y
 
 fi 
 
 C; 
 
 :U«X 
 
 ^^JA 
 
 LI B R.ARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLI NOI5 
 
 M 4-5^4-0 
 v-l
 
 ."'h'ch it was withdrn *° ^^^ '^'■a'-y from 
 
 '- -•".Plinor; o,;;^ "ndeH.„.ng of book, ore 
 
 ">« University "°" ""** •"«/ resuit i„ L°J 7«<»« 
 
 To renew coll t . ^'•sni.ssal from 
 
 L16I— o-l 
 
 096
 
 WlfiX't^ywclL
 
 OH AR A; 
 
 OR, 
 
 179 8. 
 
 ' Non enim propteir gloriam divitias aut honores pugnamus sed propter 
 libertatem solummodo quam nemo bonus nisi simul cum vita amittit." 
 —Lit. ad pap. A. D. 1320. 
 
 Guilty as many of those -were on wliom the heavy vengeance of the 
 Government descended, it is melancholy to think that they were not the 
 most guilty ."—Edin. Review, 1811. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 HonUon 
 
 PaiNTED rOB 
 
 J.ANDREWS, 167, NEW BOND-STREET; 
 
 AND MILIKEN, DUBLIN. 
 
 MDCCCXXV
 
 LONDON 
 
 IMUNTEl) ItV WILLIAM CLOWES. 
 
 Noi ilmniberland-courU
 
 fZ3 
 
 THE MOST NOBLE 
 
 THE MARQUESS OF SLIGO, K.P., 
 
 &c. &c. &c. 
 
 My dear Lord, 
 
 These volumes have amused some of 
 my " hours of idleness ;" for this I am beholden to them : 
 they have, however, done more, by affording- me the 
 pleasure of addressing them to you, and acknowledging- 
 the gratitude and attachment of 
 
 Your Lordship's 
 
 Faithful friend and servant, 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 June 1, 1825.
 
 ** What a noble fellow," said Lord Byron, after I had 
 finished reading, " was Lord Edward Fitzgerald, and 
 what a romantic and singular history was his ! If it were 
 not too near our times, it would make the finest subject 
 in the world for an historical Novel." 
 
 Medwin's Conversations of Byron, p. 2?0.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 To Sir John Bridgworth, Bart. 
 
 Banville, October 26, 1815. 
 
 You are no little astonished that one, 
 not to say in robust health, should ven- 
 ture to cross the Irish Channel, at this 
 advanced season, in a crazy, ill-found 
 packet, and that my Belgic trip had not 
 been quite enough for this year of 1815. 
 As I intend to acquaint you with the 
 causes of this sudden excursion, I feel 
 it will be necessary to give you some 
 account of myself; all of my earlier 
 history that you know is, that I am an 
 Irishman, and I presume you suspect 
 
 Vol. I. a
 
 n INTRODUCTION. 
 
 an obscure one. In this conjecture you 
 would be quite correct; but, without 
 further preface, I will tell you my simple 
 story : — 
 
 I was born in the north of Ireland; 
 my father was an honest miller, that is, 
 conditionally, as any other of the trade; 
 and my mother a hard-working, thrifty 
 housewife : both were industrious, and, 
 of course, the good man became wealthy. 
 My infancy was unmarked by any thing 
 of importance ; and I remember my first 
 fifteen years passed with all the same- 
 ness of the quiet river which rolled be- 
 fore our door, and the only events which 
 gave me joy or sorrow, were those con- 
 nected with the humblest scenes of life. 
 My father and mother were ever grum- 
 bling about something; but still the 
 neighbours said, no matter whose gear 
 was dwindling away, that theirs was in- 
 creasing. The kiln-fire was the ren- 
 dezvous of all tatlers and newsmongers;
 
 INTRODUCTION. Ul 
 
 there every lament was made, and there 
 the complainant was certain, especially 
 if the night was cold, to have a large 
 and attentive auditory ; my father ever 
 looked at the gloomy side of the picture, 
 and if it so happened, which in truth 
 was rare, that he had nothing lugubrious 
 to commence with, he looked sorrowful, 
 and sat in moody silence. It was, how- 
 ever, but seldom that he was reduced to 
 this dilemma ; if the crops were indif- 
 ferent, he predicted famine for the popu- 
 lace ; if they promised to be abundant, 
 he denounced bankruptcy to the farmer ; 
 one while the country would be starved, 
 and at another the grain would be for the 
 lifting. In politics, he was equally un- 
 happy ; and whenever a newspaper made 
 its way from the castle-kitchen to the 
 kiln-fire, it had surely something of fear- 
 ful import in its greasy columns. When 
 a privateer was seen in the Channel, my 
 father prognosticated an invasion ; and 
 
 a2
 
 IV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 a burglary occurring at the other side of 
 the kingdom, gave him a glorious oppor- 
 tunity of calculating what chances were 
 in favour of having his throat cut. 
 
 In this agreeable and instructive so- 
 ciety my evenings were consumed, and 
 if any interruption took place in the 
 melancholy details of the night, imagi- 
 nation filled 
 
 Each dreary pause between 
 
 with what had more effect on me than 
 the most pathetic of the miseries of my 
 worthy parent. The morning, and the 
 Village Schoolmaster, flashed across my 
 mind, and there was, indeed, nothing 
 exhilarating in the idea. Peter Martin 
 carried terror in his name, and Heaven 
 knows with good reason : in his youth 
 he was reckoned stern, but now, that 
 age and domestic calamities had over- 
 taken him, he was absolutely savage; 
 he regularly opened the campaign by 
 flogging me and my companions every
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 morning on our entre to the academy ; 
 and his ingenuity was amazing in what 
 a Lawyer would call " shewing cause 
 why :" — a duck lamed, or a hen dying a 
 natural death, was reckoned good and 
 sufficient grounds for a general visitation ; 
 and as practice makes perfect, the ra- 
 pidity with which the point of honour 
 was settled between all parties was pro- 
 digious. The baker's son, a tall over- 
 grown booby, was an experienced as- 
 sistant ; and at this moment I fancy 
 myself dangling on his long back, with 
 my head turned half round, trembling as 
 I watched the impending blow. 
 
 Peter Martin was a humorist of a 
 peculiar cast; he had a by-name for 
 every scholar, and he gave a pleasant 
 variety to his favourite discipline by the 
 facetious use of the individual's appel- 
 lative. This liberality of birch was not, 
 however, attended with a corresponding 
 proficiency in erudition — the harder
 
 VI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Peter flogged, the less progress the pu- 
 pils made. The coercive system had a 
 very opposite effect to what the peda- 
 gogue supposed it would produce. The 
 wilder boys became devils — the quieter 
 became wild. Peter, like a liberal pay- 
 master, endeavoured to be always in 
 advance with them ; and they, not to be 
 outdone, laboured hard in all mischief, 
 to keep the account tolerably even on 
 all sides. 
 
 Six years had I dragged on, when an 
 incident occurred which dissolved the 
 connexion between Peter Martin and 
 myself. The Dissenting Minister of our 
 parish, the Rev. Samuel Gowdy, dined 
 occasionally at the Mill ; and, at his par- 
 ticular recommendation, my father de- 
 cided on breeding me up to the Ministry. 
 *' The lad's springing up fast," said the 
 Rev. Gentleman to my father, *' and in 
 a few years ye must send him over the 
 water to the College. What has he
 
 INTRODUCTION. VU 
 
 learned from Martin, good man?'* That 
 was a question my father honestly ac- 
 knowledged he could not answer, and 
 Gowdy was entreated to ascertain the 
 extent of my acquirements. I was ac- 
 cordingly summoned into the presence, 
 and the result was most unfavourable. 
 '' Before God, friend David," said the 
 Minister to my father, '* Bob knows 
 nothing." Peter Martin, when informed 
 of the fatal discovery, ascribed my defi- 
 ciencies to excessive indulgence and a 
 blamable tenderness on his part, and quo- 
 ted the old adage, '' spare rod and spoil 
 child ;'' he declared, however, he would 
 turn over a new leaf with me, and I had 
 soon certain proof that he made no 
 empty professions — formerly, I had es- 
 caped with being disciplined once a day, 
 but now, to make up for past lenity, the 
 average was increased threefold. My 
 mother observed, that of late any posture 
 was preferred by me to a sitting one ;
 
 Vlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 and, on discovering the extent of my 
 sufferings, betrayed a sympathy I could 
 not have expected from her. This en- 
 couraged me so much, that, on the fol- 
 lowing day, when a grand elevation of 
 the Disciples, e?i masse, was to take place 
 for the alleged fracture of a sky-light, 
 (which, by-the-by, was broken by the 
 storm,) and my turn for bestriding the 
 baker's son arrived, I snatched up my 
 hat, and ran for it. This was a crime 
 for which there was no forgiveness ; it 
 was totally without the pale of mercy, 
 and with me the Rubicon was passed. 
 On looking behind me, I saw Martin's 
 prime-minister, the young baker, at my 
 heels ; the mill, fortunately, was near — I 
 dashed up stairs, and never reckoned 
 myself secure from pursuit till I had 
 clambered up the roof, and perched my- 
 self on the ridge-tiles. I was soon sum- 
 moned to surrender ; the noise brought 
 my mother to the door, who, on seeing
 
 INTRODUCTION. IX 
 
 my dangerous position, screamed lustily 
 for my father. In vain were threats and 
 entreaties used ; I knew well what I had 
 to expect from Martin, and determined 
 to hold out to the last extremity. Gowdy 
 fortunately at this time happened to be 
 passing; my parents acquainted him 
 with the affair, and my mother enlarged 
 on the striking marks of Peter's disci- 
 pline which my person incontestibly 
 avouched. A capitulation was proposed 
 by the Divine ; I was emancipated from 
 Martin's clutches, the baker's son was 
 dismissed in disgrace, and with a light- 
 ened heart I descended briskly from my 
 airy resting-place. 
 
 A difficulty now occurred as to whose 
 care I should be committed: Gowdy 
 recommended a neighbouring Minister, 
 and on application being accordingly 
 made, he undertook to prepare me for 
 the Scotch University. He was a man 
 of mild and winning manners, and de-
 
 X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 servedly reckoned one of the most ac- 
 complished scholars of the day. His 
 circumstances were considered tolera- 
 bly comfortable ; and occupation and so- 
 ciety, more than pecuniary emolument, 
 formed his chief inducements for receiv- 
 ing me and another ; of that other I shall 
 have occasion to speak much — he vi^as in 
 after life an instance of the mutabihty of 
 fortune, and the uncertainty of human 
 happiness ; in short, my fellow- student 
 under the roof of Doctor Graham, was 
 the once-celebrated Frederic O'Hara. 
 
 O'Hara was one year older than I, 
 but the difference between us was 
 every way disproportionate. I was 
 rather small and delicate for my years 
 — he was stout, well made, and well 
 grown — he was devoted to all kinds of 
 field sports, while I was rather inclined 
 to be sedentary and inactive. On the 
 mountains he usually tired two or three 
 sets of dogs, and me most heartily when
 
 INTRODUCTION. XI 
 
 I accompanied him (which indeed was 
 seldom) ; and on our return home, when 
 with difficulty I dragged my wearied legs 
 up the steep ascent which led to the 
 Doctor's door, 0*Hara would sit down 
 quietly to dinner in his wet clothes, and 
 after despatching a formidable meal, 
 change his dress, mount his horse, and 
 ride six miles to the monthly assembly, 
 and dance till day-light; while I, tired 
 to death, crawled to my bed with dif- 
 ficulty. His superiority over me in 
 physical strength was but proportion- 
 able to his mental pre-eminence. With 
 such dispositions as I have described, a 
 want of application might be expected ; 
 he read very little, but he remembered 
 that little ; and the brilliancy of his na- 
 tural talents amply compensated for a 
 total absence of industry. He was in- 
 tended for the bar, but his father turned 
 very little of his attention to what should 
 be the future object of his son's pursuits.
 
 Xll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 He was the most indolent and the most 
 hospitable being in the world ; and the 
 only earthly thing he seemed to be in- 
 terested in, was keeping Castle Carra 
 (the venerable seat of his ancestors) in 
 repair. The house was ever full of com- 
 pany — the consumption of provisions 
 and liquors was enormous, for the kitchen 
 was crammed full of servants, and what 
 the Irish call coucherers (hangers on), 
 and the stables crowded with horses and 
 dogs. The remains of the family estates 
 which had descended to him, and which, 
 with common care, might have become 
 a fine and valuable inheritance for his 
 child, were hourly passing piece-meal 
 into other hands, when, luckily for 
 my young companion, an apoplexy re- 
 moved Anthony O'Hara, but not till he 
 had alienated all the property, except a 
 small portion which was strictly entailed. 
 Early the same year, I lost my mother ; 
 and the ensuing autumn my father fell a
 
 INTRODUCTION. Xlll 
 
 victim to an epidemic then prevailing in 
 the country. I had never been friendly 
 to the choice of profession made for me 
 by my parents ; and now, having become 
 my own master at the early age of 
 eighteen, I selected physic for my fu- 
 ture pursuit. 
 
