of ar- 
 tillery, *' from all casualties, save and except 
 those attendant on rough riding and ill-stuiFed 
 saddles. But, pray, what is to be done ? — and 
 are we to run too ? — for the order of the day 
 appears to be ' devil take the hindmost V " 
 
 " It is a deadly shame," observed a yeoman, 
 " to give up the town, when, with a few troops, 
 we could defend it. Could we hold it. Captain 
 Shortall, think you, until the generals will rally 
 some of the runaways ?" 
 
 " We should in that case, I imagine, hold it 
 to eternity. But we have some honest fellows 
 about us, that appear not to quite relish this 
 new trick of running." 
 
 " Let us then," said my father, " make good 
 the bridge, and depend on some chance sham- 
 ing these refugees to return." 
 
 " Be it so," said Shortall, as he halted on tlie 
 
 bridge, and unlimbered his cannon, while a few 
 
 of the Frazer fencibles imd Donnegals, with some 
 
 dozen gentlemen volunteers, who remarked the 
 
 I 3
 
 178 MY LIFE. 
 
 beautiful service of the artillery, and stuck to it 
 as a last hope, took post beside the guns. 
 
 " Come, Caesar, this is our position for a 
 while ; and if the rascals come on stoutly, we'll 
 make some of them pay toll before they cross 
 the river."" 
 
 Nearly all the troops had cleared the town 
 before this remnant of the royalists occupied the 
 bridge. A few stragglers still came past ; but 
 none of them, with one or two exceptions, 
 stopped with the defenders of Castlebar. The 
 last of the refugees ran over, as on the crest of 
 the lofty suburb called Staball, the foremost of 
 the rebels appeared in full pursuit ; but one 
 round of grape was sufficient to stop them. In- 
 stantly they abandoned the open streets, and 
 endeavoured to penetrate by lanes and by- 
 ways, which would shelter them from the ar- 
 tillery. 
 
 " They have not forgotten the lesson we 
 taught them before the rout,**' said the com- 
 mandant of the guns, as he remarked the cau- 
 tion of the rebel advance. " Is the river 
 equally shallow all round the town ?''''
 
 MY LIFE. 179 
 
 " It is fordable everywhere," replied a private 
 yeoman. 
 
 " Then our stay here will be but a short 
 one," was the remark ; and the words were 
 indeed soon reaHzed. 
 
 A few hussars showed for a moment on the 
 height, and Shortall had just got a gun to bear 
 upon them, when from either side, from yards, 
 houses, and lanes, a close and well-sustained 
 fusilade commenced. Two or three matrosses 
 and Frazers dropped, and it was evident that 
 the enemy were in full possession of the suburb. 
 In vain the royalists returned the fire briskly, 
 and the guns, sweeping the heights in front, 
 prevented a Frenchman from advancing ; but, 
 under shelter of the houses, the insurgents suf- 
 fered little loss, while the defenders of the 
 bridge were falling momentarily. 
 
 " This will not last," said Shortall to his 
 companion ; " all hope of support is over : 
 what is to be done ?" 
 
 " Retreat* instantly !" exclaimed the major, 
 as he pointed to a body of rebels fording the 
 river below and above the bridge simulta-
 
 180 MY LIFE. 
 
 neously, while two or three dropping shots 
 were heard directly from the street behind 
 them. " They have got through the gardens, 
 and are already in our rear. Limber-up, or the 
 guns are lost !" 
 
 And so it was fated. Orders were promptly 
 issued and obeyed, and the horses were being 
 attached, when a small party of French cavalry 
 approaching by a cross street, galloped sud- 
 denly out in front of the cannon. 
 
 " Stand fast, lads !" exclaimed my father : 
 ." give them a parting round !" 
 
 But while he spoke, a body of insurgents, 
 who, under cover of a garden-wall, had crept 
 forward unperceived, threw open a gate beside 
 the bridge, and mixed pellmell with the royal- 
 ists. A short and bloody contest succeeded ; 
 the drivers in the melee were knocked from 
 their saddles ; and the horses, pricked with pikes 
 and bayonets, became ungovernable, and went 
 oif at speed. The g-uns were lost, but Shortall 
 endeavoured to spike them — the few royalists 
 were forced by numbers over the bridge — and 
 the brave commander hemmed in on every side. 
 
 My father, who till now had remained on
 
 MY LIFE. 181 
 
 foot, sprang on his horse, which he had secured 
 in a gateway out of the hue of fire. He saw his 
 brave associate, with a few P^razers and artil- 
 lerymen, making a fierce resistance, and re- 
 solved to try and bring him oiF. Dashing the 
 spurs in his charger, and overturning one or two 
 of the assailants, he reached him for a second ; 
 but he was already down, and received his 
 death- wound under the cannon that he had so 
 nobly defended. Save he could not ; but Cae- 
 sar Blake avenged him. One ruflHan, more re- 
 markable than the rest for his size and ferocity, 
 after giving the falLn ofl[icer a mortal stab, shor- 
 tened his weapon to repeat the thrust. His hat 
 had been struck off in the fray, and he was stoop- 
 ing under my father^s sword-arm. With one 
 sweeping cut, the sabre fell upon the rufiian's 
 naked skull, and he fell a dead man on the 
 lifeless body of his victim. Instantly reining 
 round, the major forced his passage through 
 the crowd, and galloped down the street, leav- 
 ing the hard-contested bridge in possession of 
 the enemy. 
 
 The town was filling fast from every side with 
 rebels, and my father's escape was indeed mi-
 
 182 MY LIFE. 
 
 raculous, as several stragglers fired at him from 
 the houses as he rode off. 
 
 And yet this disgraceful day was not with- 
 out its examples of individual heroism. When 
 Caesar Blake looked back, the whole suburb was 
 filled with blue uniforms and frieze coats. The 
 street before him was tolerably clear, except- 
 ing that part immediately in front of the jail, 
 where a score or two of rebels were endeavour- 
 ing to break in ; and where, to judge from a 
 spattering fire, they had met with some ef- 
 fective opposition. My father, galloping up, 
 alarmed the mob, who retired into an adjoin- 
 ing lane ; and he then ascertained that the 
 unequal contest had lain between the rebels 
 and a solitary Frazer fencible. The latter had 
 been sentinel at the prison-gate, and, favoured 
 by the high steps and iron palisades, had de- 
 fended his post most gallantly, and, as a couple 
 of dead rebels told, not without effect. 
 
 '' Come away, my brave fellow — resistance is 
 madness — the town is all their own. Jump up 
 behind me !'' exclaimed the royalist. 
 
 " Na, sir," coolly returned the Highlander, 
 '' I munna lave my post."'
 
 MY LIFE. 183 
 
 There was no time allowed for further par- 
 ley. Short as the delay was, it nearly proved 
 fatal to my father, as the rebels, in increased 
 force, rushed from the lane, and again assailed 
 the prison. One drunken scoundrel, seizing the 
 major's bridle, clung to his horse with such des- 
 perate tenacity, as nearly to bring him to his 
 knees, and in another moment he would have 
 been surrounded. Fortunately, the rider had 
 reserved a loaded pistol : quickly, but coolly, 
 he pressed the muzzle against the ruffian's 
 head ; the discharge blew it almost to atoms ; 
 and the horse, liberated from the dead man's 
 grasp, sprang across the body, and bore the 
 royalist away at speed. 
 
 My father looked behind him ; the mob were 
 now within the palisades : next moment the sen- 
 try-box was hurled down the steps, and a score 
 of sanguinary insurgents appeared pushing with 
 pikes and muskets at some prostrate object. 
 Caesar Blake easily conjectured that the victim 
 of the rabble, was the gallant and devoted 
 Highlander.
 
 184 MY LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A SKIRMISH. — THE RETURN. 
 
 Juan, by some strange chance, which oft divides 
 Warrior from warrior in their grim career, 
 
 Like chastest wives from constant husbands' sides, 
 Just at the close of the first bridal year, 
 
 By one of those old turns of Fortune's tides, 
 Was on a sudden rather puzzled here, 
 
 When, after a good deal of heavy firing. 
 
 He found himself alone, and friends retiring. 
 ****** 
 'Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark 
 Our coming, and look brighter when we come. 
 
 Don Juan. 
 
 When my father cleared the town, he 
 found himself upon the same road by which 
 the great mass of the fugitive soldiery had 
 retired. Certain indications of a recent de- 
 feat were everywhere visible ; broken carri- 
 ages, scattered anns, disabled horses, and de-
 
 MY LIFE. 185 
 
 serted baggage, proclaimed a routed, and not 
 a retreating army. Amid all this abandon- 
 ed materiel^ not a wounded man was to be 
 seen. In fact, little loss had been sustained 
 by any but the defenders of the bridge, as 
 scarcely a man had fallen, when a disgraceful 
 flight from an unfought field commenced. 
 
 Caesar Blake felt a momentary indecision 
 whither to direct his course. No military 
 obligation bound him, a free agent, to follow 
 the fortunes of a routed army. Any useless 
 display of loyalty was unnecessary — he had 
 done his duty, and the breath of calumny dared 
 not attach to his name the imputation of dis- 
 affection. There were also private, but power- 
 ful calls for his exertions. He had a wife 
 to protect, a household to watch over. His 
 mountain-home, now doubly dear, would, were 
 he absent, be exposed to spoliation by count- 
 less vagabonds, whom the insurgent success 
 would encourage to break loose upon the 
 world. His resolution was promptly taken, 
 and he determined to return to the highlands, 
 and await coming events there. 
 
 Well acquainted with the vicinage, he left
 
 186 MY LIFE. 
 
 the high road, and striking into a by-path, di- 
 rected his route towards the mountains. To 
 cross the country, and avoid the open roads, 
 was desirable, both for safety and expedition. 
 The bogs, generally impassable, even to foot- 
 men, from the long continuance of dry wea- 
 ther had become firm and safe ; his horse, not- 
 withstanding the morning's fatigue, was still 
 untired ; and conjecturing that the victorious 
 rebels would speedily throw themselves on the 
 line of the royalist retreat, in quest of plunder 
 and prisoners, the horseman pushed briskly on 
 to gain a rising gTound, where, removed from 
 all pursuit, he might refresh his horse, and 
 observe what passed for miles around. 
 
 No rider but one intimately acquainted with 
 the localities of the country, would venture to 
 cross the morass that lay between the town 
 and the hillock where Caesar Blake established 
 his temporary bivouac. Though within sight 
 of Castlebar, yet was he in perfect security. 
 A field of corn in stacks covered the crest of 
 the rising ground — here he alighted, and un- 
 bridling his horse, supplied him plentifully with 
 provender ; then, having reloaded his pistols, he
 
 MY LIFE. 187 
 
 stretched himself upon some loose sheaves, and 
 proceeded to refresh himself with a few biscuits, 
 and a well-filled canteen. 
 
 The unusual sultriness of the day rendered 
 repose as necessary for the rider as the steed. 
 A breathing space after the excitement and 
 fatigue, mental and bodily, which my father 
 had endured, was now inexpressibly luxurious ; 
 and while thus reclining on the hillock, he was 
 fated to witness the closing scene of the dis- 
 graceful affair of Castlebar. 
 
 The great road, for many miles, was within 
 his view, and he observed a body of dragoons 
 halted on a height, to watch and report the 
 ulterior movements of the enemy. Presently 
 some straggling rebels issued from the town — 
 larger bodies of these irregulars followed — 
 lastly, a small party of French hussars ap- 
 peared, who, when they perceived the rival 
 cavalry, rode briskly forward, while the dra- 
 goons as slowly retired on their approach. 
 
 The unexpected success of the morning had 
 stimulated the national audacity of the French 
 to a pitch of daring that no military esprit could 
 warrant. Notwithstanding the great disparity
 
 188 MY LIFE. 
 
 in force, at sight of the red-jackets, they spur- 
 red forward to attack them. The royahsts 
 observed their careless advance, their scanty 
 force, and that they were wholly unsupported. 
 Falling back behind the crest of the hill, they 
 formed, and unseen by the hussars, coolly 
 awaited their coming up; while the French, 
 never supposing the royalists were halted, press- 
 ed their jaded horses on. Nor were they un- 
 deceived until they found themselves on the 
 summit of the height, charged and overthrown 
 by a fresh and superior force. Their resistance 
 was short and gallant ; they were sabred, and 
 the victors rode off without losing a man. The 
 bodies of the unlucky chasseurs were interred 
 by the peasantry on the spot ; and the height on 
 which they perished, bears the appellation of 
 French Hill, in memory of this fatal skirmish. 
 
 It appeared strange to my father afterwards, 
 when he remembered with what indifference he 
 viewed the encounter. He looked on with the 
 coldness of an amateur, without being interested 
 as to which should prove the conquerors. In 
 fact, the pusillanimous behaviour of the carbi-
 
 MY LIFE. 189 
 
 neers had disgusted their late companion-in-arms, 
 and Caesar Blake hardly cared whether they 
 repelled the attack, or were defeated ; while 
 the reckless gallantry of the fallen Frenchmen 
 excited his admiration, and obtained for them a 
 soldier's sympathy. He watched the brief, but 
 bloody contest to its close, and then mounting 
 his horse, directed his course homewards. 
 
 He met no interruption ; but as he passed 
 through the inhabited country, he was frequently 
 interrogated by the peasantry concerning the 
 result of the engagement, which flying rumours, 
 and a distant cannonade, informed them had 
 been fought. They appeared restless, excited, 
 and irresolute ; but this state my father sus- 
 pected would be of short duration ; a general 
 insurrection was inevitable, and he pushed on 
 to reach his home, and prepare for defence or 
 flight, as circumstances might require. 
 
 Although impatient to end his journey, the 
 traveller could not effect it before night-fall. 
 Evening found him in the highland valley, and 
 the sun's last light fell upon the eagle's aerie, 
 and sank behind the rocky summit of the
 
 190 MY LIFE. 
 
 mountain, when the rider bathed the hmbs of 
 his weary steed in the cool waters of the dark 
 lake. 
 
 His heart throbbed with delight as he entered 
 the pass, from which his beloved home would soon 
 be visible. His route through the mountains 
 had been most solitary, and for hours he saw 
 no human face. The moon had not yet risen 
 above the heights which overhung the rocky 
 opening in the hill, and in the gloom he per- 
 ceived two men directly in the road before 
 him. 
 
 " Who goes there ?"' exclaimed the horse- 
 man. 
 
 " Holy Saint Patrick I it 's himself^ re- 
 sponded a well-known voice ; and next moment, 
 Denis O'Brien and an armed attendant rush- 
 ed forward, seized his hand with that famili- 
 arity which, after perilous events, is held 
 permissible, and both poured forth a thunder- 
 ing jubilation. 
 
 " And is it yourself, after all ? and are ye 
 safe and sound ?''"' exclaimed the delighted 
 valet. " Oh, murder ! if I knew what to do, 
 since I heard the first whisper of the battle —
 
 MY LIFE. 191 
 
 partly because I hadn't the luck of bein' there, 
 and partly on account of her ladyship. Och ! 
 but the joy will kill her I Here have I mount- 
 ed guard, for fear some runagade Avould slip 
 past, and scar her honor's life out. Arrah, 
 what news, avourneein 9 Is yourself safe, and 
 which side won ?'' 
 
 " Safe I am," replied the horseman, " except 
 a trifling bone-bruising ; and we have been as 
 well beaten as ever a pack of cowardly scoun- 
 drels deserved. But how is your lady ?'' 
 