 A circumstance occurred at this time 
 that marked Frederic's character, and 
 in a great measure decided his profes- 
 sional selection. A younger brother of 
 his deceased father, who had been, I 
 believe, a captain in the Irish Brigade, 
 was returning from France. When 
 within a day's journey of home, he 
 accidentally met some military per- 
 sons: a quarrel and duel ensued, and 
 unfortunately Captain O'Hara fell (as it 
 was generally supposed) unfairly. I 
 remember the evening he was interred 
 in the burying-ground of the Castle Carra 
 family. I saw a message delivered to 
 Frederic O'Hara, who acted as chief 
 mourner ; and, to the astonishment of
 
 XIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 all, he left the funeral while the clergy- 
 man was still engaged in the solemn 
 service of the dead. All were conjectur- 
 ing the cause of this extraordinary de- 
 parture, when we saw the object of our 
 surmises riding hastily along the shores 
 of the lake, followed by his groom. Three 
 hours dispelled the mystery — the an- 
 tagonist of his uncle had rested at the 
 town of Newbridge, and O'Hara hastily 
 rode off to meet him. An immediate 
 duel was the consequence; it was fought 
 by candlelight in the parlour of the inn. 
 One discharge of pistols decided all. 
 O'Hara was slightly wounded, but Mac- 
 kinnon (I think that was the name) was 
 killed upon the spot. 
 
 Frederic O'Hara came to visit me, 
 and we freely communicated on our 
 respective affairs; he told me his father 
 had made a lamentable inroad into what 
 had escaped the casualties of former 
 days ; and that he had determined on 
 entering the army, as the remaining pro-
 
 INTRODUCTION, XV 
 
 perty was too trifling to support so ex- 
 pensive an establishment as that of 
 Castle Carra. To his only surviving 
 uncle, he proposed consigning the ar- 
 rangement of his shattered inheritance, 
 and as he was an opposite to his late 
 brother, O'Hara hoped every thing from 
 his arrangement. 
 
 We took leave then, never to meet 
 again. He hastened to London, and I 
 to the Irish capital, where, after residing 
 the necessary time, I took my degrees, 
 and went to finish my studies at Leyden; 
 with the remainder of my common-place 
 kind of life you are sufficiently acquaint- 
 ed. I went professionally to India; and 
 there the meridian of my days was 
 spent. If I was not the most skilful of 
 physicians, I was certainly an attentive 
 one ; I was lucky enough to make a 
 name, and that name made my fortune. 
 I returned to England after an absence 
 of thirty-five years, and, on inquiry.
 
 XVI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 learned that not even the remotest of 
 my relatives vv^as in existence. Some 
 had emigrated, and others died, in the 
 long period of my absence: the few 
 friends of my youth were next sought 
 after, and I found myself equally bereft 
 of all. 
 
 Doctor Graham had written for several 
 years to me ; but death, in ^ common 
 course, deprived me of my venerated 
 correspondent. From Frederic O'Hara 
 I had heard twice or thrice : the last 
 letter acquainted me with his marriage, 
 and the newspapers with his going on 
 foreign service. From that period, I 
 only occasionally saw his name in the 
 columns of the public journals — some- 
 times mentioned with applause, at others 
 loaded with abuse, according to the tem- 
 per of the times, or the political com- 
 plexion of the paper. As he advanced 
 in life, I remarked him more frequently 
 brought forward ; and at length becom-
 
 INTRODUCTION. XVll 
 
 ing fatally conspicuous as a revolution- 
 ary leader, and in the eventful year of 
 1798, his death, and the exile of his only 
 son, seemed to have concluded the his- 
 tory and the existence of his family ; for 
 excepting some few casual notices of 
 the latter, I never saw the name again 
 recorded. I conjectured that the for- 
 tunes of the O'Haras had been sadly 
 reduced ; but on my return to Europe, 
 I found my worst fears for the child of 
 my quondam friend confirmed : — the 
 ancient house had fallen, the very name 
 was annihilated, and the buildings which 
 had sheltered them for ages, was now a 
 ruined pile. 
 
 From some of my countrymen, whom 
 I met occasionally in London, I learned 
 many particulars, and among others, that 
 the existence of the younger O'Hara was 
 still a matter of uncertainty. He had, 
 after the death of his father, openly de- 
 clared against the Government, and held 
 
 Vol, 1. b
 
 rvm INTRODUCTION 
 
 a principal command in the fatal battles 
 of Antrim and Ballinahinch. On the total 
 defeat of the Northern Rebels, he had 
 been left a solitary wanderer ; and, after 
 many romantic exploits, succeeded in 
 escaping pursuit ; left the kingdom, and 
 entered the service of the French Repub- 
 lic. He had been seen in Paris in 1803, 
 then bearing a Captain's commission; 
 but, from that time, no one had heard of 
 or seen him, and it was a general opinion 
 that he had fallen in some of Buonaparte's 
 campaigns; but of his being dead or 
 living, there was no certainty. 
 
 To ascertain the fate of Henry O'Hara ; 
 to take him, if living, from obscurity and 
 distress — to restore the fallen name, and 
 rg,ise again the fortunes of his house, 
 formed the future objects of the Miller's 
 son ; and, in prosecution of my plan, I 
 forthwith left London for the Continent. 
 The fatal return of that extraordinary 
 spirit from his temporary captivity, con-
 
 INTRODUCTION. XOL 
 
 vulsed and agitated Europe ; my career, 
 like that of greater men, was arrested 
 by it, and being compelled to remain in 
 Belgium, waiting for happier times, I 
 selected Brussels as a place where I 
 might prosecute my inquiries when 
 barred from entering the French terri- 
 tories. Wonderful and rapid events suc- 
 ceeded, till once more the fatal field of 
 Waterloo consigned Napoleon to exile. 
 
 I was reading on the night of the 
 I4th in my chamber — the late Colonel 
 
 , of the Artillery, a countryman 
 
 of mine, lived in the same hotel ; we 
 became intimate in a short time ; he 
 was a fine soldier, and a charming com- 
 panion : I had told him generally, I was 
 come to make inquiries after a relative 
 in the French service. When the alarm 
 sounded on that niglit, my brave friend 
 hurried from the ball-room to the field 
 — he passed my chamber on leaving his 
 own, where he had been making some 
 
 b2
 
 XX IKTRODUCTIOX. 
 
 trifling alterations in his dress, and per- 
 ceiving by my yet unextinguished light 
 that I was awake, he called to take 
 leave of me — poor fellow ! — it was an 
 eternal adieu ! He jocularly asked me, 
 how should he know my friend in the 
 French ranks, that he might have the 
 honour of measuring swords with him ? 
 His jest might have turned out a reality, 
 for both fought, and both fell, at Water- 
 loo ! I shall only remark, that here ended 
 my hopes and fears, and with them all 
 my future objects. I had found the last 
 of the O'Haras only to lay him in the 
 earth. My late friend, the Colonel, rests 
 in the same grave ; I laid them by each 
 other's side, and one small mound of 
 turf covers the gallant foemen. 
 
 Thus terminated my castle-building; 
 but as all I heard of this extraordinary 
 man (young O'Hara) only raised without 
 satisfying my curiosity, I determined on 
 a pilgrimage to the scenes of his youth.
 
 INTRODUCTION'. XXI 
 
 This was my inducement for my late ex- 
 cursion to the land of Saints, and I will 
 now proceed to tell you how far I have 
 succeeded in my object. 
 
 I landed safely in Dublin — Alas ! how 
 changed ! I shall not, however, dwell on 
 the causes which ruined this noble city. 
 I leave it with a sigh " fuit Ilium." From 
 Dublin, I directed my course northerly; 
 and the rapidity with which The Fly (as 
 the vehicle was termed) bore me to my 
 destination, compared with the old lum- 
 bering coach or caravan which had con- 
 veyed me from my home, probably gave 
 rise to conjectures that I should find every 
 thing generally and proportionately al- 
 tered. They were altered, but, unfor- 
 tunately, not for the better. When I last 
 travelled this road, the Northern bleach- 
 ers were a prosperous and numerous 
 body ; but now, the usual reply to my 
 inquiry of what each ruined edifice had 
 been, was ** a bleach-mill," or *' a manut
 
 XXll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 factory." Some of the proprietors I had 
 personally known — they were enterpri- 
 sing and wealthy, accumulating riches 
 themselves, and disseminating money 
 throughout a happy and contented com- 
 munity. I remembered well that the 
 linen trade was preferred by the estated 
 gentry of my neighbourhood, as afford- 
 ing to their sons a respectable, and a 
 more certain livelihood than any of the 
 honourable or learned professions to 
 "which men of family usually devoted 
 their younger children ; but that class, 
 I learned, had long since retired from 
 the ruins of a hopeless trade ; while those 
 whose fathers had expended fortunes, 
 the fruits of long and successful industry, 
 in erecting expensive machinery, with 
 houses for the hundreds they employed 
 —those men, unable to free themselves 
 from the business with which their all 
 was compromised, unable to escape an 
 impending danger which all foresaw.
 
 INTRODUCTIOX. XXID 
 
 but none could avert, sat in their cheer- 
 less homes, each year more hopeless 
 than the last, each chance of ultimate 
 relief more desperate, till at length the 
 honest earnings of parental industry were 
 no more, and bankruptcy consigned to 
 penury and despair those who were ever 
 industrious, and, alas! had once been 
 opulent. 
 
 In the evening, I reached the town of 
 N — — , and on the following day left it 
 
 for the village of M , where the first 
 
 years of my life had been passed. It 
 was the market-day when the postillion 
 stopped at the little inn, but all that in- 
 dicated this day of business and bustle 
 was a string of beggarly apple-stalls, 
 and a few wretched old women, with 
 scanty bunches of yarn, huddled toge- 
 ther in a corner of the square. Few as 
 the sellers were, and limited as was 
 the quantity of their commodity, they 
 seemed far to exceed the demand. The
 
 XXIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 market-house was in a ruinous state ; the 
 little cupola still bore the dial of the 
 town-clock, which for many years had 
 ceased to tell the flight of time — the 
 rusted hand pointed to the tenth hour, 
 and its association recalled '' days of 
 lang syne.'* I looked for the academy 
 of Peter Martin — it was roofless. How 
 often, as I hurried to his house, has my 
 course been impeded in the very spot I 
 stood in ; when the now silent bell struck 
 the hour to which the idle hand still 
 pointed, hundreds sprung up and tow- 
 ered above the crowd, while a thousand 
 lusty arms instantly exhibited their mer- 
 chandise. To understand me, you must 
 be aware of what an Irish Linen Market 
 was; — the buyers occupied benches, 
 which raised them some feet above those 
 who sold : the sale commenced as the 
 town- clock told the hour; and at the 
 first beat of the bell, the merchants leap- 
 ing on th^ir forms, and the instantaneous
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXV 
 
 protrusion of some thousand webs for 
 their inspection, seemed almost magical. 
 The inn at which I stopped was, in the 
 days of its prosperity, the lowest of the 
 village Hostels— its humbleness had pro- 
 bably been the cause of its lingering 
 beyond its competitors. I looked up 
 the street for my old acquaintance, the 
 Jolly Draper— the Jolly Draper had dis- 
 appeared. Where were the Red Lion, 
 and the Black Bear, and the White Swan? 
 All gone. I looked in vain for some 
 house whose fairer external would pro- 
 mise better accommodation than the 
 General Wolfe ; none but some wretched 
 pot-houses were visible : I had no choice, 
 and into the General Wolfe I entered 
 with a heavy heart. 
 
 Although the gallant commander had 
 contrived to outlive his competitors for 
 public favour, he was evidently on the 
 point of annihilation; all within was filthy 
 and comfortless— the earthen floor of the
 
 XXVI INTRODTTr/nOX. 
 
 kitchen was deeply furrowed with holes, 
 and what each of these pits wanted in 
 clay, they seemed to have supplied with 
 water ; with no inconsiderable difficulty 
 I piloted myself clear of the numerous 
 pools, to where an old dirty-looking wo- 
 man was bent double across the smoky 
 embers. I asked if I could get accommo- 
 dation and a chamber? *' E-agh,*' was 
 thrice replied to my inquiries ; a third 
 demand, with a considerable intonation of 
 voice, brought a ragged, red-headed girl 
 to the stair-head, who peeping over the 
 crazy bannister, kept bawling at the 
 same time, " Wolly, here's a gentleman, 
 shake yourself, mun, and turn the pig 
 out of the parlour." Wolly presently 
 showed himself; he had, I presume, been 
 sleeping, as he yawned every step he 
 made in his descent, when he presented 
 to my view a^ dozed, drunken, stupid sot 
 of forty — his face swollen and flaccid, 
 his eye dim and reeling; and yet the
 
 IXTRODUCTION. XXVU 
 
 features were the very counterpart of 
 an old acquaintance, his father. How 
 different, and yet how much ahke. The 
 father an active, thrifty pubHcan — the 
 son a wretched, bloated pauper ! The 
 sot inducted me to the sitting-room — it 
 was in unison with the kitchen ; the table 
 bore the marks of the last night's revels 
 of some carriers who were driving from 
 the door; beer was splashed over the 
 seats, broken pipes and pewter measures 
 were everywhere strewn around. I, how- 
 ever, yielding to necessity, endeavoured 
 to make my misfortunes as light as I 
 could ; I raised one window, (the other 
 was built up with loose stones to save 
 the tax,) set the sandy-haired drab to 
 scrub, and having ordered breakfast, 
 strolled out, glad to escape an atmo- 
 sphere tainted with whiskey and bad to- 
 bacco. Need I describe my farther in- 
 vestigation of this ^' deserted village?'* 
 In a word, I had put up at the best
 
 XXVlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 house ; and from it you can estimate 
 what kind the inferior ones must have 
 been. A sickening stroll of half an hour 
 led me through filth, misery, and dilapi- 
 dation ; and having perceived the fre- 
 quent excursions of ** the Maid of the 
 Inn," from her own chateau to the ad- 
 jacent hovels, from which she appeared 
 to be gleaning the necessary articles for 
 my consumption, I re-entered the Gene- 
 ral Wolfe. You may suppose I did not 
 dally over my morning repast, yet it re- 
 quired some longer time than I had cal- 
 culated; the table equipage had severally 
 to undergo ablution, and God knows I 
 was not fastidious in my cleanliness, 
 after all. I was miserable till I found 
 myself once more in the open air. 
 
 I cannot describe my feelings as I bent 
 my steps towards the Mill : the road by 
 which I left the town was bad and rug- 
 ged ; an ill-constructed splash- wall (the 
 Irish name for a loose, thin fence of
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXIX 
 
 stones, placed at random upon each 
 other) was all that divided the highway 
 from the adjacent fields— not a tree, not 
 a bush was visible. Many a time have 
 I walked to Peter Martin's academy 
 through an avenue, sheltered on either 
 side by hawthorn hedges, and canopied 
 above by ashen boughs ; I was now 
 striding over a bare and broken cause- 
 way. I hurried over the short mile 
 which divided my father's house from 
 the village. I stood above the little 
 quiet valley where my parents had drawn 
 their first breath, and where their last 
 sigh had been breathed. I looked for 
 the mill, the farm-yard, and the garden ; 
 but I looked in vain — like those who had 
 occupied them, they were gone : I seated 
 myself on a bank above them, and wept 
 bitterly ; a step startled me, and broke 
 in upon my sorrow — a middle-aged, de- 
 cent yeoman stood beside me, and in-
 
 .tXX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 quired, with a solicitude free from all 
 appearance of impertinence, if I was 
 unwell ? I replied in the negative, and 
 told him I was a stranger, affected after 
 a long absence, by seeing places once 
 familiar to me. His house was beside 
 us, and he invited me to enter it. It 
 was a clean, commodious dwelling, well 
 slated, and in good repair, and, as I re- 
 member, occupied the spot where our 
 old kiln-man's cottage stood. From the 
 door I looked if I could possibly discover 
 the foundation of my father's dwelling ; 
 but the ground on which it had been 
 erected was now covered by a decayed 
 brewery. The little gig-mill which had 
 made my father's livelihood, had been 
 removed, and its site occupied by a spa- 
 cious bleach-mill. The topographical 
 appearance of all around was altered, 
 the fences having been taken away to 
 make room for the bleaching-grounds.
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXXI 
 
 ** There is a great change here, no 
 doubt, withm your memory," said my 
 new acquaintance. 
 
 *' There is, indeed," said I, with a 
 heavy sigh. 
 
 ** How long is it, may I ask, since 
 you were last here ?" 
 
 ** Five and thirty long years.'* 
 He seemed astonished. ** Why then 
 you remember old Ashworth's gig-mill, 
 and his house, and — '* 
 
 '' All — all ; they have given place to 
 those modern buildings — " 
 
 " My father," said the man pulled 
 them down." 
 
 '* What ? was Thomas Morgan your 
 father?" 
 
 ** No — my father purchased this place 
 in an unlucky hour from Morgan.". 
 
 Mutual inquiries produced a mutual 
 recognition. Stephens seemed delighted 
 to have met with an acquaintance of his 
 fathers ; and while dinner was prepar-
 
 XXXll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ing, we seated ourselves on a bench 
 before the door, and he communicated 
 particulars of which I was uninformed. 
 
 *' My father, you know, was wealthy ; 
 he had three sons, of whom I am the 
 youngest, and the sole survivor; my 
 eldest brother was apprenticed to the 
 linen trade, the second he intended for 
 an attorney, and I was destined to be a 
 brewer. The linen trade was then pros- 
 perous, and offered the fairest prospects 
 of future opulence to those who em- 
 barked in its manufacture. In it my 
 father unfortunately speculated deeply, 
 at the suggestion of my eldest brother, 
 and so assured was he of the stability 
 of that trade, that, contrary to his 
 own desire, he brought my second bro- 
 ther home, and placed him in part- 
 nership with himself. In order to pro- 
 mote the greater extension of his busi- 
 ness, he purchased this property, and 
 erected the mills which you see, and
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXXlll 
 
 which, alas! are falling rapidly into 
 decay. 
 
 " For some short time my family pros- 
 pered in their business, but, like all 
 others, they were fated to meet with 
 ultimate disappointment. My second 
 brother was what is usually termed ec- 
 centric, and not being so sanguine of 
 success as his brother, greatly assisted, 
 by constant opposition to extensive spe- 
 culation, to keep the house in safety, al- 
 though their profits were but moderate. 
 
 *' Thus fared my father and my bro- 
 thers, till at length the politics of these 
 unhappy times led to a lamented crisis. 
 ]My second brother preferred the ruinous 
 course of revolutionary principles to that 
 of abject and bigoted subserviency to 
 the government. He possessed some 
 talent, and unluckily for himself and his 
 family, it was devoted to the cause of 
 constitutional reform. His associates 
 were all marked and prominent chci-
 
 XXXIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 racters, and though my brother was too 
 mild and too gentle to take a share in 
 any overt act of hostility; yet, impli- 
 cated with the more desperate, and iden- 
 tified with the active, he was obliged to 
 leave the country at a moment when his 
 influence was more than ever required 
 to restrain the unsuccessful speculations 
 of his brother. The sequel comes within 
 my own knowledge ; my eldest brother, 
 unrestricted in his wild schemes, launched 
 deeper into a falling commodity, and that 
 wealth which had been for years in our 
 possession, melted rapidly away. My 
 father, heart-broken by the imprudence 
 of his eldest, and the exile of his second 
 son, died — while he, the cause of all, 
 although absent from his home, endea- 
 voured to break the fatal mercantile 
 spirit of his brother— it was unavailing, 
 he plunged farther into the ebbing tide, 
 and when at the very brink of bank- 
 ruptcy, died of a fever, before his mis-
 
 INTRODUCTIOM. XXXV 
 
 fortunes were consummated by a pro- 
 claimed insolvency. 
 
 '' About this time the government per- 
 mitted my brother to return, and having 
 arranged the debts of the deceased, he 
 formed a partnership v^ith me, and en- 
 deavoured to turn the mills to some 
 account. I need not be very particular 
 as to the result ; ten years we lingered 
 on, and all that our united prudence and 
 economy could do, was to keep our- 
 selves from appearing in the Gazette. 
 At length my brother's health began to 
 decline, no doubt occasioned by mental 
 anxiety and bodily fatigue, for which he 
 was unfitted, and we came to a resolu- 
 tion to sell this place, and live on the 
 produce of the sale. We did so, but at 
 a prodigious loss; and yet the present 
 proprietor heavily regrets the purchase. 
 
 *' Prior to the rebeiiion, my brother 
 had been induced to cultivate his literary 
 acquirements from his intimacy with
 
 XXXVl INTRODUCTION. 
 
 the O'Haras." I interrupted him — **Do 
 you know any thing of them, and par- 
 ticularly the younger?'* 
 
 ** Much — more than any other man 
 in existence, I would explain myself 
 more fully. When the elder suffered, 
 his son effected an escape to France ; 
 my brother, as I told you, was his com- 
 panion ; they met, and lived together 
 till the military profession of young 
 O'Hara obliged him to join the army 
 of Italy. The amnesty which included 
 my brother's name was issued before 
 they met again, and knowing the ur- 
 gency of our affairs here, he left Paris 
 without a moment's delay, when assured 
 that the clemency of the Crown was ex- 
 tended to him. From young O'Hara he 
 had received a faithful narrative of his 
 numerous adventures, and to the period 
 of his death occasionally had letters 
 from him. During the declining years 
 of his life, my brother remained in Dub-
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXXVU 
 
 lin ; for, labouring under an organic dis- 
 ease, it was necessary to be near ex- 
 perienced physicians ; and for a long 
 time previous to his dissolution, he 
 amused the solitude of a sick chamber 
 by arranging the letters and compiling a 
 memoir of his absent friend. Whether 
 he ever proposed giving them to the 
 world is very questionable ; for, as 
 many of the actors in these lamented 
 scenes were still upon the stage, the 
 memoirs of Henry O'Hara must of ne- 
 cessity have involved their histories." 
 
 I had now found all I wished — of 
 course I acquainted him with the sole 
 object of my expedition, and of the 
 death of the last of the 0' Haras. All 
 that I desired he granted — a perusal of 
 his brother's manuscript. He also ac- 
 commodated me with a chamber in his 
 house, and my present employments 
 are — a daily pilgrimage to the ruins of 
 Castle Carra, while my evenings pass
 
 XXXVlll i^JTRGfiUGTlOf^. 
 
 away in transcribing the memoirs of its 
 last owner. When my task is com- 
 pleted, I will forward it to you, and for 
 ever bid good bye to this unhappy, but 
 lovely island. Forgive the formidable 
 dimensions of this packet, and pre- 
 sent my regards to your lady and her 
 daughters. 
 
 Believe me, my dear Bridgworth, 
 ever faithfully your friend, 
 Robert Asiiworth. 
 
 Banville, Nov. 2Sfh, 181.5. 
 My dear Bridgworth, 
 
 I RECEIVED your letter of the tenth, 
 and shall feel great happiness in making 
 one of your Christmas circle. I am 
 heart-sick of this once-loved spot, al- 
 though all that poor Stephens and his 
 amiable family can do for my comfort is 
 done. I have performed my task, and 
 the little history of Henry O'Hara is
 
 INTRODUCTION. XXXIX 
 
 completed ; it shall be at your service 
 at Bricigworth. 
 
 I have made my last pilgrimage to 
 Castle Carra, and amidst its desolation 
 paid the tribute of a tear to the memory 
 of its hapless owners. When I left my 
 native valley, the seat of Frederic O'Hara 
 enticed the traveller to digress from the 
 direct road, and repaid him by its noble 
 and ancient grandeur. What now meets 
 his eye? — a pile of scorched buildings — 
 roofless and grass-grown — nothing left 
 but the oaken and scathed beams which 
 supported the lofty ceilings, and which, 
 from their size and solidity, bade de- 
 fiance to the devouring element — of all 
 its noble oaks not one remains to screen 
 the traveller from the shower. The 
 gothic fury of the bigot yeomen con- 
 signed the building to the flames, while 
 the lands escheated to the Crown were 
 left without one tree to shelter them. 
 The lawn and gardens are now in little
 
 Xl INTRODUCTION. 
 
 patches of tillage, and along the sweet 
 banks of the mountain rivulet, once al- 
 most concealed by full grown ever- 
 greens, the boors have placed their 
 mud-walled cabins, and the old curse 
 may be considered as fulfilled on the 
 name of O'Hara, 
 
 The hare may shelter in liis hall. 
 
 I intend to go to Dublin on Thursday, 
 and without delay to embark for Eng- 
 land, where I hope to find that peace 
 which would be now unattainable in this 
 my native island. Adieu, 
 
 Dear Bridgworth, ever yours, 
 Robert Ashworth- 
 GresharrCs Hotel, Nov. SOth. 
 
 P. S. I detained my letter until this 
 post in order to fix my departure with 
 certainty. I am to leave Dublin this 
 evening in the Holyhead Packet, and 
 may well say with the Poet, 
 
 My native land, Good night, 
 
 R. A.
 
 OH ARA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Come thy summons when it may, 
 Thou wilt not leave a braver man behind. 
 
 Southey's Madoc. 
 