 " Frightened to death, the crature !" replied 
 Mr. O'Brien. " She says she saw something 
 alarming in my face — though, God knows ! 
 whiniver I came in her sight, I strove to laugh, 
 when my heart was brakin' ; and ye would hear 
 me a mile off, whistling like a blackbird, while 
 the tune stuck like a bone in my throat, and 
 nearly choked me. Och ! what a comfort it was 
 to get away, and curse until I felt myself in 
 christian timper. And have the troops retrated, 
 major ? Maybe they 11 have another shy to- 
 morrow, and yer honor might spare me for a 
 day or two ?" 
 
 " 1 11 not belie them, friend Denis,'' replied
 
 192 MY LIFE. 
 
 the horseman, "by saying they retreated. They 
 ran for it like men ; and if the French can catch 
 the slowest, then are they the smartest fellows 
 that ever bore a firelock." 
 
 " Run r exclaimed the astonished valet ; 
 " may the foul fiend lame them for life, the 
 thieves of the world ! But, sir, you must not 
 go in, until I make her honor sinsible that 
 you are on the march. She 's so narvous, the 
 joy would be her death !" and off went Denis 
 O'Brien, the harbinger of welcome news. 
 
 Poor Ellen had been a silent but a sincere 
 mourner. It was impossible that she should 
 not perceive that some unfortunate occurrence 
 either impended or had occurred. Denis was 
 a poor actor ; his outward manifestations of 
 gaiety were forced and unnatural, and ludi- 
 crously contrasted with anxieties that, in spite 
 of all his efforts, were too evident to escape re- 
 mark. The sudden departure and prolonged 
 absence of her husband ; the untimely arrival 
 of the disabled man ; the servants going about 
 constantly armed; and the quiet but constant 
 look-out upon the road, changed apprehension
 
 MY LIFE. 193 
 
 to certainty, and heralded to her uneasy mind 
 the coming of disaster. Nor were her fears 
 lessened, on overhearing Denis, who had dress- 
 ed Conolly's wound, remark that " it was 
 much liker a bullet, than a button, hole !" 
 
 My father having confided his tired horse to 
 the servant, quietly approached his beautiful 
 and beloved retreat. He ensconced himself 
 within a clump of evergreens, from whence he 
 could see the windows of the favourite sitting- 
 room. It was a lovely and a peaceful scene. 
 The moonbeams w^ere dancing merrily on the 
 little lake, while, in varied shadowing, her fitful 
 light appeared and disappeared over the moun- 
 tain ridges. But the returning soldier had no 
 eyes for gazing on what would form a painter's 
 study. One object engrossed his sight and filled 
 his heart, and that was his own gentle Ellen, 
 who was standing in melancholy musing at the 
 open casement. At this moment, Denis O^Brien 
 was seen advancing. 
 
 " Well, Denis,"' said a sweet and melancholy 
 voice, that thrilled through the li'^tcner's heart, 
 " have you brought any tidings ?^^ 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194f MY LIFE. 
 
 " Arrah, the divil a news that's bad, any 
 how, my lady. The master will be here to- 
 morrow ybr sartein,''^ replied the valet. 
 
 "Pshaw! — you told me he would be here 
 this evening. I fear you are but amusing me, 
 and have heard no intelligence.'' 
 
 "By this book!" and Mr. O'Brien tapped 
 the barrel of the gun he carried on the hollow 
 of his arm, " I was talking to a man that 
 parted from his honour within this half hour. 
 That is — I mane — Arrah ! my lady, don't take 
 a body up so quick. Says the chap to me, 
 ' Denis, you know you may put depindince in 
 what I tell ye ; the master's coming home, as 
 fast as Splinterbar can carry him : and more 
 betoken,' says he, ' in the battle he didn't 
 get a scratch.' " 
 
 " The battle ! what battle ?" 
 
 " Arrah ! — sorra battle, good or bad ; but the 
 French, you know — " 
 
 " What ! French ?" 
 
 " Death an nouns ! don't be flustering yer- 
 self, my lady. Arrah ! what put the French 
 in my head ? It 's them rebels, the curse of 
 Cromwell on them !"
 
 MY LIFE. 195 
 
 '' Rebels— French— the battle !" 
 
 My father had received sufficient evidence 
 touching Denis's abilities as an ambassador, to 
 induce liim to supersede the valet as soon as 
 possible. Stealing round the shrubbery, he 
 entered the house without observation, and on 
 tiptoe approached my mother at the window. 
 
 "Denis," she said, "you have made me 
 very wretched. There is some mystery — some 
 concealment. Is he well ? is he coming ? 
 When ? where ? Oh ! speak man ! anything 
 will be preferable to this uncertainty.'' 
 
 A gentle step was heard stealing across the 
 carpet, — a soft voice whispered something in 
 her ear — she turned quickly, uttered a shriek 
 of delight, and sprang into the extended arms 
 of the traveller. " Caesar ! my own, my darling 
 husband I and are you come safely back ? " 
 
 " Why, upon my sowl ! he is ; and so I 
 would have made ye sinsible, if your ladyship 
 had but patience. And now, the sooner the 
 master gets his supper the better ; for nothing, 
 my lady, gives a man his appetite, like a long 
 ride or a good bating." 
 
 A month passed, and the rebellion was sup-
 
 196 MY LIFE. 
 
 pressed. Humbert held possession of Castlebar, 
 until a combined movement of twenty thousand 
 men, under the Marquis Cornwallis, obliged 
 him to evacuate the town. After some able 
 movements, and a great deal of severe march- 
 ing, a spirited aiFair with the Limerick regiment 
 at Colooney, brought the campaign to a close. 
 The French surrendered prisoners of war ; and 
 the miserable wretches who accompanied them, 
 were hanged or shot, according to the fancy of 
 the general, or as either was most convenient. 
 
 In their beautiful retreat my parents re- 
 mained undisturbed. Conolly recovered, and 
 embarking in a smuggler, escaped to Holland, 
 and thus avoided the fate that other leaders of 
 the insurgents underwent. 
 
 If my father had any wish to follow the 
 fortunes of the royalists during the short and 
 sanguinary campaign that succeeded the rout of 
 Castlebar, the interesting situation of his lady 
 made his sojourn in the mountain-lodge indis- 
 pensable, for an heir was promised. Without 
 his wife's knowledge, he apprised her father of 
 the circumstance, and made a strong appeal to 
 him for forgiveness. It was unsuccessful; a
 
 MY LIFE. 197 
 
 cold and heartless answer was returned, that 
 held out no hope of pardon, or betrayed any 
 symptom of returning regard. He spoke of her 
 as of one dead ; and alluding to her elopement, 
 bitterly upbraided my father with her loss — 
 
 " You stole her from me ; like a thief you stole her 
 At dead of night!'' 
 
 Of course, the major concealed this unfor- 
 tunate correspondence from his lady, but he 
 redoubled his attentions, and Ellen was truly 
 happy. Removed from the world, neither of 
 my parents appeared to have a wish ungrati- 
 fied ; and never were two hearts more tenderly 
 united than those of the ex-major and the 
 fair runaway.
 
 198 MY LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A STORM AN ESCAPE — CONFESSIONS OF A FUGITIVE. 
 
 Away ! away ! and on we dash ! 
 
 Torrents less rapid and less rash. 
 
 Mazeppa. 
 
 What dost thou require ? 
 
 Rest, and a guide, and food, and fire ! 
 
 Scott. 
 
 Short was the course his restlessness had run. 
 But long enough to leave him quite undone. 
 
 Lara. 
 
 It was on the third evening after the French 
 had surrendered at Balhnamuck, that an inci- 
 dent occurred which, from the confusion of the 
 times, created no small alarm in the isolated 
 household of Caesar Blake. 
 
 The day was unusually sultry ; any exertion 
 out of doors was disagreeable and oppressive ; 
 the air felt like breathings from a furnace ; dark 
 clouds, surcharged with rain, canopied every
 
 MY LIFE. 199 
 
 hill-top ; while distant mutterings from the ocean 
 told that a tempest was on the wing. Pre- 
 sently, with one wild crash, the storm bnrst 
 above the lodge, and a volume of water de- 
 luged the parched earth. Next minute, every 
 rill and water-course was filled ; and, tumbling 
 from the heights, a hundred streams hid them- 
 selves in the dark bosom of Glencullen. 
 
 How grand an Alpine storm appears, when 
 witnessed from a safe and sheltered spot I The 
 roar of waters; the pealing of Heaven's artillery ; 
 flash succeeding flash, gleaming over highland 
 steep, or brightening the swollen surface of the 
 river — till, spent by its own fury, the blaze is 
 seen no more, and the thunder dies upon the 
 ear in low and distant mutterings. 
 
 Thus passed the storm, leaving a cloudless 
 sky behind ; and a cooler and loveher evening 
 never gladdened a mountain solitude. 
 
 My mother was delighted, when her liege 
 lord invited her to accompany him on an ex- 
 cursion up the lake ; she to sketch mountain- 
 scenery, while he amused himself with angling. 
 The air was balmy and delicious, Nature felt 
 refreshed, the trouts sprang merrily, the coots
 
 200 MY LIFE. 
 
 sported gaily in the reeds, while the wild-duck 
 piloted her infant-brood to their island retreat, 
 when plashing oars apprised her of man's ap- 
 proach. The sun was nearly setting, and pro- 
 duced among the broken hill-tops a splendid 
 alternation of lights and shadows. 
 
 Just then, w^hile my mother directed her hus- 
 band's eyes to the picturesque appearance of a 
 fissure in a range of heights, whose bases touched 
 the margin of the water, a human figure rushed 
 through the pass at headlong speed, and hur- 
 ried down the steep declivity. The cause was 
 not long concealed ; several soldiers crossed the 
 hill, and discharged their muskets at the fugitive, 
 who, apparently uninjured by the fire, outstrip- 
 ped his followers easily, and held on a course 
 directly for the narrow union of the lakes, 
 where my father's boat was laid upon her oars. 
 
 This unexpected chase produced an unex- 
 pected sensation; pencil and fishing-rod were 
 abandoned ; my father watched the pursuit with 
 excited interest, and my mother with nervous 
 apprehension. 
 
 On came the fugitive ! He paused for a 
 moment on a rising ground beside the lake,
 
 MY LIFE. 201 
 
 looked back at his pursuers, first levelled the 
 gun he carried at the foremost, but changing 
 his determination, he aimed at the second stea- 
 dily ; he fell — while, flinging his musket away, 
 the runaway bounded across the hillock, leaped 
 into the lake, buffeted the water gallantly, and 
 pressed for the other shore. 
 
 My father's boat lay directly in his course, 
 but owing to the shelter of a reedy islet, this 
 circumstance escaped the notice of the fugitive. 
 Too late he perceived it, and for a second paused 
 from exertion ; then, with a sudden resolution, 
 stretched boldly out again. When he came 
 within an oar's length, he laid his hand upon 
 the blade, which a rower dropped on the sur- 
 face to support him, and in a voice that told 
 how violent his efforts at escape had been, he 
 said, 
 
 " You will not stop an unfortunate man, 
 major ?'' 
 
 " Who are you ?""* asked my father. 
 
 *' A rebel !'' was the bold reply. 
 
 " You know me, it would seem."*** 
 
 " Ay, that I do ; will you stop me ?'' 
 
 " I am no bloodhound," said Caesar Blake ; 
 k5
 
 202 MY LIFE. 
 
 "push on, the Highlanders are on the heach. 
 Keep the boat between you and them, for they 
 are within good musket-range, and have re- 
 loaded." 
 
 " Caesar Blake, I owe you a life ; I may pay 
 ye someway yet — Grod Almighty bless you, 
 lady" — for my mother had earnestly joined 
 the fugitive in his petition, — " I can only pray 
 for you. Will you, major, give me a moment's 
 breathing-time, before you ferry yon blood- 
 hounds over ?V 
 
 " I ferry them over ! No — no. — It would be 
 a poor exploit to crush a hunted enemy. Had 
 I met you at Castlebar — " 
 
 '^ And so you did," returned the fugitive. 
 " Ay, and the gun that did its business to the 
 last, missed fire upon the bridge." 
 
 My mother shuddered. "Off!" cried the 
 major, " and if all other places fail, at twilight 
 you may find a crust at the lodge. But, hark ! 
 they halloo from the shore ; and now, God 
 speed thee, friend !" 
 
 " Amen !" responded the ininaway, as he 
 dropped the oar, and with renewed vigour
 
 MY LIFE. 208 
 
 breasted the waters gallantly — he gained in a 
 minute the opposite shore, and plunging into 
 the reeds, disappeared in the broken ground 
 that skirted that part of Glencullen. 
 
 Perceiving that the rebel had landed, my 
 father directed his boatmen to pull in. The 
 Highlanders, three in number, had remarked the 
 escape of the fugitive, and, irritated at the fall 
 of their companion, whose leg had been broken 
 by the outlaw^s shot, hallooed more furiously, 
 while more than once they threatened to fire on 
 the boat. 
 
 " Why the de'il did ye na pull in, nor stop 
 the villain in the water ?" was the rough 
 address of the corporal, as my father stepped 
 ashore. 
 
 The major drew himself up and haughtily 
 replied, " Because I do not attend to the orders 
 of such fellows." 
 
 " Fellows ! " screamed the Highlander ; 
 " Ken ye, friend, who we be ?" 
 
 " I may guess possibly. Pray who are you ? 
 
 " Wha am I ?" returned the corporal, swell- 
 ing with rage ; ''are ye blind ? Know ye the
 
 204 MY LIFE. 
 
 colour of this coat, and ask sic silly questions. 
 De'il ha' me, gin I would mind much sticcin 
 the bagnet in ye !'' 
 
 " If you did,'' said the master of the boatmen, 
 " you would never draw another, Sawney." My 
 mother grew pale as she watched the flashing 
 eyes of the affronted Celt ; " Fear nothing, El- 
 len, the fellows do not know me. Scoundrel ! 
 I am your superior ofiicer, and your insolence 
 would fully warrant my leaving you to your 
 fate. Look up ! see you any thing behind that 
 distant hillock ?" 
 
 The soldier turned round — ^his companions 
 also looked attentively. The colour left their 
 cheeks, their hands trembled ; for at least three- 
 score armed peasants were regularly extending 
 themselves between the Highlanders and the 
 hills, making retreat impossible, while to resist 
 was madness. 
 
 " Scoundrel !" said my father, " because I 
 would not strike down a drowning wi-etch, you 
 would have fired at an innocent female, and 
 assassinated the king's officer. What do you 
 suppose your life is worth ?"
 
 MY LIFE. 205 
 
 " Little, I suspect,'^ replied the Highlander 
 doggedly ; " but at all events, I wun''na part 
 with it chape. Look to your primings, lads ; 
 at least, we'll die like sodgers I'"* 
 
 " Gallantly spoken ! "" exclaimed Caesar 
 Blake ; " that speech redeems your rashness. 
 Die you shall not, nor shall insult or injury 
 befall a comrade in these hills. Stand fast — 
 order arms !'' 
 
 The tone of voice in a moment told that the 
 person who gave it was no jiretender. 
 
 " We are at your command,"' said the Celt ; 
 " Lord sees, we could na guess that we should 
 find an officer in these bleak mountains." 
 