 It was a clear cold morning In February — the 
 47th Regiment was drawn up for parade on the 
 Mall, and the officers were falling into line, as 
 old Colonel Abercrombie rode up on his white 
 charger. Time had changed the colour of the 
 steed from light grey to milky whiteness ; the 
 horse and his rider were old friends, and 
 many a day's service had they seen together. 
 That something uncommon had occurred was 
 quickly observed by the regiment ; for the Co- 
 lonel sat more erect, and the charger moved 
 Vol. I. B
 
 » O KARA. 
 
 with more than usual animation: conjecture 
 was, however, soon put to rest by the veteran's 
 producing a packet of War-office dimensions, 
 which, on reaching the centre of the line, he 
 opened with suitable solemnity — all was breath- 
 less attention. The Colonel hemmed twice — 
 *' Forty-seventh regiment," — " His Majesty 
 (God bless him !) has deigned to confer high 
 honour on the corps I command, by selecting 
 them for foreign service — I have here orders of 
 readiness for America : the officers, non-com- 
 missioned officers, and privates will, therefore, 
 prepare every thing for speedy embarkation. 
 In my person," — the Colonel hemmed again — 
 *' his Majesty has honoured me with his gra- 
 cious consideration, by signifying his intention 
 of giving me a command at home, should I ap- 
 prehend my health would suffer by change of 
 climate ; but, I am now well stricken in years, 
 and where can I die so happily as with that 
 regiment which for twenty-five years it was my 
 pride to serve in?" The unequal voice with 
 which this short speech concluded, showed how 
 full the Colonel's heart was; and, as he un- 
 covered his venerable head to huzza, his silver
 
 O HARA. d?. 
 
 hair streaming in the morning breeze, gave a 
 livelier interest to the old man's address. Three 
 wild cheers pealed along the ranks, the band 
 struck up <* God save the King," and the gal- 
 lant grey showed himself not insensible to these 
 demonstrations of military ardour, by rising 
 proudly on his haunches, and neighing in unison 
 with the cheers. 
 
 " So the game is again up," said the Captain 
 of- grenadiers, with a sigh, to the senior sub- 
 altern, as they walked home together. 
 
 ** I am delighted," replied the Lieutenant, 
 " I am at the head of the list, and my Company 
 is now certain — What the devil ! you look but 
 dull on the business, Fred! what's the matter?" 
 
 ** Zounds, man, I am only a month or two 
 married, and to go away and leave — " 
 
 *« Well, well, it will likely be another month 
 or two before the route comes ; and for my 
 part, if I was married, I should wish to hold my 
 wife by the same tenure I hold my lodgings.'* 
 
 * ' Pshaw, hang your trifling ; I cannot, will not, 
 leave poor Fanny — she would break her heart." 
 
 *' Well, don't be soo gloomy about it; you 
 must remain behind, that's all." 
 
 B2
 
 4 O KARA. 
 
 *' Eh! what!" cried the Captain, evidently 
 alarmed. 
 
 *' And an exchange might be managed," con- 
 tinued his comforter. *' Oh! I have it; j^ou 
 remember the day you dined with us, last week 
 at the mess ; old Captain O'Doud was there ; he 
 swore he would memorial to get from the In- 
 valids into a marching regiment ; he was good 
 enough to say we were a jolly set, and probably 
 might be induced — " 
 
 «« Pshaw, damn O'Doud!" 
 
 *' Why, as to O'Doud," continued the Lieu- 
 tenant, drily, '* I have no great hopes of him, 
 for he was, what he good-naturedly termed, 
 hazy, but what we imagined downright drunk, 
 at the time ; and he's not just the thing for a 
 marching regiment, as he wants a leg ; — but 
 there's the man for your purpose. Major Ma- 
 haffy, who commands the Depot here; he is 
 anxious to get on active service ; his glass eye 
 will not be any great objection; his charge 
 is but a paltry concern of six honey-combed 
 guns and rotten tumbrils, and as you have 
 interest at the Horse- Guards, my life on it we 
 will effect it."
 
 0*HARA. 5 
 
 " Why you intend to drive me mad — - 
 O'Doud — -Mahafty ; — but it is cruel to jest at 
 Buch a moment, O'Rourke ; all is over, how- 
 ever, go I must — poor Fanny — the tears of the 
 sweetest eyes in Ulster cannot prevent it; I 
 must, as the song says, * On with the knap- 
 sack and follow the drum.' " 
 
 *' But are you not coming in to breakfast?" 
 
 '* Why, no; weeping in the morning never 
 agreed with me, but I'll call after the first 
 volley of sighs is over." 
 
 O'Hara turned down to his lodgings, while 
 the Subaltern looked after him. ** Stay at 
 home —no — not all the petticoats in Christen- 
 dom would keep him ; and, faith, that he's sorry 
 at leaving his wife, is not wonderful, for she's 
 an angel; God forbid she had thrown the temp- 
 tation of matrimony in my road, for I am but 
 a weak mortal — she fancied him too — he's a lino 
 dashing fellow, and game to the backbone ; 
 well, here I am with little, heaven knows, to 
 bother me ; the heart as light as the pocket, 
 and a Company across the water." O'Rourke 
 bolted up stairs, whistling a light jig, already 
 a Captain by anticipation.
 
 6 o'hara. 
 
 The Captain's d6jeune was gloomy enough ; 
 he wished to convey the unexpected intelligence 
 as gently as he could, and, as he reflected on 
 the best manner of opening the umvelcome 
 detail, so much care and abstraction was 
 visible in his countenance as instantly to 
 alarm his lady. 
 
 '* Frederic, my dearest Frederic, has any 
 thing given you pain ? You look disturbed — 
 are you well ?" 
 
 " My love, the fact is, a flying report of a 
 great military change has reached us this morn- 
 ing. I thought we were settled here for the 
 Spring, and to spend the Summer at Harrow- 
 gate with your good uncle and sister ; I there- 
 fore dread that this will interfere with our 
 arrangements, and as we soon expect a route 
 for—" 
 
 He paused, finding himself hastening too 
 rapidly to the denouement of the story. His 
 wife fixed her dark eyes with a steady and 
 penetrating glance on the agitated face of her 
 husband : — 
 
 " So a change of quarters, I perceive, is 
 certain; come, come, O'Hara, tell me truth,
 
 O KARA. 7 
 
 the whole truth, are we ordered to the south of 
 Ireland, among the wild men of the woods — or 
 to England — or Scotland ?" 
 
 The Captain's features still preserved their 
 gravity. 
 
 ** Or are we to view the scenes of my uncle 
 Toby's exploits in Flanders?" 
 
 The smile died on her lips, while her blanched 
 cheeks betrayed the agitation she vainly endea- 
 voured to conceal. O'Hara grew paler than 
 his wife, and at last mustering all his courage, 
 gradually communicated the Colonel's speech. 
 
 ** To America ! my God ! is it possible ?" as 
 the tea-cup fell from her trembling fingers. 
 O'Hara sprung from his chair. 
 
 ** Sit down, Frederic — it is very foolish to be 
 80 frightened by a name. WelL when are we 
 to go?" 
 
 " We, dearest Fanny ; surely you could not 
 think of crossing the Atlantic ; I had already 
 determined to leave — " 
 
 <* The regiment !" cried the lady, in a tran- 
 sport of delight. 
 
 The Captain's countenance flushed — ** to
 
 8 o'hara. 
 
 leave you comfortably settled at Bath with your 
 sister." 
 
 «' Leave me comfortably settled at Bath with 
 my sister. Oh, Frederic! am I so cold-hearted 
 as to be left comfortable at home, and the man 
 of my heart exposed to death or danger? No, 
 no, I am ready — go we will together ; in health 
 and happiness I will share your smiles, and 
 in the hour of sorrow I will be near to comfort 
 you. Yes, my adored husband, the tie that 
 binds us together, death alone shall sever." 
 
 She threw her snowy arms around his neck, 
 and as her tears fell upon his cheek, in the 
 bitterness of the moment he cursed the hour 
 which fated him to be a soldier. 
 
 Frederic O'Hara was born in the north of 
 Ireland. In his earlier days, like a great pro- 
 portion of his countrymen, he was handsome, 
 gay, enterprising, and extravagant ; but as he 
 ripened into manhood, his native good sense 
 corrected the errors of youthful indiscretion ; 
 judgment took the reins, and a strong and cul- 
 tivated mind soon rendered him an estimable 
 member of the community. The family of the
 
 O KARA. y 
 
 O'Hara's was aboriginal, and at no very distant 
 period had been both rich and powerful ; but, 
 amidst the many fluctuations of property in the 
 political convulsions, in these times so frequent, 
 so much of their estates had been forfeited, 
 that the inheritance of this haughty Sept had 
 dwindled from a territory to a mountain dis- 
 trict. On this stood a castellated building, 
 erected on the ruins of the hold of the O'Haras, 
 which, with many fortresses of this description, 
 were dismantled during the Protectorate of 
 Cromwell. 
 
 The family estate had been confided by the 
 present possessor to the management of his 
 uncle, and still remained under his faithful sur- 
 veillance, when the unfortunate contest break- 
 ing out between the mother country and the 
 colonies called the soldier into service. Never 
 was there a harder struggle between love and 
 glory ; the latter, however, rose paramount, 
 and the gallant Captain accompanied his regi- 
 ment to the field. 
 
 Six months prior to the quarrel with the 
 States, O'Hara married a lady named Moore ; 
 and although it seldom happens that love and
 
 10 o'hara. 
 
 interest go together in Ireland, yet in this case, 
 there was an exception greatly in favour of the 
 young soldier, as the object of his tender est 
 affections, unquestionably the reigning beauty 
 of the fair circle in which she moved, was also 
 seized in coheirship of a very considerable 
 landed property. Fanny Moore was in her 
 nineteenth year, and was more than handsome, 
 possessed all the accomplishments of a finished 
 education, with good sense and cheerful habits ; 
 she, with an only sister, was the issue of a 
 second marriage. Her father's first wife was 
 an English lady, with whom he got a consider- 
 able fortune ; she had one child, a son. The 
 mother was a complaining, ill-tempered invalid ; 
 and obedient to her humour, the child was 
 educated, or rather suffered to remain unedu- 
 cated at home, till he had gained his tenth 
 year. At this period, Jonathan (as he was 
 called after his maternal grandfather) lost his 
 mamma, but, most unfortunately for him, she 
 was not removed from this world until she had 
 radically destroyed the -temper and disposition 
 of the heir : vain was all his father's endeavours 
 to restore him to some sort of discipline — the
 
 o'hara. 11 
 
 boy was sulky and ungovernable ; gentle and 
 harsh measures were alternately tried, but, 
 alas ! with no good effect. By dint of sheer 
 labour, that portion of reading and writing 
 necessary for an Irish esquire was communicated 
 to this refractory pupil ; that is, the quantum 
 sufficit for a receipt, or letter to a driver (bailiff) 
 or dog-breaker. Jonathan had entered his 
 thirteenth year, when his father, still in the 
 prime of life, married the daughter of a respect- 
 able gentleman in the neighbourhood, whose 
 pretensions to beauty and prudence were in- 
 disputable. But Jonathan differed in opinion 
 from his father, and furiously resented the in- 
 troduction of a step-mother. Mrs. Moore, 
 amiable as lovely, endeavoured to win the stub- 
 born brute by kindness and forbearance ; the 
 attempt always failed, and after a long dis- 
 tressing scene of family dissensions, protracted 
 for seven years, the heir suddenly absconded 
 from the house, and took up his abode with 
 the Guager of the next village. 
 
 This last step mortally offended Moore ; his 
 instant return was commanded under the most 
 solemn denunciations of eternal displeasure ;
 
 12 o'hara. 
 
 but the youth, under the tutelage of the officer 
 of customs, refused to obey the orders, declared 
 himself unawed by those threats of parental 
 vengeance, and in the course of a few days 
 completed his ruin by espousing the Guager'*s 
 daughter- Moore was a determined man ; he 
 immediately made a will in favour of his wife 
 and her children, by which Jonathan was cut 
 off from every thing not in direct tail, and, 
 labouring to provide amply for the young fa- 
 vourites, he purchased properties, and erected 
 mills. His industry was rewarded by a rapid 
 accumulation of fortune, and when in the midst 
 of this prosperous career, he fell a victim to his 
 humanity, dying of a typhus fever communi- 
 cated during a visit to an afflicted tenant. 
 
 His relict, delicate in her constitution, and 
 deploring the death of her excellent husband, 
 found her health rapidly declining, and deter- 
 mined to reside for some years at Bath. To 
 this she was especially induced by an accident 
 which happened to her younger daughter, at 
 first apparently so trifling as to be scarcely 
 noticed, but unfortunately in a short time ter- 
 minating in total lameness-^wretched health
 
 o'hara. 13 
 
 accompanied this visitation, and the invalids 
 were recommended to try a milder climate than 
 their native one. 
 
 At Bath, the last seven years of Mrs Moore's 
 life were devoted to the education and health 
 of her children, when, to their inexpressible 
 sorrow, she died suddenly, leaving them ample 
 fortunes, and a richer inheritance derived from 
 her own virtuous and honourable example. 
 The orphan heiresses were now intrusted to 
 the protection of their maternal uncle, a dig- 
 nitary of the established church. He was an 
 old bachelor, of a cheerful and hospitable dis- 
 position, and the Glebe-house was consequently 
 frequented by all the respectable persons in the 
 neighbourhood. Here, O'Hara, while visiting 
 his small inheritance, was introduced to the 
 Doctor's ward. The soldier was conquered at 
 first sight, and immediately laid close siege to 
 the lady. No very formidable resistance was 
 offered, preliminaries having been satisfactorily 
 discussed; a capitulation was concluded, and 
 the worthy Prebendary surrendered his fair 
 charge to the Captain of Grenadiers. 
 
 Poor Fanny idolized her young and hand-
 
 14 0*HARA. 
 
 some husband; and certainly, if honest Dryden 
 says true, he did " deserve the fair." The 
 orders of readiness for the regiment were con- 
 sequently to her distracting. She, however, he- 
 sitated not; and contrary to the wishes of her 
 husband and relatives, and heedless of her own 
 situation, then evidently unfitted for sharing 
 fatigue and danger, she instantly determined to 
 accompany him to the scene of action. They 
 embarked at Cork in the beginning of April, 
 and landed in Boston Bay in the latter end of 
 May, 1775. 
 
 It may not be unnecessary to take a short re- 
 trospective view of the affairs of this country 
 for some years prior to the time of O'Hara's 
 visit. The home administration of American 
 affairs, from its ruinous policy, had been long 
 alarming. In positive infringement of colonial 
 charters, an attempt was made by the Court of 
 St. James, to draw a direct revenue to the trea- 
 sury of Great Britain, by the introduction of 
 stamped paper. This first infringement on 
 their rights met, of course., with a warm re- 
 sistance from the Americans; and when the 
 Ministry found it necessary to repeal this ob-
 
 o'hara. 15 
 
 noxious impost, they endeavoured, by indirect 
 taxation, to place a portion of the heavy bur- 
 den at home on the shoulders of the Colonists 
 abroad. The attempt was too apparent in its 
 object not to be easily discovered, and steadily 
 rejected. Here, then, the business should have 
 been abandoned ; but following up an unsatis- 
 factory and vacillating policy, one grievance 
 was removed only to be replaced by another — 
 oppression produced resistance, and the Ame- 
 ricans solemnly combined against the consump- 
 tion of any taxable article of British merchan- 
 dise. The teas from the East India House were 
 returned unlanded to the Company who shipped 
 them; or when a small quantity found its way 
 on shore, it was suffered to rot unsold in the 
 vaults of Charleston. In Boston no middle 
 course was adopted, for the mob boarded the 
 vessel which brought this obnoxious cargo and 
 committed its contents to the waves. 
 
 At this time perhaps an abandonment on 
 the part of Ministers, of measures, unwise as 
 they were unjust, might have been attended 
 with eminent success ; but they had passed the 
 Rubicon, and nothing kind, nothing conciliatory
 
 16 O^HARA, 
 
 issued from the Cabinet; on the contrary, harsh 
 and tyrannical proceedings were resorted to ; 
 the malecontents were branded as insurgents, 
 and their most popular leaders proscribed. 
 The inhabitants of Boston, in particular, were 
 treated with unexampled severity ; for, by the 
 passing of a cruel law, entitled '' The Boston 
 Port Bill," the harbour was closed, and conse-i 
 quently their trade utterly destroyed. 
 
 The Colonists thus finding themselves marked 
 out as victims of unrelenting persecution, de- 
 termined not to be coldly submissive. In pub- 
 lic and in private, a dangerous discussion of 
 freedom and independence became universal-^ 
 from the press flowed torrents of remonstrance 
 and reproach — pageants representing the death 
 and resuscitation of liberty were exhibited in 
 the public streets — persons holding obnoxious. 
 places under the government were executed in 
 effigy — the guards insulted at their posts, and 
 the carriage of the governor burnt beneath the 
 guns of Fort William ; till at last the sword, so 
 long suspended by a hair, fell — it was drawn 
 in the cause of freedom, and red indeed was the 
 blade before it could be sheathed again,
 
 o'hara. 17 
 
 The bad terms on which the inhabitants 
 and the military were, rendered a residence in 
 Boston, as may be well imagined, not very de- 
 sirable. This town had always been the focus 
 of the revolution, and the first shot fired in the 
 infancy of resistance was here discharged from 
 the guard-house of the 29th Regiment.— 
 The mob and the soldiery had been con- 
 tinually embroiled — at this moment martial law 
 prevented any thing like commotion in the 
 streets ; but those feelings which circumstances 
 rendered it prudent to conceal, were becoming- 
 more hostile and inveterate. From the factious 
 temper of the lower classes, and the avowed 
 revolutionary principles of the more respec- 
 table, all intercourse had long ceased to subsist 
 between the military and the citizens; each 
 party felt uncomfortable in the other^s pre- 
 sence, this viewing that with fear, and the 
 other in return looking on them with distrust. 
 In short, all within Boston was repulsive and 
 unfriendly — all without gloomy and portentous. 
 
 Before the arrival of the forty-seventh regi- 
 ment in America, actual hostilities had com- 
 menced. General Gage at that time com- 
 
 VOL. 1. . c
 
 18 o'hara. 
 
 manded in Boston, and understanding that the 
 village of Concord, about twenty miles distant 
 from the city, had been made a depot for the 
 arms and stores of the insurgent colonists, it 
 was deemed advisable by him to surprise it; 
 Notwithstanding the precautionary measures 
 adopted by the General, the advance of the 
 royalists was discovered, and they found the 
 militia and colonial troops in readiness to op- 
 pose them. The British, however, succeeded 
 with great difficulty in effecting the desired 
 object, by destroying the stores of the repub- 
 licans ; but on their return they were fiercely 
 and incessantly pursued, and although relieved 
 by a strong detachment of infantry with two 
 field-pieces, under the command of Lord Percy, 
 they suffered dreadfully on their retreat, until 
 completely exhausted, they halted on the height 
 of Bunker's Hill. On that day of excessive 
 fatigue, the royal army had marched upwards 
 of forty miles, exposed at every step of the re- 
 treat to the deadly fire of the American rifle- 
 men. Their loss in killed alone was estimated 
 at two hundred men.
 
 O KARA. 
 
 n 
 
 CHAPTER IT. 
 
 DtiMe. — And what's her history ? 
 
 Viola. — A blank, my lord. 
 
 Twelfth Night, 
 
 The consequences of the affair at Lexington (as 
 it was called) were truly important; The Ame- 
 ricans, elated by victory, and confident of ulti- 
 mate success, prepared for an energetic resist- 
 ance, while the opinion generally entertained in 
 England of the inefficacy of the colonial forces 
 was discovered to have been miserably incor- 
 rect ; and the grenadier cap, so imposing to the 
 inexperienced soldier in its appearance, returned 
 from the plains of Concord, robbed of its fan- 
 cied terrors. 
 
 The alarm felt at Boston was general. The 
 arrival, however, of large reinforcements from 
 Ireland, tended in a great measure to remove 
 it. The flank companies of the respective 
 
 C 2
 
 20 O^HARA. 
 
 regiments were landed without dela3% and 
 Captain O'Hara and his Lady accommodated 
 with lodgings in the town. 
 
 The Cajotain soon arranged a tolerably com- 
 fortable establishment; an elderly man and 
 woman, who had resided for many years with 
 his deceased father, accompanied him. A gre- 
 nadier, a native of the county of Tij^perary, 
 attended his horses and the out-door work, 
 and a very handsome young English girl, 
 whom Mr. Mahony, the aforesaid grenadier, 
 had persuaded, during the *' piping-time of 
 peace," to elope with him, served the lady in 
 the cajoacity of waiting-maid. 
 
 The residence selected by the Captain's wife, 
 for the time she might remain in Boston, 
 was situated at the extremity of the city, com- 
 manding, in the distance, a fine view of a rich 
 and wooded country, indented by a spacious 
 bay. The British fieet were anchored beneath 
 the town, and the heights of Bunker's Hill occu- 
 pied and closed the left of the prospect. The, 
 more immediate objects which met the eye 
 were very dissimilar. The windows of the 
 Captain's rooms opened on a small enclosure,
 
 o'hara. 21 
 
 ill which that class of people, called Quakers, 
 interred their departed friends. It was sym- 
 bolical of their lives, — simple, retired, and 
 unim posing. None disturbed its green alleys 
 with a footstep, save the relatives of its peace- 
 ful occupiers. The turf was raised into 
 mounds in lines of striking regularity ; each 
 grassy hillock denoting, that those who had 
 once lived, there slept *' the sleep that knows 
 no breaking." At one end of the green, a 
 plain wooden building was erected ; its low- 
 liness and retirement happily according with 
 the devotions of a meek and broken spirit : 
 close hedges, supported by a lofty row of pop- 
 lars, seemed to protect the dead from the 
 living. One wicket opened in the leafy wall ; 
 it was low and narrow, for those who entered 
 it were lowly. Here, indeed, might it be said, 
 that " the wicked ceased from troubling, and 
 the weary were at rest." But a few paces 
 from this peaceful cemetery, an object of a 
 very opposite description appeared : it was a 
 strong bastion, which, from commanding the 
 eastern angle of the works, had been fortified 
 with great care. Guns, of the largest calibre.
 
 22 
 
 KARA. 
 
 were pointed from the embrasures ; an English 
 ensign, raised on an elevated flag-staiF, floated 
 gaily in the centre of the esj^lanade ; sentry- 
 boxes were placed at either extremity ; nu- 
 merous piles of shot were built between the 
 cannon, while a deep ditch, the outer side 
 defended by a chevaux-de-frise, and the inner 
 edge stockaded, secured the battery from any 
 hostile approach. 
 
 The grave, the closing scene of the drama 
 of human life, is seldom regarded with insen- 
 sibility. Its loneliness is imposing, and it steals 
 imperceptibly on the senses, till they slum- 
 ber in placid forgetfulness, and the bustle 
 of the world, its joys and sorrows, its busi- 
 ness and pleasures, are for a time forgot- 
 ten. No spot could have been more fa- 
 vourably chosen to excite such feelings than 
 the burying-ground of the Friends of Bos- 
 ton. But if the eye wandered for a mo- 
 ment from the spot it rested on, the illusion 
 ceased, the dream was dissolved, and war, 
 with its horrible realities, recalled the senses 
 to perception. 
 
 It was the month of June. The day had
 
 0*HARA. 23 
 
 been sultry, but the evening was mild and 
 lovely. Mrs. O'Hara was seated at an open 
 window ; her husband sketching with his pen- 
 cil from a collection of American scenery ; the 
 door of the apartment unclosed, and Captain 
 Edwards of the 38th Regiment, a distant re- 
 lative and favourite companion'of O'Hara, en- 
 tered. Edwards was in the bloom of life ; his 
 manners most insinuating, his conversation 
 lively, his honour unsullied. He had one foi- 
 ble," — call it rather a crime, — he was always in 
 love, and always changing his mistress. So 
 strong had this habit increased, (for it was 
 one,) that although betrothed to a lovely girl, 
 of high family and splendid fortune, in Eng- 
 land, and to whom, on his return, he was to 
 be united, yet he could not meet a female with 
 disengaged affections, without endeavouring to 
 win them. Too frequently he succeeded, and 
 if he failed, it was to him a matter of profound 
 indifference. Such was the defect of other- 
 wise a first-rate character. In friendship faith- 
 ful as in love inconstant; the soldier of chi- 
 valry, nothing was too desperate for his daring 
 courage to attempt, and the humanity and
 
 24 0*HARA. 
 
 kindness of his disposition had made him the 
 idol of his regiment. He had been two years 
 in America, and, in an encounter with a party 
 of hostile Indians, had most eminently distin- 
 guished himself ; in this affair he was severely 
 wounded, but recovered to receive the thanks 
 of his commanding officer, and the light com- 
 pany of the 38th Regiment. 
 
 Edwards was extremely attached to O'Hara, 
 and from the mutual pleasure each felt in the 
 other's society, a large portion of their time 
 was generally passed together : one circum- 
 stance in his friend's conduct appeared unac- 
 countable to O'Hara. Since his return to 
 Boston, his brother-officers had remarked that 
 Edwards had been at times much depressed, 
 but the cause was studiously concealed, and 
 no entreaty could induce him to divulge it, 
 even to those who had hitherto possessed his 
 unbounded confidence. " 1 know not," said 
 he, as he seated himself, ** how to account for 
 the unusual dulness of my spirits to-day. I 
 have been writing to England to — ," he smiled, 
 and paused, — "• and, although I have always 
 felt that writing or receiving letters exhila-
 
 o'hara. 25 
 
 rated my sober spirits, yet in this case it lias 
 lost its efifect. To my taste the wine was sour, 
 though all the others praised it; and the 
 laugh which echoed from the table was loud 
 and unharmonious to me alone. I have come," 
 continued he, smiling, '' where I shall be re- 
 lieved ; for you, Mrs. O'Hara, and that light- 
 hearted Irishman, are always cheerful : Ha ! 
 the wine has recovered its flavour." 
 