 " 'Twas well you did, or you were but lost 
 men. Fear nothing. Stay, Ellen, here, — I 
 leave you only for a few minutes.'' 
 
 " No, no, dear Caesar ! You must not ven- 
 ture among these wild men." 
 
 My father smiled. " I am safe, my pretty 
 one, not a hand there will injure me ;" and 
 leaving the shore, he advanced to meet the 
 armed body, who were surrounding the devoted 
 Highlanders, with a caution and regularity
 
 206 MY LIFE. 
 
 that betokened their determination to prevent 
 all chances of escape. 
 
 When the major was seen approaching, the 
 leader of the party came forward. 
 
 " Prendergast ! is it possible ? You, who 
 were hitherto so remarkable for good conduct 
 in very turbulent times, are you going to turn 
 rebel now, and attack the king''s troops ?" 
 
 " No, major," said the peasant, " you will 
 allow that I have been a quiet and a peaceable 
 man. But that poor fellow whom you saw 
 driven to the lake, came a stranger, under trust, 
 to my house for shelter. There 's money on 
 his head, I fancy, but I would rather die than 
 see him taken oif and hanged." 
 
 " He is safe for the present," replied my 
 father. " Had I wished him harm, a blow 
 from the oar would have saved all farther trou- 
 ble. I saved Mm^ and I wish to save j/ow. If 
 you molest those soldiers, have you calculated 
 what the consequences will be ? Your houses 
 will be burned, your property pillaged, your- 
 selves hunted, hanged, or driven out upon the 
 world, and your families beggared and undone." 
 
 " His honor's right," exclaimed several voices.
 
 MY LIFE. 207 
 
 " Well, major, and what would you have us 
 do r 
 
 " Why, nothing, my good friends, but to 
 just go quietly home ; and the sooner pike and 
 musket are again put in their hiding-places, 
 the better. Where are the rest of the High- 
 landers ?" 
 
 " Searching the next village for a priest from 
 Costello, who was out, God pity him !"' re- 
 turned the leader. 
 
 " / don't pity him," rejoined my father ; 
 " had he attended to his duties, and discou- 
 raged rebellion among his flock, instead of ex- 
 citing them to insurrection by his own pernicious 
 example, many a wretch would escape the gal- 
 lows who may well curse him. Go, tell the sol- 
 diers that their companions are safe, and that 
 the wounded man shall be attended to ; get a 
 door,* and carry him with care to the lodge." 
 
 * As the doors in an Irish cottage are suspended upon 
 hooks, they are easily removable, and contrived to discharge 
 more than a " double debt." Laid across a tub, the door 
 becomes locum lenens for the table — or laid upon the floor, 
 wonderfully assists the saltations of a jig-dancer. 
 
 Many a cabin perforated with two orifices, only possesses 
 a single door. Of course, it is applied to stop the weather 
 opening in the wall, while the lee one must be contented
 
 MY LIFE. 
 
 "Shah, shah — yes, yes,'" returned a dozen 
 voices, now as solicitous to perform any act of 
 kindness to the soldiers, as five minutes ago 
 they were burning to assail them. Such is the 
 versatile disposition of a people, whose passions 
 have made them playthings for knaves and 
 scoundrels to employ, and whose alternations 
 from right to wrong are variable as the sun- 
 shine of " an April morn !*" 
 
 Half a dozen sturdy peasants had immedi- 
 ately set off to assist the maimed Highlander, 
 while the others, in obedience to my father's 
 advice, prepared to return to their village. 
 They were moving, when a whispering took 
 place, and the peasant who seemed to influence 
 their actions, addressed the major, who was 
 retiring to his boat. 
 
 with an old mat, a bunch of heather, a tattered creel, or any 
 of " the thousand and one" shifts, which Irish ingenuity 
 could alone devise. In case of accidents, the door becomes 
 a litter for the sufferer, or a bier for the defunct. Hence, 
 gentlemen who shuffle off this mortal coil in a steeple 
 chase, or on the field of honour, are thus transported to a 
 convenient place to " lie in state." From this it has become 
 common to prophesy of a drunkard, a duellist, or a break- 
 neck rider, that " on some blessed morning, he '11 come 
 home upon a door I''
 
 MY LIFE. g09 
 
 " The boys liope, major dear, that you won't 
 miiition anything of this to the ' Right Hanar- 
 able; " 
 
 My father smiled. " Fear nothing from me, 
 lads. Denis and I have different fancies as to 
 finishing people ; he likes the rope, I prefer the 
 musket. He is pretty well supplied with turn- 
 coats and informers, without requiring my ser- 
 vices ; and, to say the truth, even were there a 
 vacancy on his staif, I apprehend that I have 
 neither favour in his sight, nor abilities in his 
 favourite line of business, to obtain the ap- 
 pointment. And now, if you have no ambition 
 to ' spoil a market,'* the sooner you are off 
 the better." 
 
 With unfeigned pleasure, the expectant 
 group upon the shore observed the peasantry 
 retire, and my father return — all were speedily 
 
 * Not an hundred years have passed, since an Irish judge 
 always made it a point to hang his men upon the market- 
 day. The advantages were manifold. The execution was 
 witnessed by thousands, who otherwise would have found 
 some inconvenience in attending. The more hanging 
 matches, the less the thing was regarded. People became 
 reconciled to the rope, and when in good time their own 
 turn came, they proved the benefit of example, — "died 
 game, and lived in story."
 
 210 MY LIFE. 
 
 embarked, and the boat pulled rapidly to the 
 lodge. The soldiers felt as men do, when sud- 
 denly delivered from impending death, while 
 my mother's blanched cheeks showed that she 
 had not nerve to witness scenes where men's 
 lives hung upon hair-breadth accidents — nor had 
 her ears become sufficiently " Irish," to listen 
 unmoved to the whistle of a musket-ball. 
 
 During the short passage down the lake, 
 the Highland corporal explained the cause of 
 this unexpected, and nearly disastrous, expe- 
 dition, A military detachment had been sent 
 from Castlebar to occupy the village of Louis- 
 burgh, as it was contiguous to the mountains, 
 where it was well known many of the rebels 
 had concealed themselves. Two or three of the 
 chief delinquents were especially pointed out, 
 and a reward offered for their apprehension. 
 In this list, the fugitive was conspicuous. As it 
 turned out, he was not only in the neighbour- 
 hood, but appeared determined that on this 
 point there should be no doubt whatever ; for 
 while the military were in active pursuit of him 
 among the hills, he entered the village in their 
 absence, tore down the paper that proclaimed
 
 MY LIFE. 211 
 
 him, and affixing it to the mill-door, amused 
 himself and sundry spectators, by riddling it 
 with bullets. This audacious insult was too 
 much for Highland blood to tolerate. Private 
 information denounced the place he harboured ; 
 the village was surrounded, and favoured by ac- 
 cidental circumstances, the daring outlaw was 
 nearly surprised asleep. He had only time to 
 partially dress, seize his gun, and jump from a 
 window. The military were all around ; and 
 though fired at within pistol-range, to the sur- 
 prise of all, he managed to escape. 
 
 It was not long before the rest of the High- 
 landers, guided by a peasant, joined their com- 
 rades ; the disabled soldier was carefully car- 
 ried in, and from the attention and hospitality 
 bestowed upon the wounded and the weary, the 
 party left the lodge next morning with very 
 different sentiments towards Caesar Blake than 
 the stormy meeting on the shores of the lake 
 foreboded. 
 
 It was nearly midnight ; the house was quiet ; 
 for the tired soldiery, after ample refreshment 
 and a free carouse, were buried in profound 
 repose. My father had taken his rounds for
 
 212 MY LIFE. 
 
 the last time, to ascertain that all was secure, 
 and was entering the hall, when from a clump 
 of low shrubs, scarcely high enough to conceal 
 a dog, a human voice pronomiced his name in 
 tones so low as to be almost inaudible. The 
 major started, " Is there any body there ?" he 
 exclaimed, " Speak !"*"* 
 
 " It is I,"" replied the same low voice, " I, 
 the runaway !" 
 
 "Hush!" said my father, "there are 
 enemies in the house."" 
 
 " I know it," repHed the voice from the 
 shrubbery ; " but I watched them to their 
 quarters, and heard their heavy breathing 
 outside the door. They are asleep." 
 " Are you long here ?" 
 
 "I am ; I would have tapped upon the 
 window, but feared, from the lateness of the 
 hour, that the lady might be alarmed." 
 
 " You did well ; remain there for a minute — 
 I shall not be long absent." 
 
 Caesar Blake briefly apprised his wife of 
 the unexpected visit, and having closed the 
 curtains of the drawing-room, and ascertained 
 that no person was in the way to observe the
 
 MY LIFE. 213 
 
 stranger^s entrance, he brought in the weary 
 fugitive. 
 
 Had not my mother been prepared for this 
 midnight interview, the appearance of the late 
 guest might have startled one of stronger 
 nerves. Surprised, and driven from his hiding- 
 place, half-dressed, his shirt was torn in a 
 struggle — for a Highlander had actually seized 
 him, and a slight flesh-wound had discoloured 
 it with blood. After the violent exertions of 
 escaping, the wet clothes and chilling dew had 
 benumbed his stiffened limbs ; his teeth chat- 
 tered ; his hands shook ; and his whole look 
 bespoke cold, want, and weariness. 
 
 Yet the outlaw^s spirit was unsubdued. He 
 stood at the extremity of the apartment, and 
 when my father filled a glass with brandy, and 
 beckoned him to approach the table, he muttered 
 something about " wet clothes" and " the lady's 
 presence," as if, notwithstanding the extent of 
 his suffering, his pride refused to permit a 
 female eye to dwell upon his wretchedness. 
 
 " Come, my poor fellow; drink — that brandy 
 will be serviceable ; you must be chilled al- 
 most to death."
 
 214i MY LIFE. 
 
 The outlaw took the glass, and respectfully 
 drank to his host and the lady. 
 
 "Ay, major, that is indeed a cordial," said 
 the fugitive ; " my heart warms anew, and the 
 blood flows again through my veins !'' 
 
 " I thought so," said the major ; " and now 
 I will entrust you to one who will supply your 
 supper, and furnish you Avith a bed. In the 
 morning we will talk further." 
 
 " Before morning," he replied, " I shall be 
 many a mile from this." 
 
 " Is it so ? Come, then, as time presses, what 
 are your wants ? speak boldly. " 
 
 " Food," returned the outlaw, " clothing, 
 and a short rest." 
 
 " All these shall be yours — " and my father 
 rang the bell. Denis O'Brien answered it, 
 and to him the fugitive was entrusted, with all 
 necessary directions for attending to his safety 
 and his wants. 
 
 This incident changed the major's purpose of 
 retiring to bed. He wished to speak to the 
 fugitive again, for the allusion to the affair of 
 Castlebar had awakened his curiosity. A 
 different feeling actuated my mother. In the
 
 MY LIFE. 215 
 
 stranger's looks there was something to interest, 
 and much to alarm. She was anxious to see 
 one whom she half feared and compassionated ; 
 and it is inconceivable how frequently in life 
 these conflicting sentiments are found. 
 
 The delay was short. An hour had scarce- 
 ly elapsed, when the stranger again presented 
 himself. Denis had made a striking change in 
 the outward man, by equipping him in a sport- 
 ing dress of his master, and he looked a dif- 
 ferent being. 
 
 The wanderer had scarcely reached man- 
 hood. Buoyant and vigorous as his youthful 
 figure seemed, he was far from having achieved 
 the gigantic strength, which his powerful frame 
 promised to possess when it had matured. His 
 face was handsome ; the eye was dark, the teeth 
 regular, and the mouth well-formed — and yet the 
 expression was on the whole unfavourable. Every 
 line of that handsome countenance betrayed the 
 workings of stormy and ungovernable passions, 
 easy to excite, and difficult to allay. Whether 
 it was that a bolder spirit had revived with 
 returning vigour, or that he felt himself no 
 longer the abject fugitive, as when he crawled
 
 216 MY LIFE. 
 
 from his concealment, subdued by fatigue and 
 paralyzed by cold, he advanced boldly to his 
 benefactors ; and when he acknowledged the 
 kindly reception he had gotten in his hour of 
 need, the language in which he expressed his 
 gratitude, was very different from what an ordi- 
 nary peasant would employ. 
 
 " Have you been sufficiently refreshed and 
 rested ?" said the major. 
 
 " I have, indeed," returned the fugitive, 
 " been freely welcomed, and generously sup- 
 plied with all I wished or wanted. I have no- 
 thing to ask, but that you will receive an out- 
 cast's blessing, and believe that James Murphy 
 will never forget this night to you and your's. 
 Lady, we may not meet again,'' — for my mo- 
 ther had risen to leave the room, — " may you 
 never require the only service that I could offer ; 
 but, 'tis a strange world, and should you, may 
 I be near to render it." 
 
 " And where do you purpose going ?" said 
 the major, as the door closed. 
 
 " To Connemara," replied the fugitive, " and 
 join some fellows as wild and wretched as my- 
 self/'
 
 MY LIFE. 217 
 
 " Nay,"' said the major, " why persevere in 
 crime, and why add fuel to the fire ? The 
 severity of Government will in time relax : 
 remain quiet, and you may yet be happy ; you 
 are young."" 
 
 " Young I am,"" repHed the fugitive ; " I 
 have not reckoned twenty summers, and yet 
 am I a wanderer, a cast-away, beyond recovery 
 or redemption !"" 
 
 " Pshaw, nonsense ! The beard is not curl- 
 ed on your chin ; what can you have done to 
 render your honest chances in life so desperate ? 
 Attend to me : live quietly, Murphy ; remain 
 for a while in retirement. I am not, God 
 knows ! over wealthy — but still I can spare you 
 enough to prevent any necessity on your part 
 for taking to desperate means ; and when a few 
 months blow over, 1 will intercede and gain 
 your pardon ."'* 
 
 " Caesar Blake," said the outlaw, " we are 
 alone. I owed you a life ; I owe you for this 
 welcome succour, without which the life you 
 spared would have been an useless gift. But 
 your intended kindness would be idle. Did 1 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 MY LIFE. 
 
 escape the Mall* in Castlebar, what would 
 save me from the gallows in Clonmel P"*** 
 
 " I hardly understand you,"" said my father. 
 
 " Listen, then ;" and the fugitive approached 
 my father closely : " mine is as wild a tale as 
 any you may have yet heard. My father was 
 but a peasant'"* — He paused. " Hang it ! one 
 will feel those weaknesses ! May I, under fa- 
 vour, trespass on your hospitality.'*'' The 
 major bowed ; and the outlaw filled a goblet 
 of port-wine, drank it, and continued. " My 
 father was a peasant, but he was a wealthy one. 
 I was his only child ; his ambition was to make 
 me a priest, and he gave me a suitable educa- 
 tion. I learned Latin freely : I loved books — 
 read ardently, and soon discovered that I was 
 not formed for a churchman. The calmness of 
 the cloister was unsuited to a spirit wild as 
 mine — I felt small ambition to fill a confes- 
 sional, and listen to man's deceit and woman's 
 frailty. Well, they found out that the church 
 would not in me receive an ornament ; and 
 they devoted me to physic, and bound me 
 
 * This was a favourite hanging-place during, and after, 
 the rebellion.
 
 MY LIFE. 219 
 
 to an apothecary in Longford. Alas ! I had 
 no fancy for dispensing drugs ; physic was as 
 Httle to my taste as divinity ; I tired of any- 
 thing like thraldom, and only waited for a de- 
 cent apology to kick the shackles off. For that 
 I did not tarry long, as my master saved me 
 all trouble by discarding me. The truth must 
 out : his daughter was seventeen and his wife 
 seven-and-thirty ; both favoured me with their 
 friendship, and I preferred the young one's. 
 We were indiscreet ; mamma was on the 
 watch ; our affair Avas discovered, denounced, 
 and, what I sighed for most, the honest apothe- 
 cary gave me — the door and my indentures. 
 
 " After this exploit, it was useless to return 
 home. The second professional failure irritated 
 my poor father ; he affected to be displeased, 
 and I determined to be independent. I was 
 just eighteen the morning I wandered off, nei- 
 ther knowing nor caring which way I headed. 
 
 " In the course of a week's rambling, I found 
 myself near a relative of my mother's, who was 
 
 gamekeeper to Lord , and I thought I 
 
 might as well visit him. I did so, and was 
 hospitably received. He was getting old, had 
 l2
 
 220 MY LIFE. 
 
 an infirm ankle, and, having discovered that I 
 was a better shot than himself, persuaded me 
 to become, for the present, his assistant, with 
 a promise that in time I should succeed him. 
 It was a life that suited me well ; I followed 
 my own fancy — killed game, broke dogs, made 
 love, sang, danced, hurled, and was happy. 
 
 " This was but a fleeting hour ; a gleam of 
 sunshine before a thunder-storm.''^ The outlaw 
 stopped: he was for a moment agitated; but 
 the feeling that caused it was quickly subdued, 
 and he thus continued : — " My relative had an 
 only daughter ; she was about my own age, and, 
 handsome as many of the southern peasants 
 are, 1 never saw one who could compare with 
 Rose Dwyer. Residing beneath the same roof, 
 and constantly together, is it surprising that we 
 loved ? Mine was a passion that death alone 
 could end — hers was, unfortunately, a transitory 
 fancy. 
 
 " Christmas came : the castle was filled with 
 company ; the heir had completed his minority, 
 and fetes and rejoicings celebrated that great 
 event. He returned from Oxford, and it was a 
 fatal return for both him and me. He was a
 
 MY LIFE. 2!2I 
 
 fine-looking young man, warm-hearted, affable, 
 a sportsman, and I liked him. From the cradle 
 he had been a spoiled child ; from a boy his 
 own master : he had been fashionably edu- 
 cated, and, of course, was fashionably profligate. 
 From the moment he saw Rose Dwyer he be- 
 came fascinated with her beauty. I was not 
 blind ; but had I not observed it, his passion 
 would have been no secret ; for in the familiarity 
 of shooting condescension, he more than hinted 
 that the woman I designed to be a wife, he in- 
 tended to make a mistress. 
 
 "It is useless to be particular. He found 
 agents enough to assist in corrupting innocence ; 
 and every vulnerable point in Rosens character 
 was vigorously assailed, and all means used to 
 undermine her virtue. Presents and flattery 
 were lavishly employed ; yet, had I remained, 
 I believe Rose would have resisted all solici- 
 tation ; and, instead of becoming the plaything 
 of a vicious peer, lived in honourable honesty 
 the wife of the peasant's son. 
 
 " The secret was not long undiscovered as to 
 how far my presence had rendered Lord Wil- 
 liam's plans abortive, and caused his over-
 
 MY LIFE. 
 
 tures to be rejected. To win Rose, I must be 
 removed. The young lord cared for me ; but 
 I was an obstacle to the attainment of a fancy 
 — a thorn in his path of pleasure, and I must 
 in some way be got rid of. 
 
 " This was rather difficult ; I was a favourite 
 with the old earl ; I had committed no fault ; 
 and to part with me, without a reason, was 
 impossible. But removed I must be, and that 
 by under-hand contrivances. 
 
 " Where the will exists, opportunity is seldom 
 wanting long. It happened that I was sent by 
 the keeper to the next town, to sell some deer 
 and rabbit skins. A false villain, a creature of 
 Lord William, and one who cordially hated me 
 for the favour I held in the sight of the old 
 earl, accompanied me. We disposed of the 
 skins, and went to a public-house to refresh our- 
 selves — I was an unsuspicious fool, and he an 
 artful scoundrel. He managed to intoxicate 
 me ; bribed a crimp, brought him in, slipped 
 a shilling into my pocket, swore I had been 
 regularly enlisted, and, before I was sufficiently 
 sobered to comprehend their villany, I was 
 marched off with some other wretches under a
 
 MY LIFE. S23 
 
 military guard, conveyed to Cork, and shipped 
 directly oiF to Bristol. 
 
 " I detain you, major ; but I will hurry to 
 the close. With my feelings I will not trouble 
 you. Imagine a caged tiger, who pants to 
 spring upon his keeper, but finds the bars 
 prevent it. I knew at once the villany prac- 
 tised upon me ; I guessed the ruin preparing 
 for another. The scheme was clear; and I 
 swore, if I could not mar, I would revenge it 
 deeply. 
 
 " My resolution, of course, was to desert 
 from the regiment, and return to Ireland. 
 
 " Passion overcame prudence. I made the 
 attempt too rashly ; was betrayed, overpowered, 
 retaken, and brought back a prisoner, after 
 having wounded four soldiers engaged in secur- 
 ing me. 
 
 " Well, the result was — ^^ The fugitive 
 paused, grew pale as death, his eyes glared, his 
 brows united. " Come, this is weakness,^' he 
 gasped out. " You, a soldier, will guess the 
 consequence — the halberts ! Major — ay, to the 
 halberts was I doomed ! I was tied up before a 
 thousand lookers-on, and received five hundred
 
 MY LIFE. 
 
 lashes, honestly counted and vigorously inflict- 
 ed. They excoriated my back, but they could 
 not break my spirit. I placed a musket-bullet 
 between my teeth, and never gratified my 
 tormentors with a groan ! 
 
 " Did a failure make me renounce my 
 resolution ? Oh no ! Had they cut a limb off, I 
 would have dragged the mutilated carcass to 
 the place where I had been injured and dis- 
 graced, and I would have had revenge. 
 
 " Accident, happily, assisted me to effect 
 my escape from Bristol. The first morning I 
 crawled from the hospital, I met an Irish 
 sailor in the street. I heard him speak in my 
 native language ; I followed him, told him how 
 I had been kidnapped, and implored him to 
 assist me in returning. He did so ; privately 
 supplied me with jacket and trowsers, smuggled 
 me on board, concealed me in the hold, and 
 divided his grub and grog as liberally as if I 
 had been a brother : and while my tender- 
 hearted judges beHeved me, for weeks to come, 
 the tenant of an hospital, I was hurrying back 
 — too late to save Rose Dwyer from disgrace, 
 but not too late to exact a desperate revenge.
 
 MY LIFE. 2^5 
 
 " I did not delay an hour in Waterford, but 
 started for Oak Wood, the earl's residence. 
 I reached the termination of my journey after 
 dark, and sought the dwelling of a park- 
 keeper, who owed me some obligations, and 
 mortally hated Halligan, the scoundrel who had 
 betrayed me to the crimp. I was kindly wel- 
 comed; my back dressed, and I was accom- 
 modated with everything I needed. To my 
 repeated enquiries I received reluctant answers. 
 My worst fears were confirmed — Rose Dwyer 
 had fallen ! 
 
 " Wearied as I was, I tossed upon a restless 
 bed — hell burned in my breast — my brain was 
 fired — my blood felt like molten lead — and 
 blood alone could calm the demon spirit that 
 filled my tortured bosom. 
 
 " The next day passed, although I thought 
 it endless. I had learned all the particulars of 
 the seduction of the woman I once idolized. 
 Worthless as she was, I did not curse her ; and 
 I thought of her fall, more in sorrow, than in 
 anger. 
 
 " She was now residing in a beautiful cottage 
 in a remote part of the domain, Halligan and 
 L 5
 
 226 MY LIFE. 
 
 his wife her sole companions. The old lord 
 was willingly blind to the aflfair, which the 
 younger one took no pains in concealing. He 
 spared no expense in decking out his victim, 
 drove her openly about, and she appeared, as 
 they told me, insensible to her disgrace, and 
 displayed in public her ill-acquired finery — the 
 wages of guilt and shame. 
 
 " Night came at last — never did expecting 
 lover sigh for it more ardently than I. None 
 knew every coppice and skirting in the park 
 better, and, by a devious path through clumps 
 and underwood, I reached unseen the cottage 
 of my worthless love. 
 
 " It was well lighted, but the closed curtains 
 prevented me from observing those within. I 
 waited two long, long hours. There was oc- 
 casionally noise, and mirth, and bustle. I 
 heard Rose laugh joyously. Poor wretch ! 
 little did she foresee how soon that light laugh 
 would turn to tears and wailing. 
 
 " I stood in a belt of evergreens that shut 
 out the cottage from the view of the road, and 
 the door was within a few paces. Presently I 
 heard a horse-tramp in the rear ; and Halligan
 
 MY LIFE. 227 
 
 came round with a lantern in his hand, leading 
 Lord William's favomute pony. My hand 
 crept to my bosom, where my pistols were con- 
 cealed, when I saw the villanous agent of all 
 my misery. But the door opened, and Rose, 
 splendidly dressed, stood beside her seducer. 
 She held a lighted candle, and when I think 
 how like an angel she looked, my brain yet 
 burns. ' Farewell,' she said, ' farewell, my 
 William.' My William ! By Heaven ! major, 
 that phrase agonized my soul more than five 
 hundred stripes had tortured my body. ' And 
 shall I ride the sorrel mare to-morrow ?' He 
 whispered something in her ear ; she blushed, 
 smiled, turned her rosy lips to -his, and kissed 
 him ardently. I could see no more. The foul 
 fiend's breast never felt more hellishly than 
 mine. I levelled a pistol, drew the trigger, 
 and next moment Lord William was in eter- 
 nity — and on the bosom of the woman he had 
 ruined, the last sigh of the seducer escaped. 
 
 ^' I did not conceal myself; I strode from my 
 ambush; I stood over my fallen rival, while 
 Rose, uttering piercing shrieks, dropped in 
 convulsions on the lifeless body of her noble
 
 MY LIFE. 
 
 paramour. I was cool, unmoved ; ay, more 
 collected than while I now relate the tale. 
 Halligan had fl^d. I seized the bridle of Lord 
 William's pony, mounted, rode off to the moun- 
 tains, and long before morning was safe from 
 pursuit. 
 
 " My story is nearly ended. The young 
 lord's murder was generally imputed to po- 
 litical causes, and a thousand pounds were 
 offered for the apprehension of the assassin. 
 I eluded all attempts to take me, headed 
 a body of insurgents, and, finally, joined the 
 French." 
 
 " What became of the wretched cause of all 
 this blood and ftiisery ?" said the host. 
 
 " Poor girl! I cannot but pity her still. The 
 old earl was distracted, and attributed the loss 
 of his son to the fatal connexion he had form- 
 ed. Rose was disgracefully turned out of 
 her gay residence. The villain Halligan plun- 
 dered her of all her ill-acquired valuables, for 
 she had none to befriend or shelter her. She 
 was loathed, execrated, persecuted — and driven 
 desperate, she died by her own hand; her 
 uncoffined remains were cast into a hole in the
 
 MY LIFE. 
 
 high-road; and a common grave refused to 
 the remains of her, who had once been so 
 lovely — and once so ardently beloved ! 
 
 "I have done, major; the rest is of no moment. 
 You have heard, what no human ear shall ever 
 hear, ' the fugitive s Confession.'' You have re- 
 paid evil vdth good. I assailed you on the 
 bridge of Castlebar; and twice, the gun that 
 never failed before, was snapped at you ineffec- 
 tually, within a dozen paces. Farewell, major ; 
 the prayer of such a wretch as I would not be 
 heard ; but may you be happy ! and when you 
 hear Murphy ' the murderer' cursed — remem- 
 ber the wrongs that roused him — the deliberate 
 villany that drew down his just vengeance !" 
 
 He caught my father's hand, wrung it with a 
 wild grasp, rushed from the room, and was 
 hidden, in the plantations. 
 
 While the major was still pondering over the 
 tale of blood, Denis O'Brien cautiously peeped 
 into the apartment. 
 
 " Arrah ! and are ye alone ? Is he gone, 
 the devil ?" 
 
 " Devil, you may well term him ; and yet 
 that wretch, but for the crimes of others, might
 
 230 MY LIFE. 
 
 not have been more criminal than his fellow 
 men. I hope you took care of him, Denis .^^ 
 
 " Faith ! and that I did,'' replied the valet; 
 "mate and drink he had galore^ and for-by a 
 good suit of clothes, I gave him the owld car- 
 bine, just to keep in his hand by the way of 
 company, until he can stale a better gun.'"* 
 
 " There you did wrong," said the master ; 
 " we are bound to give food and shelter to the 
 wretched — but to arm the king's enemy ! it was 
 wrong, Denis." 
 
 " Why then, and may be it was," said Mr. 
 O'Brien, *'and I niver thought of that, good 
 or bad. But when the cratur told me he was 
 goin' into Connemara, to join the biggest thieves 
 under the canopy,* why, it would be worse than 
 murder to let him among them without some- 
 thing in his fist. They say, that a cat in hell 
 without claws has no chance at all, at all ; 
 and sure Connemara's worse, and that every- 
 body allows." 
 
 Denis' logic was unanswerable, and my father 
 said no more, but retired to his chamber. 
 
 * A Connaught abbreviation for " under the canopy of 
 heaven."
 
 MY LIFE. 281 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 PROMOTION. A CHRISTENING. 
 
 What have we 
 Done, that we must be victims for a deed 
 Before our birth ? 
 
 Cain. 
 
 Al Hassan's brow 
 Is brightened with unusual joy — 
 What mighty mischief glads him now, 
 Who never smiles but to destroy ? 
 
 MoORE. 
 
 Autumn passed, the trees were in the sear 
 and yellow leaf, and frequent gales from the 
 stormy west swept their falling honours along 
 the valley, as if to intimate that the dreary 
 season of the " dying year" was come. Other 
 indications of icy winter were frequent. The 
 woodcock sprang from the evergreens, the snow- 
 birds flocked upon the sand-hills, snipes and 
 field-fares arrived in numbers, and wild geeee 
 and barnacles were nightly heard in their
 
 MY LIFE. 
 
 passage to the feeding-grounds, as they di- 
 rected their clamorous flight from the lake to 
 the fens. 
 
 The time, indeed, had come when the lodge 
 must be exchanged for the town, and that, too, for 
 other causes than inclemency of weather. The 
 country was disturbed by marauders ; and the 
 mountain-districts infested by proclaimed rebels, 
 or deserters from the king's troops ; who, ren- 
 dered desperate when the French surrendered, 
 scattered over the province, to skreen them- 
 selves from the merited vengeance which their 
 treachery and disaffection had incurred. Conne- 
 mara, wild, lawless, and almost without the pale 
 of civilization, was a safe and favourite haunt 
 for all malefactors ; and its proximity to the 
 lodge, greatly increased the insecurity of the 
 latter. My mother's approaching accouchement 
 made a town residence indispensable. A house 
 was accordingly engaged in Castlebar — and 
 leaving Denis O'Brien in charge of the garrison, 
 Caesar Blake and his lady bade, as they be- 
 lieved, a temporary farewell to their mountain- 
 home. But it proved to be an eternal one ! 
 