 *' That wine will improve in^the next bottle 
 wonderfully," replied O'Hara; " but, see, for a 
 wonder, a living creature enters that dismal bu- 
 rying-place." The object of his attention was 
 carefully securing the little gate which had ad- 
 mitted him. He was provided with a spade 
 and shovel, and advanced to the upper end 
 of the green : his appearance was grave and 
 melancholy, and indicated that he had nearly 
 reached the longest span of human existence. 
 He was, probably, eighty years old, and yet, 
 fi'om the temperance of his youth, his stej) was 
 firm and manly. Stojoping beneath the win- 
 dow where O'Hara stood, he viewed the spot 
 for a few moments, took off his plain, brown 
 coat, folded and placed it on the adjacent hil-
 
 26 ' o'hara. 
 
 lock, and then steadily commenced his la- 
 bour. 
 
 " It is late in the evening to begin to work," 
 said O'Hara. 
 
 '* Even so," replied the old man. 
 
 " For whom are you making that grave ?" 
 
 " For a maiden who is gathered to her fa- 
 thers." 
 
 " Was the woman who is dead young?" said 
 Edwards. 
 
 " The damsel is not dead, but sleepeth; she 
 was seventeen years born." 
 
 '' So young," exclaimed Edwards, '* it is a 
 pity that one in the spring of life should be so 
 prematurely hurried to the tomb." 
 
 " That is the end of all men, and the living 
 should lay it to heart," said the grave-digger, 
 as he looked steadily at Edwards. 
 
 " Pray," said Mrs. O'Hara, " what did 
 the young woman die of?" 
 
 " Grief," replied the old man. 
 
 *' Good heavens !" said Edwards, *' what 
 caused it ?" 
 
 The senior again raised his eyes from the 
 ground, and resting a look of strong expres-
 
 o'hara. 27 
 
 sion on the countenance of the inquirer, re- 
 plied with great emotion, " One habited as 
 thou art caused her death." 
 
 Edwards coloured, and retired from the win- 
 dow. 
 
 The interest of the listeners was now power- 
 fully awakened, and O'Hara, not perceiving 
 the embarrassment of his friend, pursued his 
 inquiries with eagerness. The old man slowly 
 replied to his numerous interrogatories, until 
 the melancholy story was told. 
 
 It appeared, that the young woman's fa- 
 mily resided in the back lands, three hundred 
 miles from Boston, and possessed a rich and 
 extensive plantation. She was the only daugh- 
 ter of her parents, who had, however, several 
 sons. A small British post established in the 
 vicinity of the farm, had been surprised during 
 a dark and stormy night by a hostile band of 
 Indians. They made a desperate assault on 
 the little garrison, but, by the gallantry of the 
 young officer who commanded, were eventually 
 beaten off: he was, however, dangerously 
 wounded. 
 
 O'Hara was startled by a low groan, and.
 
 28 o'hara. 
 
 on turning about, perceived Edwards was 
 deeply affected. He leaned against the wall 
 behind him, with his face buried in his hands ; 
 while, in the simple language of his sect, the 
 old man continued his relation. 
 
 ** They bore him in the morning to the house 
 where Rachel sojourned with her kindred. 
 Blood flowed from his breast, and the hand of 
 death seemed to be hard upon him. Oil was 
 poured into his wounds, and he lay upon the 
 softest bed. She, who is now at rest, was lovely 
 to the eye, and the stranger had a stately form. 
 Often did the damsel sit by his side, and mi- 
 nister to his wants, for her brethren and kin- 
 dred laboured daily in the fields. The warrior 
 told the maiden of his love, and entreated her 
 to leave the house of her fathers, and flee with 
 him from the fold of the faithful. Long did 
 she refuse ; but, at last, consented to become 
 his spouse. One day, he who served him 
 brought a letter, saying, ' He who command- 
 eth thy band hath written .' He was yet weak, 
 and he besought the damsel to read to him 
 what was therein contained. She consented, 
 and read. The letter was from his betrothed
 
 o'hara. 29 
 
 wife. Her senses fled, and she swooned away ; 
 but when she revived, she hastened from Iiis 
 presence, and never saw him more ! Shame 
 struck him to the quick, — he arose and left the 
 house, and went I know not whither. Ra- 
 chel wept in her chamber, but her tears were 
 in secret ; she pined, and none knew where- 
 fore. She smiled not by day, neither in the 
 night season did she slumber. Her parents, 
 sorrowing, arose and carried her hither, that 
 those skilled in medicine might minister to her 
 cure ; but it was in vain ! She departed the 
 . night before last, praying while her breath 
 remained for the Gentile youth who had de- 
 ceived her." 
 
 Ere the little narrative had concluded, Ed- 
 wards, uttering a cry of horror, rushed from 
 the room. 
 
 The scene was melancholy ! — Mrs. O'Hara 
 wept over the untimely fate of poor Rachel 
 with unaffected sorrow. In a short time after, 
 approaching footsteps were hea^-d. It was the 
 funeral. A number of serious-looking people, 
 of both sexes, advanced, carrying a simple bier, 
 on which a plain, unornamented coffin rested.
 
 30 o'hara. 
 
 It was now twilight, and objects could not be 
 seen with distinctness. Low and smothered 
 sobs were heard, indicating that the mourners 
 Were endeavouring to conceal the grief they 
 could not conquer. As the grave gradually 
 filled up, the lament of Rachel's brothers 
 grew more difficult to stifle ; till at length the 
 melancholy business was completed, and the 
 attendants departed silently. One, an elderly 
 person, and probably her father, lingered for 
 a few moments behind the othei*s, apparently 
 engaged in mental devotion. He bowed his 
 head with deep humility, and pronouncing in 
 a low but steady voice, *' He gave, and He hath 
 taken away," retired, and the gate was fas- 
 tened. 
 
 Mrs. O'Hara daily expected to be confined ; 
 and every young female at that period must be 
 apprehensive for her safety : her character was 
 naturally of a timid cast, and the fate of the 
 youthful Quakeress had depressed her spirits. 
 " I feel," she said, as she hid her tearful cheek 
 in her husband's bosom, " that it is great 
 cruelty to you to yield thus to despondency — I 
 cannot avoid it, for something whispers me
 
 o'hara. 31 
 
 that this ominous country will be fatal to our 
 happiness. You, O'Hara, will unnecessarily 
 expose yourself, — your forwardness and strik- 
 ing figure will fatally distinguish you, and you 
 will fall by the rifle of some nameless republi- 
 can. The fears I entertain for myself are 
 small, for 1 trust that God will support me in 
 my approaching trial ; should it be otherwise 
 ordained, — and. Heaven pardon me, I would 
 be most unwilling to part from my beloved 
 Frederic, — lay me beside poor Rachel, fly 
 from this devoted country, and in the peaceful 
 scenes we quitted, sometimes remember the 
 woman who adored you." 
 
 O'Hara, in great agitation, caught her to 
 his bosom : " Oh ! Fanny ! talk not in such 
 melancholy words — all will yet be well, and 
 we shall be happy ; on your account, I would 
 act every part but the coward's — but now to 
 draw back, to leave my regiment on service, 
 and return ingloriously to degrading obscurity 
 — no, the name of O'Hara was never coupled 
 with reproach,' and I will not be the first tp 
 stain it." 
 
 ** Frederic, I would not ask you ; my hus-
 
 32 • o'hara. 
 
 band must be still a gentleman and a soldier ; 
 but if we live to return once more to dear 
 Ireland, will you abandon this terrible pro- 
 fession ? Your property suffers by the ab- 
 sence of its master ; for my sake, for the sake 
 of your expected infant, leave, when you can 
 with honour, a profession which destroys the 
 happiness of your wife, and militates against 
 
 the future fortunes of your offspring." He 
 
 kissed fondly the tears from her cheek, '' Who 
 could withstand your smiles ? but your tears 
 are unanswerable. Yes, — I agree ; I will con- 
 sent to your wishes, but you must wait till I 
 can do it as an O'Hara ought — but, poor 
 Edwards, my erring, unfortunate kinsman, 
 from my heart I pity him. I know his hasty 
 disposition might prompt him to some act of 
 rashness. I must go and stay with him for a 
 short time, and at supper, let my darling 
 Fanny be once more cheerful." The Captain 
 affectionately kissed his smiling wife, and left 
 her apartment to seek that of his repentant 
 friend.
 
 o'hara. 33 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "Tisdone! 'tis done! that fatal blow 
 
 Has stretch'd him on the bloody plain ; 
 
 He strives to rise, — brave Musgrave, no ; 
 Thence never shalt thou rise again. 
 
 Lay of the Last Minstret. 
 
 O^Hara reached the lodgmgs of his country- 
 man, and cautiously knocking at the door, was 
 admitted by the servant, who appeared in 
 considerable alarm ; recognising with visible 
 pleasure his master's companion, he proceeded 
 to inform him that the Captain, after being 
 absent for a short time after dinner, had re- 
 turned completely out of his senses. For the 
 first time in his life he had treated him with great 
 harshness ; and on his hesitating to leave him 
 in the distracted state in which he seemed to 
 be, furiously commanded his absence, in a tone 
 which precluded any refusal. For some time 
 Vol. I. D
 
 34 o'hara. 
 
 he had continued in considerable agitation of 
 mind, pacing the chamber with rapid and un- 
 equal steps : latterly he appeared more com- 
 posed, and the servant imagined that he had 
 perhaps thrown himself on the bed. O'Hara 
 gently ascended the stairs, and tapped at the 
 door ; an angry voice from within demanded 
 who knocked, but on ascertaining that his 
 kinsman was there, desired him to enter. He 
 was leaning against the chimney-piece, his eyes 
 wild and wandering, his look unsettled, seem- 
 ingly abandoning himself to despair. O'Hara 
 attempted in vain to offer some consolation to 
 the sufferer, but was hastily interrupted, — 
 ** Would you have believed it, had not your own 
 ears listened to the tale, that Henry Edwards 
 was the gallant honourable gentleman he is? 
 Bleeding, fainting, expiring, he was carried to 
 the house of innocence, — but peace and hap- 
 piness left that dwelling when the traitor en- 
 tered. He was admitted, for humanity abode 
 there ; every kindness was lavished on him ; an 
 angel, yes, a pure, artless, unsuspicious angel, 
 nursed him tenderly ; he recovered, and could 
 he but be grateful? Oh, yes, yes, he flat-
 
 o'hara. 35 
 
 tered, he sighed, he swore that he passionately 
 loved her. She, the child of nature, believed 
 him ; she consented to give up home, kindred, 
 religion. And when he had effected all this, 
 for more the villain could not effect, he de- 
 serted her, deceived her, murdered her*" 
 
 and an hysteric sob concluded a speech deli- 
 vered with all the frantic enunciation of a 
 maniac. The last burst of passion, however, 
 exhausted his strength, and sinking down on a 
 chair beside him, O'Hara saw with delight 
 tears falling fast upon the floor : as he ex- 
 pected, the poignancy of his distress was re- 
 lieved, and with calmness, but in terms of the 
 most heartfelt sorrow, he lamented the fate of 
 the girl to whom he declared he had been ten- 
 derly attached. His friend remained for a con- 
 siderable time, and then rose to depart ; Ed- 
 wards having promised that he would retire to 
 bed, and endeavour to compose himself to 
 sleep. 
 
 It was late when the Captain retired to his 
 lodgings ; the road leading to his home was 
 totally deserted, the inhabitants having long 
 since closed their houses for the night. Now 
 
 D 2
 
 3G o'hara. 
 
 and then some lonely sentinel at a corner chal- 
 lenged and received the countersign ; this was 
 common to every garrison- town, and was ap- 
 parently but a part of military form. Although 
 Boston was filled with British soldiery, their 
 discipline prevented tumult or confusion. At 
 times, through the stillness of the night, the 
 *' All's well " from the shipj^ing moored under 
 cover of the cannon of the town, was heard, 
 . mellowed by the distance ; but it was a sound 
 rather calculated to allay than excite alarm. 
 It was known that a large body of Americans 
 was encamped in the neighbourhood, but that 
 they should commence a course of active opera- 
 tions was by no means to be apprehended, 
 and the earlier part of the night of the 16th 
 of June passed in uninterrupted tranquillity. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. O'Hara had been late in 
 retiring to their chamber ; interested in the 
 events of the preceding evening, his sleep 
 was restless and disturbed ; a bugle, but 
 scarcely audible, seemed to sound ; he started, 
 and all was quiet. He lay listening in anxious 
 suspense, and the bugle sounded distinctly. 
 He arose in silence, fearing the slumbers of his
 
 o'hara. 37 
 
 lady should be broken, and was hurrying on his 
 uniform, when a signal gun from the shipping 
 was discharged. Mrs. O'Hara was fearfully 
 awakened, and as her husband endeavoured to 
 calm her alarm , the drums beat ; a knocking 
 at the door was heard, and the voice of Ed- 
 wards demanded admission. The Captain 
 hastened to the outer room to receive him, and 
 was astonished to see a covered caravan, draMai 
 up beneath the window. '' Rise quickly, 
 O'Hara, the Americans possess the hill; the 
 battery behind your house will open in a few 
 minutes, — my lodgings are retired, — remove 
 Mrs. O'Hara instantly to them." The lady 
 and her servants were hastily put in motion, 
 and before the eastern bastion had sufficient 
 light to train its cannon upon the enemy's 
 works, Mrs. O'Hara was landed in safety in 
 the abode of her husband's friend. 
 