 It was on a fine November day that they
 
 MY LIFE. 23S 
 
 left the highlands. The sun was sparkling on 
 the summits of the hills, which a recent snow- 
 shower had slightly sprinkled. The stream 
 from the lake had changed its character, and, 
 swollen by autumnal floods, appeared now a 
 goodly river. Though the heath was darkened, 
 and the trees leafless, there was still a quiet 
 and romantic beauty in this lonely landscape, 
 which winter could not destroy. To my mother, 
 her mountain-home appeared lovelier than ever, 
 probably because she felt a presentiment that 
 she was leaving it for ever. 
 
 While she was gazing on hill and lake and ri- 
 ver, with mingled feelings of pleasure and regret, 
 my father's quick eye detected the advance of a 
 military rider. The sunbeams glinted from his 
 helmet and steel scabbard, and announced him 
 to be an orderly dragoon. On the approach of 
 the carriage, the horseman pulled up, and tak- 
 ing a packet from his sabretash, delivered it to 
 the major. Caesar Blake broke the seal ; the 
 despatch merely contained a letter of congra- 
 tulation from the commanding officer at Castle- 
 bar, and enclosed a newspaper. My father 
 turned to the gazette ; there his name appeared
 
 284 MY LIFE. 
 
 as promoted to a lieutenant-colonelcy, with an 
 appointment to the 5th regiment, then in India, 
 but under orders for Europe. His gallantry at 
 Castlebar, it appeared, had not been overlooked. 
 
 General H made honourable mention of 
 
 his services ; and in consequence, he was re- 
 stored to active service, with additional rank. 
 His promotion, unsolicited and unexpected, was 
 therefore doubly dear to a soldier's feelings ; 
 and with excusable pride, he announced it to 
 his beautiful companion. 
 
 But the web of life is at best a tangled and 
 party-coloured concern. While my father's 
 eyes were sparkling with delight, he observed 
 my mother's cheek grow pale, as the paper she 
 had been looking over dropped from her power- 
 less hand. 
 
 " Are you ill, dearest ?" exclaimed the colo- 
 nel eagerly. She could not reply, but pointed 
 to a paragraph which had escaped his notice. 
 He read it, and it announced her father's mar- 
 riage. 
 
 This was indeed an unforeseen calamity, and 
 many a cherished hope of future pardon was 
 rudely annihilated. From Mr. Harrison's avow-
 
 MY LIFE. S35 
 
 ed disinclination to enter a second time into ma- 
 trimonial engagements, it was rather an act of 
 vengeance and displeasure, than the result of 
 fancy or free-will. He disliked woman's so- 
 ciety ; he feared a woman's thrall ; he avowed 
 those feelings, and for seventeen years had 
 acted on their impulse. What now could 
 change his sentiments, and remove prejudices 
 which through life he fostered ? The motive 
 was too apparent — to cut from all hope of in- 
 heritance his offending daughter and her unborn 
 offspring. My mother nearly sunk beneath the 
 blow ; but my father bore it manfully. Every 
 exertion to cheer and console his gentle partner 
 was tried, and his efforts were not without success. 
 It would appear that from contingent inhe- 
 ritances, fortune had determined to cut my 
 father off. Manus Blake had been ten years 
 a benedict, and no family had blessed his union. 
 His brothers, next in remainder, were not 
 likely from taste or profession to enter into 
 wedlock. Great, then, was the- gallant colonePs 
 astonishment, when a letter from the lord of 
 Castle Blake announced the hajjpy tidings, that 
 his lady was " as ladies wish to be."
 
 MY LIFE. 
 
 Time passed, my mother was safely confin- 
 ed, and I ushered into this " whirligig world.**' 
 At the baptismal font I was, in presence of a 
 score of Blakes, Burkes, Browns, and Bodkins, 
 denominated " John.'' Both my grandsires 
 rejoiced in this unpretending appellation ; and 
 which of the twain it was intended to honour, 
 I never heard and never inquired. Well would 
 it have been for me had any saint in the calen- 
 dar been selected for my patron rather than the 
 Baptist, and this my memoirs will prove. 
 
 In due time, Manus Blake's helpmate pro- 
 duced a boy ; and, as Southey sings, '' there 
 was joy in Aztlan." Now, Manus vene- 
 rated his father's memory, and the heir of 
 Castle Blake was therefore designated by the 
 same name that had already been bestowed 
 on me. 
 
 If my baptism had been honoured by the 
 heads of divers clans, and representatives from 
 all the tribes, it may be well imagined what a 
 momentous affair the christening of the heir of 
 our ancient house was. All, kith kin and re- 
 lations, even to the third and fourth generation, 
 were bidden ; and, of course, my parents were
 
 MY LIFE. 
 
 duly summoned. My mother's health was not 
 sufficiently established to permit her venturing 
 from home, and the colonel was obliged to at- 
 tend the ceremonial without her. Deeply he 
 regretted it ; and had it been possible to be 
 absent without giving mortal offence to his 
 kind-hearted brother, he would have excused 
 himself. To go was unavoidable : with a heavy 
 heart he bade his beloved Ellen an affectionate 
 farewell, and set out with a presentiment of 
 impending misfortune — for one whom he should 
 avoid was there — the wife of his deadly enemy, 
 and his quondam admirer, Harriette Kirwan. 
 Little did Manus Blake anticipate the misery 
 which his unconscious agency would bring about, 
 when he invited his new neighbours, the Dono- 
 vans, to meet his favourite brother. 
 
 The property to which Mr. Donovan had be- 
 come accidentally the heir, adjoined the estates 
 of Castle Blake ; and shortly after his marriage, 
 he came down with his beautiful bride to take a 
 formal possession. Anxious as he was to obtain 
 with his new acquirement a footing among the 
 aristocracy, he knew that this was only .to be 
 effected through his wife's connexion with the
 
 288 MY LIFE. 
 
 leading families. At first, he kept aloof from 
 my uncle ; but speedily discovering that with- 
 out his countenance, his assumed caste could 
 not be maintained, he changed his tactics, and 
 endeavoured to conciliate the lord of Castle 
 Blake In this his wife willingly assisted, and 
 formal visitings had been interchanged before 
 the rebellion exploded and Donovan joined the 
 royalists in Castlebar. 
 
 There, undoubtedly, he had used sinister 
 means to injure my father with the command- 
 ing officers ; but Caesar Blake's unexpected ad- 
 herence to the royal cause rendered any attempt 
 to impeach his loyalty absurd. Donovan re- 
 turned home a foiled and disappointed in- 
 triguer. With my father he could not com- 
 pete openly ; and, with deep dissimulation, but 
 unalterable hatred, he smothered his mortifica- 
 tion as he best could, and determined to bring 
 about a reconciliation, until time and accident 
 would secure a safe but tedious revenge. Ma- 
 nus Blake, open and unsuspicious to a fault, 
 was easily gained over ; he believed that all 
 were, sincere as himself, and freely offered his 
 assistance to reconcile those who in love and
 
 MY LIFE. 239 
 
 ambition had been rivals, and mediate between 
 an artful scoundrel and an ingenuous and con- 
 fiding brother. 
 
 The approaching solemnity aiForded a good 
 opportunity to heal the feud and re-establish 
 friendly feelings. Donovan and his wife were 
 accordingly invited to be present. By both 
 the invitation was joyfully accepted. Different 
 feelings influenced them ; — with Harriette, re- 
 viving love ; with her husband, undying hatred. 
 
 Already this ill-assorted couple had discover- 
 ed that happiness attends no union heartless 
 and hurried as their own. Donovan's vanity 
 was flattered by the beauty of his wife — but 
 beyond that, he had no tenderer feeling. With 
 Harriette, a deep aversion, almost too powerful 
 for concealment, succeeded the hour of madness 
 which tempted her to give a hand to one whose 
 character she despised, and whose person she 
 detested. For a time, a gay equipage and 
 showy ornaments amused her, while visiting and 
 change of scene diverted an uneasy mind from 
 thinking ; but these had ceased to interest : 
 ennui came on, reflection maddened, and her 
 passion for Caesar Blake, indelicate, criminal,
 
 240 MY LIFE. 
 
 and unholy, returned with additional violence, 
 as if the obligations that bound them both in- 
 creased it ; when even to think was unpardon- 
 able, and hope was at an end. 
 
 It was twilight when my father entered the 
 ivy-covered archway of his paternal domain. 
 March had come in with a lion^s violence : the 
 trees groaned in the storm — a deserted dog was 
 howling mournfully — an owl flitted heavily past 
 — and a hare crossed the avenue before him. 
 Caesar Blake would have been freer from super- 
 stition than his countrymen, had he regarded 
 these ominous appearances and sounds without 
 emotion. He spurred on rapidly, and at the 
 hall-door met his brother and his ancient enemy 
 returning from the stables. 
 
 Donovan anticipated an interview, and was 
 well prepared for it. With apparent openness 
 he at once entered into explanations ; and so 
 artful was his address, that my father was 
 cheated into a belief of his sincerity ; and, to all 
 appearance, amity was renewed, and past differ- 
 ences forgotten. 
 
 Harriette, " the married woman,'' was first 
 in the drawing-room, although the gallant
 
 MY LIFE. 241 
 
 colonel had persuaded himself, that the busi- 
 ness of the toilette would have made her the 
 last to enter it. Their meeting, and their tete- 
 a-tete^ it is unnecessary to particularize. Caesar 
 thought his accomplished cousin had never look- 
 ed so beautiful — while every smothered feeling 
 in her breast rekindled with increasing violence. 
 The omens that marked his journey were for- 
 gotten ; he was excited, flattered, almost pos- 
 sessed, and circumstances, trifling in themselves, 
 assisted. For the first time he wore a coloneFs 
 uniform ; for the first time he heard his new title 
 echoed in the gay festival. Caution, fear, and 
 prudence were lulled to sleep ; all around was 
 gay and reckless merriment. The heir was in 
 due form brought to the font ; my father and 
 the seductive Harriette were the sponsors ; the 
 holy rites were followed by the banquet ; the 
 wine flowed gloriously ; music was heard in the 
 hall ; the dance succeeded ; all was mirth and 
 gallantry ; and Ellen, the gentle, devoted, and 
 adoring Ellen, was half-forgotten ; and Har- 
 riette, all worthless as she was, usurped her 
 place. 
 
 lieader, censure not Caesar Blake too hastily ; 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 •242 MY LIFE. 
 
 let the wisest struggle with the temptation that 
 assailed him, and let Platonists prate as they 
 please, the stoutest resolution may fail, and 
 even a philosopher discover that human nature 
 is but weak; and, maugre the sophistries of 
 schoolmen, " a man's a man for a' that !" 
 
 The night wore on ; the happy parents of the 
 heir appeared removed beyond the cares and 
 sorrows of humanity. Donovan improved his 
 advantage, and showed himself so solicitous to 
 eradicate every latent spark of past unkind- 
 ness, that my father began to fancy he had 
 judged him with too much severity. Yet 
 Donovan never hated Caesar Blake with half 
 the intensity before, that the admiration his 
 wife lavished on his enemy elicited now. That 
 very evening, a disgraced servant of the Blakes, 
 whom he had taken into his ser\dce, in tipsy 
 loquacity apprised him of what he had never 
 known before ; and he registered in heaven an 
 oath of deadly vengeance. A blacker heart, 
 a more tortured spirit than his, never . occu- 
 pied a human habitation : yet his laugh was 
 loud, and he appeared the happiest of the 
 happy. But while his manner exhibited well-
 
 MY LIFE. 243 
 
 dissembled confidence and mental tranquillity, 
 he watched with a tiger's patience every look 
 and action of his doomed rival ; and, before the 
 gay throng separated, he had seen enough to 
 confirm his worst suspicions — his wife loved 
 Caesar Blake I 
 
 M 2
 
 MY LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 GUILT AND MURDER. 
 
 Oh ! too convincing — dangerously dear, 
 In woman's eye the unanswerable tear! 
 That weapon of her weakness she can wield, 
 To save, subdue— at once her spear and shield, 
 Avoid it — Virtue ebbs and Wisdom errs, 
 Too fondly gazing on that grief of hers ! 
 What lost a world, and bade a hero fly ? 
 The timid tear in Cleopatra's eye. 
 Yet be the soft triumvir's fault forgiven : 
 By this, how many lose not earth, but heaven ! 
 Consign their souls to man's eternal foe^ 
 And seal their own, to spare some wanton's woe! 
 * * * * Corsair. 
 
 Whose bullet through the night air sang, 
 Too nearly, deadly aimed to err? 
 
 Bride of Ahydos. 
 
 Three days passed, and hospitable rejoicings 
 continued with unabated spirit, in honour of the 
 long-denied blessing of an heir, which had now 
 been vouchsafed to the lord of Castle Blake. 
 Many of the guests remained ; while those who
 
 MY LIFE. 245 
 
 were obliged to leave, were succeeded by a 
 fresh supply of visiters. My father had fixed 
 the third morning for his departure; but a stag 
 was to be enlarged, from whom a fine run was 
 expected, and the colonel yielded to the earnest 
 solicitation of his brother, and consented to ex- 
 tend his visit to another day. 
 
 On what trifles do the gravest occurrences of 
 life depend ! My father had promised faith- 
 fully that on this day he would be at Castlebar, 
 and he had resolved to redeem the promise. 
 Accordingly he combated the entreaties of his 
 host, mounted his horase, and actually com- 
 menced his journey : but, unluckily, he cast a 
 shoe, and stopped at a smithes shop to have it 
 replaced. During this delay, the cart with the 
 deer came up, attended by a numerous field. 
 Again he was pressed to join the hunters ; the 
 prospect of a gallant run and the badinage of 
 the company overturned his resolutions, and he 
 consented. 
 
 There was also another departure from Castle 
 Blake, and that was Mr. Donovan's. Busi- 
 ness of moment called him to Galway. The 
 distance was long, the roads heavy, and he left
 
 246 MY LIFE. 
 
 with a declaration that he should not be home 
 till next morning. 
 
 Caesar Blake, when he changed his intention 
 of returning, despatched his servant to apprise 
 his lady. Ellen was anxiously expecting him ; 
 she had dressed with unusual care ; and her 
 baby's cot, gaily decorated with ever-blowing 
 roses, was placed upon a sofa in the drawing- 
 room. The day to her seemed interminal)ly 
 long , she gazed upon the slumbering child, 
 she looked at the progress of the time-piece: 
 she went to the window, the shades of evening 
 were falling fast ; and, as yet, her lord appear- 
 ed not. Something had made her melancholy : 
 she was still weak and nervous, it might be 
 her husband's absence, it might be her father's 
 marriage ; and her eyes filled as they turned 
 upon the darling pledge of pure and hallowed 
 love. Ah ! who can imagine a mother's feel- 
 ings as she looks upon the first-born of an idol- 
 ized father ? 
 
 " How lovely he appears ! his little cheeks, 
 In their pure incarnation, vying with 
 The rose-leaves strewn beneath him. 
 
 And his lips, too, 
 How beautifully parted !
 
 MY LIFE. 247 
 
 He smiles and sleeps 1 Sleep on 
 And smile, thou little young inheritor 
 
 Of a world Sleep on and smile ! 
 
 Thine are the hours and days when both are cheering 
 
 And innocent ! Must the time 
 
 Come, thou shalt be amerced for sins unknown, 
 
 Which were not thine nor mine ? But now sleep on ! — 
 
 His cheeks are reddening into deeper smiles, 
 
 And shining lids are trembling o'er his long 
 
 Lashes — 
 
 Half open, from beneath them, the clear blue 
 
 Laughs out, altho' in slumber. He must dream — 
 
 Of what ? — of Paradise ! Ay ! dream of it. 
 
 My disinherited boy ! 'Tisbut a dream !" 
 
 " Hark ! a horse stops. It is himself, thy 
 own loved father, boy !" and Ellen flew Avith 
 open arms to meet him. Alas ! it was but the 
 messenger to extinguish hope, deferred too long 
 already. 
 
 The lights were blazing in Castle Blake, the 
 dressing-bell had rung its second peal, and Har- 
 riette Donovan appeared in all the pride of beau- 
 ty. Never had she looked lovelier, for never 
 had she taken more pains to render her charms 
 irresistible. She was dressed splendidly; her 
 magnificent black hair contrasting artfully with 
 the string of pearls that secured it, while the 
 sparkling necklace found its brilliancy eclipsed by 
 
 " Corruscations from a lightning eye."
 
 MS MY LIFE. 
 
 Her tall and voluptuous figure moved over 
 the carpet with that natural grace that art 
 attains not, as she sought the distant sofa 
 where she observed her cousin. Dinner was 
 announced. Harriette leaned upon my father's 
 arm; and, "like a blooming eastern bride," 
 occupied the next place at table. 
 
 Alas ! Caesar Blake, there is one at home, 
 weeping over an infant's cradle, whose chaste 
 and holy tear is worth all the " wreathed 
 smiles" that ever played round the rosy lips of 
 the dangerous beauty " who sits beside thee !" 
 
 That morning the deer had made a gallant 
 run; the pace was severe, and those who had 
 ridden hard now drank deep, and, gradually 
 dropping off one by one, sought their respective 
 dormitories, and the table was deserted long 
 before the usual hour. The ladies, also, from 
 the late revelry of the preceding night, were 
 inclined to seek their pillows ; soon, therefore, 
 the drawing-room was deserted, Harriette dis- 
 appeared, and my father retired to his chamber. 
 . There he found a brilliant wood-fire spark- 
 ling in the hearth. He threw his coat aside, 
 put on his dressing-gown, and ^vith the in-
 
 MY LIFE. 249 
 
 dolence that a hard ride induces, stretched 
 himself luxuriously upon a sofa, in quiet, 
 dreamy listlessness, gazing upon the ruddy 
 blaze. He thought of Ellen, and his heart 
 smote him. Was she awake ? or was she 
 dreaming of him ? No — at that lone late hour 
 she was kneeling before her God, imploring 
 protection for a sleeping babe, and invoking 
 blessings on an absent husband ! 
 
 Caesar Blake was slumbering; a smart ride, 
 a free carouse, a brilliant wood-fire, lulled his 
 faculties into repose, and in a state of half-uncon- 
 sciousness, in fancy, he was with Ellen and his 
 child. A lip was softly pressed to his ! was it 
 a dream ? He unclosed his eyes, and Harriette 
 Donovan, "the married woman," was leaning 
 in voluptuous deshabille over the sofa ! 
 
 " Harriette !" he exclaimed, " is anything 
 wrong ? Have you not retired ? why are you 
 at this hour waking ?'"* 
 
 "Waking! Caesar — "' she repKed wildly, 
 " how can one so wretched as I expect to sleep ^ 
 I have lost you. You slighted, derided, and 
 deserted me — and yet I love you — for I cannot 
 subdue feelings that are unconquerable !"" 
 M 5
 
 250 MY LIFE. 
 
 " Harriette, Harriette, this is madness V 
 
 " Madness you may call it, Caesar, but I am 
 not mad. I loved you, and you scorned me; 
 1 hated you, cursed you, and in an hour of rage 
 threw my hand away upon a wretch whom I 
 despise, detest, execrate! I cannot be your 
 wife — I will be your page — your mistress — 
 your menial ; I will follow you, live with you, 
 die for you ; but, Caesar, only love me ; for 
 without your love, life is not endurable !" 
 
 My father marked the wildness of her eye, 
 and saw that she was fearfully agitated. The 
 position in which he found himself was indeed 
 alarming. " Harriette,'"* he exclaimed, " by 
 Heaven ! you will be the ruin of both ! Leave 
 me — for your own sake — for mine — for one's 
 who gave up home and father for me. I adjure 
 you to leave this room — stay, and we are lost 
 — we, and one beside who is guileless."" 
 
 She paused irresolutely — her eyes flashed 
 lightnings. Was she again despised ? The 
 thought maddened, and her heart throbbed 
 almost to bursting. There was a long pause. 
 " Yes — I will leave you! Cold, cruel, heartless
 
 MY LIFE. 251 
 
 as you are — I cannot curse you, Caesar," and 
 her wild looks softened and she melted into 
 tears. " May you never feel the misery — the 
 madness, that / do r she almost fainted ; she 
 would have spoken, but her words found no 
 utterance, while frequent sobs betrayed the 
 inward storm that racked her bosom. My 
 father could not witness such distress insen- 
 sibly; his softer nature was touched — his 
 weak, but human heart, gave way ; he sup- 
 ported her in his arms — he placed her on the 
 sofa — he brought her water — he talked and 
 reasoned — and two o'clock found the erring 
 fair one in his chamber. 
 
 " Harriette, farewell !'' he said, as he press- 
 ed her to his heart ; " May God forgive us ! " 
 
 " Amen !" a deep revengeful voice responded, 
 and Donovan stood in the door-way. He was 
 dressed and armed. Presenting at my unfor- 
 tunate father, at but three paces' distance, he 
 drew the trigger — the bullet took effect — and 
 Caesar Blake fell upon the floor mortally 
 wounded ! 
 
 A dreadful commotion en.^ued. llarriottc.
 
 252 MY LIFE. 
 
 the cause of all, fled shrieking to her chamber, 
 while the murderer rushed down-stairs. His 
 horse was waiting at the door ; and long before 
 the horror-stricken household could comprehend 
 the meaning of the alarm, the homicide was far 
 beyond pursuit. 
 
 Accident brought on this tragedy. Donovan, 
 unhappily, fomid little delay in Galway, and 
 less difficulty in traversing the cross-roads 
 than he anticipated when he left Castle Blake. 
 In the evening he reached the intermediate 
 town, in which he had purposed stopping; but 
 induced by the earliness of the hour, he deter- 
 mined to push forwards. His own apartment 
 was in the same wing of the building in which 
 that of Caesar Blake was situated. The hour 
 was late — all was quiet — but from one window 
 a light appeared — and that was in the chamber 
 of his enemy. What kept him waking ? He 
 held his breath — dark suspicions crossed his 
 mind — he gazed with starting eyes, and he saw 
 a female form shadowed on the wall. Her 
 arms were round the neck, her head was resting 
 on the bosom of his enemy ! He rushed up-
 
 MY LIFE. 253 
 
 stairs, opened his own chamber, and found it 
 deserted ! 
 
 The rest is known. His wife's infidehty was 
 discovered; and Cassar Blake fell a martyr to 
 the feebleness of man's resolution, and the 
 madness of woman's love !
 
 254 MY LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Fast from his breast the blood is bubbling — 
 
 ***** 
 He was thy hope — thy joy — thy love — thine all, 
 And that last thought on him thou couldst not save 
 
 Sufficed to kill ; 
 Burst forth in one wild cry, and all was still ! 
 
 Bride of Ahydos. 
 
 Five bits of lead. 
 Or three, or two, or one, send very far ! 
 
 Do7i Juan. 
 
 The consternation of the sleeping inmates of 
 the castle, when awakened by the report of 
 firearms and the loud outcries of the first do- 
 mestics who entered the chamber of the dying 
 man, is not to be described; and never was 
 there a wilder scene of tumult and horror than 
 the house now presented. The shrieks of wo-
 
 MY LIFE. 255 
 
 men, the imprecations of men, were everywhere 
 heard, while some were calhng for assistance, 
 and others raving for revenge. Manus Blake, 
 who had been among the foremost to reach the 
 apartment of his unfortunate brother, raised 
 him from the floor, and laid him gently on the 
 bed. The surgeon of a dragoon regiment, who 
 happened to be of the number of the guests, 
 having cleared the chamber of the crowd, pro- 
 ceeded to examine my father's wound. A hasty 
 inspection satisfied him that the injury was 
 mortal, and one glance told Manus Blake that 
 his favourite brother was doomed to fill an un- 
 timely grave. Expresses were sent off in vari- 
 ous directions, additional surgical assistance pro- 
 cured, and the curate of the parish despatched 
 to break the melancholy tidings to my mother, 
 and convey her without delay to Castle Blake, 
 to bid an eternal farewell to him in whom her 
 every hope of earthly happiness centred. 
 
 It would be a useless and painful detail to 
 describe the agony of grief with which my mo- 
 ther received the fatal news, though gently and 
 gradually communicated. At times, during the 
 melancholy journey, her faculties appeared to be
 
 ^56 MY LIFE. 
 
 paralyzed by the excess of her misery ; and 
 for miles she remained in stupid, silent as- 
 tonishment, as if feeling and perception had 
 been overwhelmed, and extinguished altogether. 
 Then, as if suddenly awaking to a conscious- 
 ness of her wretchedness, a fit of frenzy would 
 succeed this mute and torpid apathy, venting 
 itself in piercing shrieks, until, exhausted, she 
 fainted in the arms of the clergyman and her 
 female attendant. 
 
 It was during the wildest of these bursts of 
 anguish, that a carriage was passing that which 
 bore the hapless mourner to her husband'*s 
 death-bed. The early travellers — for morning 
 was but breaking — appeared impatient of delay, 
 and, from the narrowness of the road, a mo- 
 mentary stop was necessary, to allow the ve- 
 hicles to proceed without collision. The inter- 
 ruption was noticed by those within, and the 
 blinds, which had been drawn down, were for 
 an instant raised. Great God ! what must 
 have been the feelings of her who occupied that 
 gay equipage, as shriek succeeded sliriek from 
 the carriage that impeded her's ? That frantic 
 mourner was the woman whose happiness she
 
 MY LIFE. 251 
 
 had blasted — her whom she widowed — whose 
 babe she made an orphan — for the early tra- 
 veller was Harriette Donovan, hurrying from 
 the scene of misery and blood which her un- 
 holy love had caused. 
 
 When the fatal decision of the surgeon was 
 communicated to Caesar Blake, he bore it with 
 manly resignation. At his earnest request, the 
 room was cleared of all except his brother and 
 a clergyman, who had hastened to offer spiri- 
 tual consolation to the dying soldier. What 
 passed was never known, farther than that the 
 wounded man consigned his wife and child to 
 his brother's protection, and exacted a solemn 
 promise that no vindictive proceedings should 
 be pursued against his murderer. The inter- 
 view was long and melancholy; and when the 
 surgeons were again admitted, Manus Blake 
 exhibited tokens of the deepest sorrow, while 
 the minister of peace was totally unmanned. 
 The night wore through ; morning broke ; mo- 
 mentarily Caesar Blake became feebler ; it was 
 evident to all, that the hour of dissolution was 
 approaching, and it became questionable whe- 
 ther the fading sj)ark would hold out much
 
 258 MY LIFE. 
 
 longer, and enable the drooping soldier to take 
 his last farewell of one, on whom, even amid 
 the agonies of a painful departure, all his 
 thoughts turned. 
 
 " Manus," said my father, in a feeble voice, 
 "has morning dawned sufficiently to permit 
 you to see the gate ?'"* 
 
 " Yes, my dearest brother ; compose yourself, 
 Ellen will soon be here." 
 
 '* Would that she were !"' replied the dying 
 man. " Remember, Manus — you know my last 
 wish, and you will be all to my poor wife 
 and my orphan child ?""* 
 
 " They shall be dear to me as a cherished 
 sister and as an only boy!" and the iron nerves 
 of my uncle could not control his emotions, 
 while big tears stole down his manly cheek. 
 
 " Enough !" said my father, " I die con- 
 tented. Oh, Ellen ! could I but breathe my 
 last sigh upon thy bosom — couldst thou but listen 
 to my dying words, invoking blessings on thee 
 and thy poor boy !" 
 
 " Compose yourself, dearest Caesar, Ellen 
 will be here immediately ;" and a slight con- 
 fusion in the chamber announced the expected
 
 MY LIFE. 259 
 
 arrival. The mourner's carriage had entered 
 the grand entrance, and was seen at a rapid 
 pace proceeding down the avenue. 
 
 It was well for the poor sufferer that she 
 was insensible to everything around, or the pre- 
 sent fearful visit would have formed a dreadful 
 contrast to that joyous evening on which she 
 first entered the portal of Castle Blake. The 
 stopping of the carriage partially recalled her 
 memory, and she wildly inquired " where she 
 was ?" But when the lofty figure of Manus 
 Blake presented itself, his features marked with 
 intense grief, every fear was realized — the full 
 consciousness of misery returned — she utter- 
 ed a piercing and sustained shriek of anguish, 
 that reached the chamber of the dying man, 
 and told that she was now painfully alive to 
 the extent of her wretchedness. 
 
 Willingly would I pass over the scene that 
 followed. They carried her up-stairs — they 
 placed her beside her departing husband — her 
 lips were laid to his, and a wild despairing 
 glance fixed upon that fading eye which never 
 had turned upon her with any but a look of 
 love. " Ellen !" said a voice so feeble as to be
 
 260 MY LIFE. 
 
 heard with difficulty, " I am going — fast — 
 God bless— ^' 
 
 The surgeon held the wrist of the arm' which 
 was extended over the bed-coverings, and made 
 a mute sign that my mother should be re- 
 moved — Caesar Blake''s last sigh had parted ! 
 
 " It is over !'^ said the churchman, raising 
 his glistening eyes. " Into thy hands. Father, 
 we commend him !" 
 
 " What !''' screamed the wild voice of the 
 mourner — " Who says he 's dead ? It 's false !*" 
 Nor indeed did the departed soldier bear the 
 semblance of an extinguished spirit. 
 
 " He seemM to sleep, for you could scarcely tell 
 (As he bled inwardly, no hideous river 
 Of gore divulged the cause) that he was dead." 
 
 " Speak to me !" she continued — " Speak to 
 Ellen, my own darling adored husband ! Ha ! 
 he does not hear me !" she laid her lips to his ; 
 "I feel no breath; — Caesar, speak! He is 
 deadf'' and in violent convulsions she sank 
 upon the senseless body. 
 
 I must hurry the detail. All that human 
 skill could do was done. While strength re- 
 mained, shrieks and groans, that would have
 
 MY LIFE. ^61 
 
 harrowed a marble breast to listen to, were 
 heard from my mother's chamber; convulsions 
 succeeded each other quickly, and during one 
 of the most severe, a vessel in the head rup- 
 tured. Ellen's sufferings were mercifully ended ; 
 and before the remains of Caesar Blake M'ere 
 cold, his wife lay at his side a corpse, and / was 
 
 made an orphan ! 
 