 As the caravan proceeded, Edwards addressed 
 his companion, — *' After you left me, 1 sat 
 down to write ; I finished what I was engaged 
 in, and determined to visit the place where my 
 lost Rachel is interred. I succeeded in pass-
 
 38 o'hara. 
 
 ing the enclosure, and seated myself on the 
 turf which covers her remains. I had not 
 been long there before I imagined that I heard 
 the distant report of a musket ; T started up, 
 and was hastening to the battery to ask 
 whether the sentinel had also heard it, when 
 the bugle sounded ; that caravan was passing 
 at the moment, I stopped the unwilling driver, 
 and aware that your house was in a trouble- 
 some neighbourhood, I thought Mrs. O'Hara 
 would be more remote from the firing in my 
 lodgings. We shall be shortly engaged : in a 
 private drawer of my writing-desk a sealed 
 paper is deposited ; these stubborn fellows 
 have got possession of a strong eminence, it 
 may be difficult to dislodge them ; I will be in 
 the scramble. Should I fall, open the little 
 memorial, and endeavour to carry its wishes 
 into effect. But we are at the door. Come, 
 my dear Mrs. O'Hara, these unmannerly guns 
 are noisy, but fear nothing, here you are in 
 security." Leading the way to his apart- 
 liients, he welcomed his fair guest, and telling 
 her he would go to learn the extent of the
 
 o'hara. 39 
 
 general alarm, he left her, as we shall take the 
 liberty of doing for a time, in peaceable pos- 
 session of her friendly quarters. 
 
 The town of Boston is beautifully situated ; 
 it is seated on a peninsula, divided from 
 Charleston by a river, and commanded on 
 the eastern side by the strong eminence of 
 Bunker's-Hill. On the night above mentioned, 
 the Americans had taken possession of those 
 heights, and labouring with astonishing silence, 
 threw up before the morning dawned a line of 
 works extending half a mile across the summit 
 of the ridge. When discovered, a heavy fire was 
 opened on the working parties, from the guns 
 of the men-of-war and the batteries of the city ; 
 but apparently undisturbed by the cannonade, 
 by noon they completed their lines. To dis- 
 lodge them from this strong position was now 
 as difficult as it was necessary, and a body of 
 troops were ordered on that service. Twenty 
 flank companies, supported by the 5th, 38th, 
 43d, 47th, and 52d regiments, a battalion of 
 marines, and a light brigade of artillery, were 
 formed at the foot of this formidable eminence. 
 General Howe with the grenadiers advanced
 
 40 o'hara. 
 
 against the lines, while General Pigot with 
 the light infantry was directed to carry a 
 redoubt which flanked the left of the enemy. 
 The British troops advanced up the hill with 
 fearless intrepidity, but on approaching the 
 entrenchments the republican fire opened with 
 such fatal precision, that the best soldiers in 
 Europe were checked, wavered, and broken. 
 The execution of the rifle was terrible; and 
 the artillery, worked with rapidity and effect, 
 poured upon the gallant assailants a deadly 
 torrent of grape] and canister shot. General 
 Howe, whose approved bravery was most 
 conspicuous at the trying moment, rushed into 
 the hottest of the fire. Officers and men fell 
 in heaps around him ; " surrounded by the 
 dying and the dead," he preserved his wonted 
 composure, rallying the remains of the grena- 
 diers who had led the attack, pointed with his 
 sword to the breast- work, and cheered them 
 to a fresh essay. 
 
 O'Hara's company had twice advanced, and 
 their leader armed with the musket and bayo- 
 net of a fallen soldier, was seen conspicuously 
 at their head. They had been a second time
 
 o'hara. 41 
 
 beaten back, leaving half their number on the 
 ** glacis" of the entrenchment. At this cri- 
 tical moment, when the day was all but lost. 
 General Clinton arrived from Boston. The 
 British once more were formed, and again 
 pressed forward to the trenches. O'Hara and 
 the grenadiers a third time headed the storm- 
 ing party with all the desperate valour of his 
 country. He entered the ditch, followed by 
 his men, and British and American engaged 
 hand to hand. General Warren, who com- 
 manded the American right, had throughout 
 this arduous conflict displayed the greatest 
 bravery ; he rallied his raw soldiery, and 
 rushing to the front, endeavoured sword in 
 hand to expel the intruders. Warren and 
 O'Hara met ; the young American discharged 
 a pistol at the Captain of grenadiers, while 
 O'Hara, springing forward, plunged his bay- 
 onet into the breast of his gallant adversary. 
 Dismayed by his fall, the Republicans gave 
 way, and the entire of the right division were 
 soon across the ditch. On the left, the re- 
 doubt which had strengthened that part of the 
 works had foiled General Pigot in the repeated
 
 42 o'hara. 
 
 attempts which he had made to possess It, but 
 seizing on the diversion made in his favour by 
 the success of the British right, he succeeded 
 by a well-timed and vigorous effort in turning 
 the flank of the American defences. The 
 Royalists instantly occupied the hardly con- 
 tested heights, and their brave opponents, 
 after an heroic resistance, retreated over the 
 hill with all the steadiness of a veteran army. 
 
 The operations of the English forces did not 
 terminate with the defeat of the Republicans. 
 The town of Charleston had annoyed them 
 during the day, by a constant teazing fire, 
 and, in revenge, it was devoted to the flames. 
 Consisting of nearly five hundred wooden 
 houses, and these being fired in many places at 
 the same moment, the conflagration was indeed 
 awful. The lofty spire of the meeting-house, 
 constructed of the pitch-pine tree, shot a bril- 
 liant column of fire to an immense height, and 
 exhibited to the numerous lookers-on, who had 
 viewed the engagement from the walls of Bos- 
 ton, a spectacle not inferior in horror even to 
 the field of battle, — a city sheeted in one un- 
 broken mass of flames.
 
 o'hara. 43 
 
 The feelings of O'Hara, as he gazed on the 
 surrounding objects, were indescribable. The 
 trenches, on the bank of which he stood, were 
 filled with dead and wounded republicans ; 
 people of similar manners, speaking the same 
 language, and closely related by descent, 
 could not, in this scene of destruction, be re- 
 garded without a lively sympathy. Those of 
 the Americans who had fallen at any distance 
 were scarcely to be discovered from the earth 
 in which they rested. Nothing on these self- 
 taught soldiers was intended to strike the eye. 
 Their blue dresses and dark rifles were with- 
 out ornament. All was plain, but all was 
 effective. Far differently appeared the British 
 Grenadiers. Arrayed in uniforms profusely 
 decorated, burthened with showy and useless 
 accoutrements, with polished arms, belts, and 
 breast- plates ; all too well calculated to be- 
 stow a melancholy distinction on the wearer, 
 and make him a more marked object for the 
 rifleman. 
 
 O'Hara sickened as he looked down the 
 hill. It was, indeed, a melancholy sight. 
 Heaps of corses lay as if regularly strewn in
 
 44 o'hara. 
 
 front of the breast-work, and indicated with 
 what unflinching courage the British had ad- 
 vanced to the assault. The gay habiliments of 
 the fallen officers gave to the field of death a 
 gloomier contrast. Caps and feathers, mus- 
 kets and drums, as they had dropped from the 
 relaxing grasp of their possessors, were loosely 
 scattered about ; while, as if to crown the 
 horror of the whole, the light which glanced 
 upon the scene of slaughter was reddened by 
 the flames of Charleston. O'Hara was nearly 
 exhausted : he had received several slight 
 wounds which were bleeding freely. A gun, 
 which the retreating Americans had disabled, 
 to prevent it from being turned on their rear, 
 was beside him, and resting against it, he en- 
 deavoured to bind up his wounds, when his 
 attention was roused by the voice of a soldier, 
 whose tones were familiar to his ear, entreat- 
 ing the assistance of a comrade. The fellow 
 had been wounded in the fleshy part of the 
 thigh, and was (to make use of his own term) 
 striving, to *' hough out the ball." The as- 
 sistance which he had solicited was kindly, 
 but clumsily, administered by a Scotch drum-
 
 0*HARA. 45 
 
 mer, and during an awkward operation, Ma- 
 hony (for It was O'Hara's servant) bore it 
 with unmoved stoicism. " It's out, at last, 
 sweet Jasus be praised," exclaimed the attend- 
 ant, *' and may-be I won't be easier with it in 
 my pocket than if it was in my leg, if I felt 
 as sore since Doctor Maginty (the devil's luck 
 to him !) pulled out the wrong tooth instead of 
 the right one. God bless you, Sandy dear, — 
 but you done it neatly. Ogh, Captain, the 
 blood's runnin down your jacket : take a drop, 
 it's only wine, for you know I am booked 
 agin spirits till Lammas, barrin what's given 
 me out of your own hand, or Serjeant Grady's; 
 and if I never drink till the Serjeant gives it to 
 me, well as I liked him, by my soul, I v/ould 
 not like to see him now that he's dead, for 
 he's kilt out and out." 
 
 «' Poor fellow," said O'Hara, *' he was a 
 noble soldier." 
 
 '' And as clane a made man," said Mahony, 
 ** as ever went into afield." 
 
 " Did you see him fall ?" asked the drum- 
 mer. 
 
 '' Fall !" echoed the grenadier, '' wasn't I 
 beside him, man. ' Serjeant,' says I, ' will
 
 46 o'hara. 
 
 we ever get over that damn'd shough?* * Ar- 
 rah, what will hinder us ? ' says he. ' Heads 
 up, boys, and at them again.' With that, the 
 ball hit him, and down he went, I was stop- 
 ping to lift him, but he beckoned me off. 
 * Forward,' says he, ' my darlings, for I'm 
 done for : the blessings of the Almighty attend 
 yees, and my curse and the devil's pursue tlie 
 first man that shows the number of his knap- 
 sack.' He strove to shout, but that was too 
 much for him, over he went on his face, and 
 died like a rael haro." 
 
 The eulogy on the departed Serjeant 
 was interrupted by a heavy sigh. Mahony 
 looked over his shoulder with great indiffer- 
 ence, and continued — 
 
 *< It's the gentleman your honour jagged 
 with the bayonet : I thought it was all over 
 with him. Hould his head up, Sandy, and I'll 
 give him a drop to keep the life in him." 
 
 *' Poor boy," said the Hibernian, as he un- 
 buttoned a jacket, handsomely but plainly or- 
 namented. '' Here's a love-token hid in his 
 breast." 
 
 The dying American seemed to apprehend 
 the loss of the miniature, probably the portrait
 
 o'hara. 47 
 
 of his mistress, and made a feeble effort to 
 retain it. His wishes were understood by the 
 speaker. 
 
 " Is it me take it? Oh no ! you have been 
 tenderly and genteelly reared ; and as to your 
 keep -sake, no one shall titch it, and me by. 
 But, hauld up," continued he, in a tone of 
 kind encouragement, " they'^ll lift us soon, and 
 we'll go together to the hospital. Af there's 
 a squeeze, which I allow there will, you and 
 I can have a shake down together. You 
 fought hard, and the devil take them that 
 would lave you. You got a sore prod, my 
 jewel, but it's a comfort to know that it was 
 a rael gentleman that gave you it." 
 
 Warren's head rested on O'Hara's knee, 
 and he appeared to recognise him as the officer 
 who had wounded him. He gently took the 
 supporting hand, and pressed it feebly to his 
 breast. His eyelids closed, — the fingers gra- 
 dually relaxed their pressure, — and a low 
 groan, accompanied by a convulsive motion of 
 the limbs, announced that Warren ceased to 
 live. 
 
 This last scene was too much for the rival
 
 48 o'hara. 
 
 soldier. Agitated by the tenderest solici- 
 tude, faint with fatigue and loss of blood, 
 and quite unable to support himself, he leaned 
 over the corse of the fallen American. War- 
 ren had only entered into his twenty-third 
 year, and added to a face, perhaps too fe- 
 minine in its beauty, a figure of faultless 
 symmetry. The wound in his breast had bled 
 profusely, and the locket which he seemed to 
 value so dearly glittered in a dark halo of 
 blood. 
 