 ****** 
 
 This frightful tragedy occasioned a powerful 
 sensation : the sympathies of all classes were 
 excited — all execrated the deed, all denounced 
 the murderer ; and, as a last token of respect, 
 while the bodies were being waked, the castle 
 was thronged by crowds of sincere mourners. 
 On the day of the funeral, every road and 
 height was covered with countless multitudes, 
 and twenty thousand persons witnessed the 
 melancholy ceremony. 
 
 When the coffins were extended side by side 
 in the church-aisle, and the beautiful service for 
 the dead was being performed, the simple in- 
 scriptions on the plates pointed a striking lesson 
 of the insecurity of mortal life and human hap- 
 piness. " Lieutenant-colonel Caesar Blake, aged
 
 262 MY LIFE. 
 
 28 years !"' — And was that heap of clay the 
 proud, and chivalrous, and gallant soldier ? 
 Short was his career ! The scroll upon the 
 lesser lid was as laconic — " Dame Ellinor 
 Blake, aged 19/' Great God I brief was the 
 space vouchsafed to one so fair and young and 
 innocent ! 
 
 The bodies were consigned to the tomb — 
 " dust to dusf"* was spoken — and the earth 
 rattled hollowly above the dead soldier and his 
 wife ! Amid tears and lamentations the grave 
 was filled — the crowd were beginning to dis- 
 perse — and the last sod was smoothed over " the 
 narrow house. "" There was a momentary si- 
 lence, while all looked with full hearts and 
 fuller eyes on the little mound that covered 
 " the brave and beautiful." 
 
 Just then a youthful stranger issued from the 
 crowd, and gazed for an instant on the double 
 grave. He knelt and kissed the turf, plucked 
 a few blades from the herbage, and in a voice 
 clear and distinct enough to be overheard by 
 hundreds, exclaimed, " Caesar Blake ! before 
 this tuft of grass is withered, your murderer 
 shall fill as red a gTave as this !" Turning
 
 MY LIFE. 263 
 
 from the spot, he disappeared among the dense 
 multitude. 
 
 " Who is he .^'' asked many voices. None 
 answered — for none knew. 
 
 ****** 
 ****** 
 
 A month passed ; the assizes were at hand, 
 and Mr. Donovan who had absconded, on 
 learning what the dying request of his victim 
 had been, determined to come in and risk a 
 trial. Had a rigorous prosecution been anti- 
 cipated, he would not have hazarded this step ; 
 but, well assured that vindictive measures were 
 not meditated by the relatives of the deceased, 
 he was aware that by a proper application of 
 money, all contingent chances of a convic- 
 tion would be evaded. He subsidized accord- 
 ingly the sub-sheriff — a jury was prepared — 
 and the prisoner was arraigned, tried, and ac- 
 quitted. 
 
 And yet Donovan's escape was very critical. 
 The injunctions of a dying brother to Manus 
 Blake were sacred, and therefore he took no 
 steps to ensure a conviction of the murderer ; 
 while the prisoner secured a powerful bar, u
 
 264 MY LIFE. 
 
 venal sheriff, and a packed jury, and the latter 
 saved him. 
 
 The evidence was heard ; the judge sumnied 
 up, and charged unfavourably for the traverser. 
 Ten of the jury were unanimous to find him 
 guilty — two were for an acquittal ; and these 
 were professional hoot-eaters.'^ 
 
 " There is nothing like leather,*" says an old 
 moral ; and in Peter Donovan's case it was a 
 proven truism. The jury for two long days 
 and nights remained secluded. The ten for a 
 conviction were " good men and true," but the 
 leather-cutters were far more efficient — for they 
 had entered the box regularly provisioned for 
 the nonce, a precaution which their brethren had 
 unhappily neglected. Jurymen cannot live on 
 air, and the conclusion may be guessed ; the 
 two held out — the ten gave in — and Donovan 
 was acquitted. 
 
 Consummate as that scoundrel's audacity 
 was, he felt himself too happy in stealing from 
 
 * In tlie kingdom of Connaught, a boot eater meaneth a 
 gentleman who enters a jury-box with his verdict ready 
 for delivery ; nor will he, from evidence or any other 
 cause, alter the same, even though obliged " to eat his own 
 boots."
 
 MY LIFE. ^65 
 
 the assize-town unobserved. Swagger and im- 
 pudence were unavailing now : the timid turned 
 from him with aversion, and the bolder took no 
 trouble to conceal their abhorrence. This was 
 sufficiently annoying ; but the truculent looks 
 and muttered curses of the peasantry alarmed 
 him far more. He perceived that his life 
 was insecure; and he determined to leave the 
 country for a time, until the storm blew over, 
 and popular indignation should subside. Leav- 
 ing the to^-n at midnight, he reached his mi- 
 serable home without any interruption ; and, 
 among low followers and broken sycophants, 
 vainly strove to foi'get that blood was uj)on his 
 hands. 
 
 Still, even here, he heard enough to make 
 him anxious to expedite his departure : his 
 tenantry were driven from the fairs; his ser- 
 vants insulted in the market-town ; every post 
 brought him threatening letters; and his own 
 domain — and he never left it — was now deemed 
 insecure. His arrangements were completed, 
 and the next day he was to leave the neigh- 
 bourhood, and seek safety in another land. 
 
 He sate at his own table ; a low attorney, 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 MY LIFE, 
 
 a dependant kinsman, the blackguards who 
 had acquitted him, and two or three broken- 
 down spendthrifts, formed fitting guests for a 
 murderer's board. 
 
 In imitation of ancient houses, Donovan had 
 retained a harper. To one naturally unmusi- 
 cal, having no ancestral recollections to wed 
 him to half-forgotten usages, the presence of 
 the bard was tolerated from vanity alone. To- 
 night, the tunes he played were unhappily se- 
 lected, and the names and melodies unsuited to 
 the temper of the master of the house ; and the 
 old man was rudely dismissed from a board 
 where music had no charms, and wine alone 
 could produce a simulated mirth, which, when 
 the lip smiles, cannot prevent the breast from 
 >sighing, 
 
 A heartless eiFort at hilarity vanishes at the 
 most trifling annoyance. Donovan had lost a 
 favourite dog, and a considerable reward was 
 offered, but in vain, for his recovery. That eve- 
 ning the head of the poor animal was affixed to 
 his gate, and a scroll attached to it, declaring 
 that a similar fate awaited the owner before 
 another week would pass. No wonder the part-
 
 MY LIFE. S67 
 
 iiig* revelry was clouded by gloomy forebodings, 
 and that the smile was forced, and the jest a 
 mockery. The hour of separation was near; all 
 had drunk deeply ; for, to drown remorse, Dono- 
 van himself had latterly resorted to the bottle. 
 
 " We must cancel that will, Hawkins," he 
 said : " Like every other new-married fool, I 
 was bewitched, and, to cut off my next relation 
 whom I hate, left every acre to that infernal 
 woman." The attorney assented. " Poison 
 every inch of the mearings ; and if Blake'*s 
 hounds attempt to draw a cover within miles, 
 he may send a cart for their carcasses." The 
 dependant nodded obedience. " And now for 
 bed, boys, for I must be astir by cockcrow." 
 
 " Not till we have one glorious round !" ex- 
 claimed a ruined blackleg. " Fill, every man 
 of ye. This is our host : long life to him ! 
 give him a full bumper !" 
 
 The party were seated in a back-room that 
 looked into an enclosed garden. From its 
 greater security, this apartment had been of 
 late the favourite chamber of Donovan. The 
 shutters were but partially closed ; and the 
 young moon, glancing in, was sometimes seen 
 N 2
 
 268 MY LIFE. 
 
 aud sometimes hidden, for the night was bois- 
 terous and cloudy. The glasses were filled to 
 the brim — the company rose to drink the toast 
 with fitting honours, and the name of Donovan 
 was on every lip. Suddenly the attorney point- 
 ed to the casement. 
 
 " What 's that ?" asked the host, with all 
 the quickness of intuitive suspicion. 
 
 " It was only fancy," returned the man of 
 law ; " I thought I saw a human countenance 
 peeping through the window there. It must 
 have been the shadow of Miles Dogherty." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed Donovan, as he look- 
 ed round. " That stupid scoundrel of a ser- 
 vant always neglects to close the shutters : not 
 that we need fear intruders here, for the garden- 
 wall is twenty feet high.'" 
 
 " Phoo !" said the boot-eater, " the devil 
 himself could not get over that." 
 
 " We may as well, however, close the win- 
 dows," said Donovan ; and, stepping forward, 
 he laid his hand upon the shutter. He start- 
 ed instantly. " By Heaven !" he exclaimed, 
 " there is a man outside ! Who 's there .'*" 
 
 " The avenger of Ccesar Blake /" returned a
 
 MY LIFE. 269 
 
 voice that harrowed all that heard it. The words 
 were scarcely uttered, when a close explosion 
 shook the room ; splintered glass flew across 
 the table; and Donovan made one backward 
 step, and fell heavily on the carpet. In rushed 
 the servants ; they raised their master — he wa,s 
 a dead man, for several bullets had ruptured 
 the heart and divided the spine. Uproar and 
 confusion ensued. After some delay, the gar- 
 den was searched, for none of the guests 
 wished to beard the murderer ; but none was 
 found ; and the avenger of Caesar Blake re- 
 mained undiscovered.
 
 S70 MY LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MY BOYHOOD. MRS. BLAKE CASEY. 
 
 Miss Hoj/den.-^His honour desires you'll be so kind as 
 to let us be married to-morrow. 
 
 Young Fashion. — ^To-morrow ! No, no ; 'tis now, this 
 veiy hour, I would have the ceremony performed. 
 Miss Hoyden. — 'Ecod ! with all my heart. 
 
 Trip to Scarborough. 
 Oh ye! who teach the ingenuous youth of nations, 
 Holland, France, England, Germany, or Spain, 
 I pray ye flog them upon all occasions. 
 
 It mends their morals ; never mind the pain. 
 
 Don Juan. 
 
 I WAS removed to Castle Blake, and placed 
 in my aunt's nursery. Never was orphan more 
 tenderly attended to, and never a dying pledge 
 more faithfully redeemed, than that made by 
 Manus Blake to my deceased parent. Attach- 
 ed as my uncle was to his long-expected heir, 
 I seemed to be equally regarded. We were
 
 MY LIFE. 271 
 
 brought up like twin-brothers, and our names 
 were not more similar than our persons. 
 
 And yet my blundering relative injured me 
 from the very cradle. He not only neglected 
 to communicate my mother\s death to Mr. 
 Harrison ; but when a letter was received from 
 that singular personage, stating that he had 
 seen the melancholy affair reported in the 
 papers, and offering his protection to me, 
 Manus, irritated at some passage in the epistle, 
 that he imagined reflected on his brother's cha- 
 racter, transmitted in reply a thundering phi- 
 lippic, so ingeniously worded as to sting my 
 grandfather to the quick, and smother every 
 reviving spark of natural affection. 
 
 The records of infancy are not very interest- 
 ing, nor are they of much importance to society 
 at large, save in poetical biographies, when it is 
 desirable to ascertain, if possible, by a stop- 
 watch, the precise period when the first " lisp 
 in numbers'" can be authenticated. The history 
 of a boyhood is not more valuable, excepting 
 when the chronicled one slips off antecedent to 
 his seventh year, a paragon of precocious piety, 
 and leaving ' sayings and doings"* sufficient for a
 
 272 MY LIFE. 
 
 saintly annual or methodist magazine. Indeed, 
 boys in good health are in propensities and 
 pursuits pretty similar ; and in the kingdom of 
 Connaught the course of education generally 
 adopted is nearly the same. There they 
 whip tops, and are whipped in turn ; break 
 windows and worry cats; learn to ride and 
 read ; are taught card-playing and their cate- 
 chism ; and so gradually improve, until in due 
 time they shoot flying and kiss the nurse- 
 maids. Now my cousin and myself were no 
 exceptions to " ingenuous youth," only that 
 Jack possessed more animal spirits, with a finer 
 development of the organ of destructiveness. 
 Father Roger Dowling, who confessed my aunt 
 and superintended our education, could occa- 
 sionally manage to keep me for an hour to my 
 " humanities ;" while Jack, unless strapped to 
 the table, would not remain steady for a 
 second ; and for every window that I broke, he 
 smashed twenty. Indeed Father Roger de- 
 clared, "that were I removed from the evil 
 influence and example of my kinsman, I was 
 the making of as nate a scholar as ever thumbed 
 a dictionary ; but Jack, might the Lord mend
 
 MY LIFE. 273 
 
 him ! — he, Roger, had taught two generations, 
 and finished in less than no time sundry gen- 
 tlemen whom he enumerated, and who, when 
 they came under his tutelage, hardly knew a B 
 from a bulFs foot : but Jack bate Bannagher, 
 and would vex a saint even were he loaded with 
 psalm-books." 
 
 We passed our thirteenth year, and still were 
 at the feet of Father Roger. I wrote tolerably, 
 and read Virgil. Jack was an execrable scribe, 
 and knew as much of the Mantuan bard as he 
 did of the author of Junius ; but he was not 
 deficient in other accomplishments. He shot 
 well, rode dashingly, tied flies, cropped terriers, 
 and, as Tony Joyce the huntsman averred, was 
 a most promising youth, provided they did not 
 " smother him with larning."'' " If he was in- 
 tended for a priest, it was right enough ; but 
 for a gentleman, and he too the head of the 
 Blakes, what had he to do with books and 
 balderdash ? He, Tony, wished he might only 
 fill his grandfather's shoes, for he indeed was 
 an honour to the name ; and sure all the world 
 knew that Ulick Blake was but a marksman.'" 
 Father Roger, however, was not so sanguine 
 
 N O
 
 at 4* MY LIFE. 
 
 toucliing his pupiPs future career. — " He trusted 
 he might be astray, and that Jack would come 
 to a dacent end ; but he, Roger, could not 
 forget Kit Costello, who was hanged at Ennis 
 for shooting the sub-sheriif — and Jack Blake 
 was as like Kit Costello in every turn as one 
 pea was to another.'" 
 
 Whether it was that the eternal jeremiads 
 of the confessor began to alarm Manus and his 
 lady, certain it is that a public school was de- 
 cided upon as the proper place to give Jack 
 and me the last polish. " It was hard too,''"' 
 they admitted, " to part with such promising 
 boys. They had no harm in their hearts, and 
 young blood was warm." This consideration 
 might have saved us from a probation of light 
 food and heavy flogging at the academy of 
 Loughrea ; but while our fate was in the ba- 
 lance, an unforeseen accident occurred that con- 
 signed us to Doctor Bircham. 
 
 It so happened that Manus Blake had a fe- 
 male relative, who bore the plebeian surname of 
 Casey. To do the good lady common justice, 
 she did all she could to render it palatable to 
 " ears polite," by affixing her maiden appella-
 
 MY LIFE. 275 
 
 tion; and hence, her letters were addressed 
 and her cards engraven, " Mrs. Blake Casey." 
 Now the defunct Casey in name and calling 
 was equally unaristocratic, for he had been a 
 tailor. In one of his periodical incursions into 
 the kingdom of Connaught, on the forlorn-hope 
 of collecting "monies due,'' Providence — for 
 marriages it is allowed are made in heaven — 
 ordained that he should travel tete-a-tete in the 
 Roscrea stage with Miss Honoria Blake. She 
 was a stout gentlewoman and rather past ma- 
 turity; and, as it turned out, never did two 
 persons embark in the same vehicle on more 
 unchristian terms with mankind than Honoria 
 Blake and Jeremiah Casey aforesaid. 
 
 The lady was returning from a Blazer ball ; 
 and though, at first sight, she might have 
 appeared rather corpulent for a " coryphee,"" 
 nevertheless she delighted in country-dancing, 
 and there was not a catch-weight in Galway 
 more enduring, take her either at reel or jigg. 
 Imagine her indignation, when, on the preceding 
 night, she had been permitted to overlook a 
 whist-table. Those on whom she had a legi- 
 timate claim were too drunk to stand ; those
 
 S76 MY LIFE. 
 
 who were not, left her to sit unheeded. None 
 claimed " her soft hand ;'*"' and her figured mus- 
 lin, its first appearance upon any stage, was 
 never allowed to rustle down the middle ! 
 
 Nor was Jeremiah Casey in happier mood. 
 Every year his customers became more dilatory ; 
 and it appeared to him, that in Connaught, by 
 a general consent, payments were to be pro- 
 crastinated to the day of judgment. 
 
 Jerry had scoured the country from cock- 
 crow to curfew, Of his numerous correspond- 
 ents, sundry were sick, and divers invisible ; 
 one man was absent at a fox-hunt, another had 
 bolted with his neighbour's wife, and those who 
 favoured him with an interview were not more 
 satisfactory. One, whom he had furnished 
 with a bridal outfit, threatened him with in- 
 stant death for recalling the event, and there- 
 by wounding his feehngs, as his lady had left 
 him in a fortnight. Another generously offered 
 to accept at six months for two hundred, pro- 
 vided Jerry handed over the balance, being 
 eighty-four pounds, six shillings, and four-pence, 
 upon the spot. Mr. Bodkin had been cleaned 
 out at the Curragh, and Mr. M'Dermott re-
 
 MY LIFE. 277 
 
 quested he would oblige him by discounting a 
 bill. Mr. Kirwan was anxious to know on 
 what night the Westport mail was robbed, as 
 that event must have occurred, and himself 
 suspected to have been present and parttceps 
 crimints, or he, Jerry, never would have the 
 assurance to demand money from him at that 
 time of the year. Mr. Burke felt oiFended at 
 the indelicacy of the application, as, but five 
 years before, he had actually paid him, Jerry, 
 fifty pounds: and Mr. Donnelan trusted the 
 tenants would not hear he was a tailor, and 
 from Dublin; he, Donnelan, wished him well, and 
 feared, if discovered, that he could not save his 
 life. In one house, he found the lower windows 
 built up, as the occupant had quarrelled with 
 the coroner. At another, even before he could 
 announce his name, he was covered with a 
 blunderbuss from the attic, and obliged to 
 abscond with as much rapidity as if he had 
 committed a felony. In short, Jeremiah Casey 
 was returning a sadder, but not a richer man, 
 than when he crossed the Shannon ; and had 
 half determined, like Mr. Daniel O'Connel, to 
 " register a vow in heaven,""* never during the
 
 278 MY LIFE. 
 
 remainder of his natural life to apply shears to 
 broadcloth for any customer westward of the 
 bridge of Athlone. 
 
 Woman is an uncertain article ; and so 
 says every man who has passed five-and-twenty. 
 Some of them are won in smiles, and others are 
 best wooed when sulky. I know not what 
 tempted Jerry Casey, when driven desperate 
 by bad debts, to then begin thinking about 
 matrimony ; nor why Honor Blake, when at 
 "war with all the sex, should condescend to 
 vow submission to a fraction of humanity. But 
 Jerry was rich as a Jew ; Honor living on suf- 
 ferance with her clan, even unto the. third and 
 fourth generation. The result was, that after 
 a courtship " short, sharp, and decisive," Honor 
 Blake was united to Jeremiah Casey; and so 
 said all the newspapers. 
 
 There was dire commotion among the tribes^ 
 when it was announced that one of " the ould 
 stock" had committed matrimony with a tailor. 
 But this indignation was deep, not loud. In 
 the alphabet of Jerry^s ledger the names of the 
 complainants were awfully recorded. Though 
 he, good easy man, might be trifled with, his
 
 MY LIFE. 279 
 
 lady, if roused, would probably exhibit diiFerent 
 feelings. Quickly and quietly the indignity 
 was forgotten ; one by one, the kindred of Mrs. 
 Casey condescended to drop in at dinner-time ; 
 Usher's Quay was convenient to the Four 
 Courts ; Jerry was " a dacent poor devil after 
 all ;'"his port was sound — his pot-luck not amiss ; 
 and before the honeymoon had waned her 
 horns, Blakes, Burkes, and Bodkins united 
 legs under Mrs. Casey's mahogany. 
 
 So matters sped. Five years passed ; and 
 Jerry was called to his account, and slept with 
 his fathers — if he had any such. He surfeited 
 himself, poor man ! — for he was a true Catholic 
 — with eggs and bacon, after a black Lent, on an 
 Easter Sunday ; and Mrs. Casey found herself 
 a disconsolate widow, having forty thousand 
 pounds in government stock, divers houses in 
 the city, an annuity of five hundred pounds, 
 and Connaught securities sufficient to fill a tra- 
 velling trunk. 
 
 Without loss of time, the relict of the depart- 
 ed tailor cut the Quay, engaged a newly-fur- 
 nished house, exchanged Jerry's " one-horse 
 ohay'"* for a chariot built to order by Hnttoii ;
 
 280 MY LIFE. 
 
 and a brass-plate, large enough for a dentist, 
 appeared on the door of No. 21, Merrion-square, 
 bearing the name of " Mrs. Blake Casey," 
 and underneath, in smaller letters, " knock and 
 ringy 
 
 Then it was, that by every post letters of 
 condolence came pouring in. Natural aiFectlon, 
 of course, excited the sympathies of Mrs. Ca- 
 sey'^s numerous connexions ; but it was hinted 
 that other causes assisted. Jerry's books had 
 been handed over to Messrs. Sharp and Sweep- 
 all ; and they had circularized Connaught, hop- 
 ing, with equal politeness and sincerity, that 
 all debts due to the late Jeremiah Casey 
 Esquire would be directly discharged, and 
 they. Sharp and Sweepall, saved the very dis- 
 agreeable duty of enforcing immediate payment 
 of the same. 
 
 My uncle Manus was nearest blood-relation 
 to the afflicted widow. He had' survived all 
 his brothers. The captain was killed at Tra- 
 falgar, in command of a Spanish seventy-four ; 
 and the brigfadier assassinated in the streets of 
 Dresden, about a love affair which his blun- 
 dering management had eclated. Consequently
 
 MY LIFE. 281 
 
 Manus was nearest and most natural heir to 
 Honor Casey. He and the lady were there- 
 fore, in due time, formally reconciled ; and, in 
 proof of renewed amity, she accepted an invi- 
 tation to Castle Blake, and set off for said 
 place, in great distress of mind, and a new 
 carriao-e. 
 
 Great were the preparations to give an ho- 
 nourable reception to Mrs. Blake Casey ; and 
 expectation was on tiptoe to see how the 
 wealthy widow bore her good luck. Five 
 o'clock struck, and a yellow chariot with four 
 post-horses rolled under the grand gateway, 
 and Jack and I ensconced ourselves in a con- 
 venient window, to command a good view of 
 the important visiter. 
 
 On the box, a priggish-looking footman, in 
 deep mourning and worsted epaulettes, sate be- 
 side the lady's-maid. From a hasty inspection 
 of his legs, Jack decided that he had been a 
 favourite disciple of the departed tailor. On 
 his knee he carried a large cage, in which a 
 green parrot was deposited ; and a worse dis- 
 posed bird never crossed the line. Within, the 
 widow sate in state, with an asthmatic poodle
 
 282 MY LIFE. 
 
 her companion. Trunks, boxes, and imperials 
 were in and about the vehicle in such abund- 
 ance, that had Jerry not been in purgatory, or 
 heaven* — for, as he levanted at the end of a 
 strict Lent, his probation for short measures and 
 long charges might have been abridged — one 
 might believe that therein was contained a fresh 
 outfit for every customer in the county. 
 
 We described Honor Blake to be a stout 
 gentlewoman, and I was prepared to see a 
 portly personage debark; but when she essayed 
 it, a mountain of flesh endeavoured to extricate 
 itself, as, by a flank movement, she attempted 
 to clear the carriage-door. Mrs. Casey had 
 indeed become a monster ; and as she clomb the 
 steps with Manus Blake\s assistance, her figure 
 was so absurd, that my friend Jack sat down 
 upon the carpet, to laugh with more conveni- 
 ence to himself. 
 
 It will be hardly necessary to observe that 
 
 * In the kingdom of Connaught, it is universally be- 
 lieved that tailors and musicians after death are cantoned 
 in a place called " Fiddler's-green." As it is not marked 
 on any map of Arrowsmith, I cannot describe its precise 
 situation further than that report places it unpleasantly 
 contiguous to Pandemonium.
 
 MY LIFE. S83 
 
 Mrs. Casey and her suite were fully as trouble- 
 some as could be expected. Before they had 
 passed a week in Castle Blake, they hated all 
 therein, and received an honest return. Father 
 Roger hoped there was no sin in wishing 
 Mrs. C. safe in heaven ; while the prayers of 
 Denis O'Brien — who since my father's death 
 had become chief butler to my uncle — would 
 have sent her in an opposite direction. Nor 
 was the lady's establishment more fortunate 
 in gaining the regard of the household. The 
 maid was a verjuiced spinster, too old to love 
 herself, and too ill-natured to look on. The 
 footman was a regular snip ; and from the 
 configuration of his limbs, had obtained from 
 the servants the surname of Giblets ; the poodle 
 was a nuisance, and the parrot had nearly 
 bitten off my aunt's finger. 
 
 Between Jack and the entire set, a secret 
 but deadly war was raging. He persecuted 
 the spinster ; put Giblets on a vicious horse, 
 which his bones were bruised, and his life 
 endangered ; trod, on all safe occasions, upon 
 the poodle's tail, and kept the parrot in 
 such eternal irritation, that Mother Casey
 
 284 MY LIFE. 
 
 herself dared not take a liberty with the of- 
 fended bird. It is not marvellous, all things 
 considered, that the visit should come to an 
 untimely close ; and so it did. 
 
 We have already described the great difficulty 
 that Mrs. Casey experienced in depositing her 
 person in a carriage, and also in extricating it 
 from the same. Now, my aunt had a low four- 
 wheeled chair, in which she occasionally drove 
 over the demesne ; and, as it afforded facilities 
 to Mrs. Casey, which her own vehicle possessed 
 not, she more than once had used it for an air- 
 ing. One fine morning she determined on a 
 drive, and Jack was despatched to order my 
 aunfs chair. On his return, he overheard Ma- 
 nus Blake and Mrs. Casey holding a cabinet 
 council, very imprudently, with open doors. 
 Jack listened ; his own name was pronounced, 
 and there was little in the manner which 
 could occasion personal vanity. Mrs. Casey, 
 having premised that what she said was from 
 family affection, although it distressed her to do 
 so ; but she could not conceal the truth ; the 
 boys were on the road to ruin, and nothing 
 could save them but a strict public school ;
 
 MY LIFE. 285 
 
 and she concluded by earnestly recommending 
 Doctor Bircham's. 
 
 Now, Jack had a horror of schools in general, 
 and Bircham flogged with the left hand, and 
 was reputed the hardest hitter that ever ope- 
 rated on a delinquent. Indeed, his establish- 
 ment was a sort of purgatory for juvenile 
 offenders, and the name of Bircham carried 
 terror to the most desperate. Judge, then, 
 Jack's consternation, when his father willingly 
 consented, and named an early day for our 
 departure. 
 
 Jack, I regTct to say, never evinced that 
 meek and christian disposition which delighteth 
 in repaying evil with good. He vowed ven- 
 geance against Mother Casey, and all apper- 
 taining to her; and, to use parliamentary lan- 
 guage, he lost no time in redeeming his pledge. 
 
 The wheels of my aunt's chair grated on the 
 gravel, and Mrs. Casey, as the day was fine, 
 notified her intention of taking all her fa- 
 vourites along with her; cloaks, shawls, and 
 umbrellas were put in, and so were the maid, 
 the poodle, and the parrot. The stout gentle- 
 woman ascended next, Manus Blake aiding and
 
 286 MY LIFE. 
 
 assisting ; Giblets perched himself on the hind 
 carriage, and off this precious party trundled. 
 
 But short was their excursion. Before the 
 vehicle proceeded fifty yards, off came a hind 
 wheel, and out came the company I A de- 
 sperate outcry apprised Manus Blake of the 
 accident : he looked, and there saw Giblets 
 over his honoured mistress, and the poodle 
 under her : the parrot had secured the maid's 
 finger ; and cloaks, cushions, and cage, formed a 
 general wreck. 
 
 Promptly they were succoured : Mother Ca- 
 sey was carried to the house, and brought about 
 by the usual restoratives, brandy and burnt 
 feathers. The favourites had suffered severely ; 
 the poodle was lame — the maid's finger less by 
 the nail — Giblets frightened to death — and 
 the parrot bereaved of tail and topping. Well 
 was it for all that the fatal cause of this capsize 
 remained unknown : Jack had privately pur- 
 loined the linch-pin, and no wonder that the 
 wheel followed it. 
 
 Yet dark suspicions haunted Mrs. Casey. 
 The luckless vehicle belonged to Manus Blake, 
 and Manus Blake was her next heir. The
 
 MY LIFE. 287 
 
 maid whispered doubtingly, and Giblets drop- 
 ped mysterious hints. Deeper and deeper 
 grew suspicion ; and on the third day, and with 
 brief ceremony, Mrs. Blake Casey moved off, 
 " bag and baggage."" 
 
 But, alas I the mischief was done, the decree 
 had gone forth, and Jack and I were consigned 
 to Doctor Bircham. We departed for Lough- 
 rea with heavy hearts — and Heaven knows ! we 
 had good reason. Fame had only done the doc- 
 tor justice ; for, never since the martyrdom of 
 St. Bartholomew, were poor devils flayed as we 
 were. 
 
 Three years passed ; the breach between Ma- 
 nus and his kinswoman was widened by the in- 
 genuity of Giblets and the maid, until all com- 
 munication ceased by mutual consent between 
 the lord of Castle Blake and the relict of 
 Jeremiah Casey Esquire. Jack and I conti- 
 nued under the tutorage of Dr. Bircham, and 
 indeed, that left-handed professor sustained his 
 well-earned reputation on our proper persons. 
 
 At last the joyful hour arrived that emanci- 
 pated us from his thrall. Jack, being destined 
 for the woolsack, was despatched to the Dublin
 
 MY LIFE. 
 
 University ; and how he got entrance remains 
 a mystery. I, like my poor father, was deemed 
 fit food for gunpowder, and gazetted to an en- 
 signcy ; and, with a good horse, a gentlemanly 
 kit, fifty guineas in my pocket, and as light a 
 heart as ever bounded at " tuck of drum,"' I set 
 out for the good town of Drogheda, to learn the 
 art of war, and carry the regimental colours of 
 the Militia. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PniNTED BY SAMUIX BEN'TLEY, 
 
 Dorset Street, Fleet Street.
 
 
 J - ■,«s'^ 
 
 K^'^AlV' 
 
 
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