 Love did not want its association in the ideas 
 of O'Hara, and, as he thought on the forlorn 
 situation of his wife, he groaned in an agony 
 of distress. General Howe at the moment 
 rode up, — sprang from his horse, and em- 
 bracing, him, noticed his excessive agitation, 
 and kindly entreated to know the cause. 
 
 Mahony, who had been looking at his mas- 
 ter with great anxiety, perceiving that he was 
 unable to reply, instantly exclaimed, — 
 
 " Your honour sees that he is wounded, and, 
 besides, he's frettin about her Ladyship ; for 
 when me and the master marched, her Ho- 
 nour's time was in, and they allowed she was
 
 o'hara. 49 
 
 going to take labour. Och ! it's I would have 
 been home to tell her, that the Captain was 
 alive and merry, only the devil a leg I could 
 put before the other." 
 
 To summon an orderly with a steady horse — 
 to place O'Hara on his back, and offer the 
 warmest wishes for his lady's safety, was all the 
 work of an instant. The Captain rode quietly 
 down the hill. The General gallopped forward 
 to recall the advance, and Pat Mahony, after 
 commendmg his master and mistress to the 
 especial care of Heaven, seated himself beside 
 the body of the Republican Commander. 
 
 Vol
 
 50 o'hara. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 No useless coffin enclosed his breast. 
 Not in sheet or in shroud we bound him ; 
 
 He lay like a warrior taking his rest. 
 With his martial cloak around him. 
 
 JVoolfe. 
 
 Thousands were spectators of the engage- 
 ment from the eminences of Boston, and its en- 
 virons; and as O'Hara advanced into the town, 
 his appearance attracted the undivided attention 
 of the lookers on. The soldiers who were off 
 duty, and citizens in detached groups, still oc- 
 cupied the walls from whence they had gazed 
 on the field of battle, with equal anxiety, but 
 dissimilar feelings. 
 
 The soldier, as he viewed the fluctuations of 
 the conflict, trembled for the safety and honour 
 of his companions in arms ; and when victory 
 and the hill was theirs, his triumph broke out 
 in wild and unrestrained exultation ; while the
 
 0*HARA. 51 
 
 citizen, with keener sensibility, almost sank 
 beneath the blow which threatened to crush, in 
 its infant struggle for independence, the future 
 liberties of a great and growing country. The 
 Royalist with delight, the Republican with sor- 
 row and devotion, still turned their eyes on the 
 spot where the first martyrs of American free- 
 dom bled — though they failed to conquer; 
 while O'Hara, cheered by the one, and coldly 
 stared at by the other, interrogated by a mul- 
 titude, to whose opposite questions it was im- 
 possible to reply, at last found his further pro- 
 gress barred by a brigade of soldiers* wives, 
 who seemed obstinate in their determination to 
 dispute the passage. In a state of great ex- 
 haustion, he was badly conditioned to free him- 
 self from this troublesome group, when his old 
 servant, with heartfelt joy pictured in his 
 countenance, rushed stoutly through the sur- 
 rounding amazons, and led off the object of 
 their curiosity. The Captain was anticipated 
 in his inquiry for his lady, and listened with 
 rapturous dehght to the account of her safety, 
 and the birth of an heir. 
 
 " She had a fine time, considering; and now 
 
 £ i
 
 52 
 
 O KARA. 
 
 that his honour was returned with the life in 
 him, all would be well." 
 
 He shortly arrived at his friend's apartments 
 —his servant assisted him to dismount; and, 
 while the news of his safe return was cautiously 
 conveyed to the invalid, his wounds were exa- 
 mined, and being found but trifling, were 
 dressed by the Physician, who fortunately had 
 not left the house; and soon the tears of as 
 brave a soldier as any who bled on the heights 
 of Bunker's- Hill, fell in more than womanly 
 affection on the cheek of his now happy wife. 
 
 There were few that day in Boston who did 
 not share in the general distress. The Ameri- 
 cans apprehended that the British troops would 
 follow up their victory, and push forward with- 
 out delay to their head-quarters at Cambridge ; 
 and probably an advance at this critical period 
 would have fatally decided the cause of the 
 Revolution — nothing could have saved their 
 discomfitted army from total dispersion ; while, 
 with revived confidence, those who were well 
 affected to the existing Government, would 
 have been animated to have seconded them by 
 their co-operation. But the loss of the victors
 
 o'hara. 53 
 
 had been too severe to warrant their commencing 
 an active course of annoyance with any pros- 
 pect of success ; and accordingly they advanced 
 no farther than the field of battle, where they 
 threw up additional works for their security. 
 The Provincial Forces halted on Prospect- 
 Hill, occupying an entrenched position in their 
 front, both parties carefully guarding against 
 an attack, which each well knew they were but 
 badly prepared to oppose. 
 
 With rest and refreshment, O^Hara's strength 
 was wonderfully recruited ; and now free from 
 any apprehensions for his lady's or his own 
 safety, he felt anxiously for that of his compa- 
 nions. Edwards principally engrossed his at- 
 tention ; and, as several hours had elapsed since 
 the engagement terminated, and no tidings of 
 his friend, although repeatedly sought for, had 
 yet arrived, he determined, with the assistance 
 of his servant, to proceed to his former resi- 
 dence, whither he had ordered Mahony to be 
 carried as soon as the wounded were brought 
 in. On the way, he found the fears he enter- 
 tained for Edward's safety confirmed, as he was 
 informed he had been severely wounded, and
 
 54 o'hara. 
 
 agreeably to his particular directions, carried 
 to the house of O'Hara. On arriving at the 
 door, he entered with so much silence, that for 
 some moments he was an unobserved spectator 
 of what was passing in the room. Pat Mahony, 
 stretched on a mattress in a corner, w^as observ- 
 ing with apparent solicitude, the striking group 
 which occupied the centre of the apartment. 
 The light was sad and sombre — the windows 
 were blinded, with the exception of that before 
 which Edwards, lying on a couch, was sup- 
 ported by a soldier seated behind him ; the 
 Regimental Surgeon, examining a wound in his 
 breast on one side, and a grave, heart-broken 
 looking man kneeling on the other, with one 
 of the patient's hands clasped between his 
 own ; his face was deadly pale, and the blood, 
 which a bandage could not staunch, was trick- 
 ling from a sabre cut in his forehead. O'Hara 
 came forward, and Edwards instantly recog- 
 nised him with an exclamation of joy, and 
 placing his arm around his friend's neck, kissed 
 him with fervent affection. The Surgeon, rais- 
 ing his head, glanced his eye at O'Hara, and 
 fatally that glance told that Edwards's fate in
 
 o'hara. 55 
 
 this world was decided. Tears falling down 
 the rugged cheeks of the supporting soldier, 
 and Mahony's frequent sobs, indicated that they 
 too had remarked that ominous look. 
 
 None but the sufferer himself was unmoved, 
 and with a voice of amazing steadiness, he smi- 
 lingly, but feebly, addressed O'Hara: — 
 
 '* From my heart I congratulate you. What 
 was my pride when lying on the field, I heard 
 the shout of * Ireland for ever ! — O'Hara 
 and victory!' And your wife and the little 
 stranger, too — I have heard all, but have nei- 
 ther strength nor words to say how happy I wish 
 them. Hold — do not close that window — it 
 was my only prayer to be carried here, and I 
 can now die without a wish ungratified." 
 
 A sun-beam fell partially on the green, and 
 rested for a moment on Rachel's grave. The 
 dying soldier remarked it, and exclaimed with 
 wild enthusiasm — " Yes, blessed beam, if you 
 light upon that spot to-morrow, I shall be 
 there also !" 
 
 His extremities were now cold, and he com- 
 plained that he felt chilly, and carelessly asked 
 how long he might still linger ? The Surgeon,
 
 56 o'hara. 
 
 to whom the question was addressed, turned his 
 head hastily aside to conceal excessive agitation. 
 " I read my answer," said Edwards, coolly, 
 ** and my last route is come — but my peace is 
 made — with Rachel I sleep to-night, and none 
 can sever the union of the dead ; though not 
 in life, yet in death I shall be thine, Rachel !" 
 
 The old man burst into a flood of tears, as 
 he said mournfully, *' Thou may est go to her, 
 but she shall never come to thee ;" and stoop- 
 ing down, affectionately kissed him. 
 
 Edwards asked for wine, and having with 
 difficulty swallowed a glass-full, he continued 
 — ** I feel I have not many minutes to live ; 
 hear me, Frederic — you have a son, will you, in 
 remembrance of your deceased kinsman, call 
 him Henry Edwards?" O'Hara pressed his 
 hand in token of the compliance to which his 
 lips could not give utterance. *' What I es- 
 teem most valuable, I leave him — my sword — 
 it was my father's — stainless it descended to me, 
 and the son of O'Hara will never disgrace a 
 gallant weapon. When I am breathless, place 
 me in the earth as I now lie, coffinless. His 
 uniform should ever be a soldier's winding-sheet.
 
 o'hara. 57 
 
 Lay me close to Rachel — let not even a turf 
 fall between me and my bride. I wish the 
 remnant of my own company to carry me to 
 the grave, and if they think I merited them, 
 let them pay me the last honours of a soldier. 
 I am dying : tell your wife I sent her my last 
 love ; and when your son asks who was Henry 
 Edwards, tell him he was born a soldier, and 
 that he died one. Can you see Bunker's-Hill, 
 O'Hara? Bring me closer to the window — but 
 no, it is useless. It was a noble battle for 
 America ; and those who can fight so well for 
 freedom, deserve it. Who closed that window ? 
 'Tis only a mist shading my sight. I am going 
 fast. God bless—" 
 
 The contest was over, the sufferer at rest — 
 an internal haemorrhage had stopped the play 
 of the lungs suddenly, and with his glassy eye 
 still strained on the grave of his beloved Ra- 
 chel, Edwards, with scarcely a struggle, expired. 
 
 The old man fell across the body, tlie soldier 
 lowered the corse on the couch, and Mahony 
 raising himself on his knees, exclaimed with 
 unsophisticated piety, '< May the gates of 
 Heaven open to your soul, sweet Edwards !"
 
 5S o'hara. 
 
 O'Hara was deeply affected with the death 
 of his gallant friend, and obedient to his last 
 wishes (which he found contained in the little 
 paper he had mentioned) made the necessary 
 arrangements for his funeral. 
 
 A Serjeant of the deceased's Company ar- 
 rived, and the commands of his departed Cap- 
 tain were communicated to him. " Deserve 
 the honours of a soldier ! Weel does he deserve 
 them," said the veteran. ** His fellow he has 
 nae left behind him." O'Hara observing, that 
 as the Regiment was under arms on the Hill, 
 he would procure a detachment from the Gar- 
 rison of the Citadel to perform the last sad 
 ceremony ; — 
 
 <' Na, na," said the Serjeant, «' gin it's neces- 
 sary, they may fire over him, but nane but his 
 ain shall gie him the last lift. Weel did we 
 stick till him through the day, and his last 
 biddin shall na be left undone. The company's 
 sairly scattered, but there's in the hospital 
 enough to carry him." 
 
 The speaker had been a great favourite of 
 his captain, and being beside him when he fell, 
 O'Hara learned from him the distressing, but
 
 o'hara. 59 
 
 glorious detail. The light company in many 
 dashing attempts had been driven back with 
 loss. Edwards excited the admiration of the 
 whole; he led his company to the very trenches, 
 and when forced to retire, it was only to re- 
 turn with increased ardour. The colours of 
 the supporting regiment passed frequently to 
 fresh hands, as those who carried them were 
 constantly marked and shot by the riflemen. 
 The last Ensign had fallen, and Edwards seized 
 the fatal standard — a bullet broke the staff and 
 wounded him — he lifted them again, and rushed 
 forward to the redoubt — a second ball struck 
 him in the breast — he staggered to the glacis, 
 threw the colours among the enemy, and sprang 
 headlong over the ditch after them — his com- 
 pany desperately followed. The redoubt was 
 carried with the bayonet, but the bravest of 
 the brave was lost. 
 
 A message from Mrs. O'Hara recalled her hus- 
 band from the chamber of death, and Mrs. Ma- 
 hony, who conveyed the summons, and her honest 
 Munsterman, met with feelings of undissem- 
 bled pleasure; she sprang into his extended 
 arms, while fondly pressing her to his bosom, he'
 
 60 o'hara. 
 
 exclaimed, '' And Fanny, darline, did yourself 
 ever expect to see me? We had a busy day, 
 and, barrin a stragglin shot, I'm as fresh as a 
 four-year-old ; and may be the master hasn't 
 got a young son — our turn's next ; but och ! 
 there lies his name-sake — but don'*t be afeard, 
 may be you would not fancy to handle a corp, 
 but a nater one never left a house feet foremost. 
 M*Dermot lift me over, honey, and the wife 
 will help us to lay him out. May the gun 
 burst that kilt him, I pray Jasus !"" 
 
 The speaker, still pouring out anathemas, 
 was carried " foment the captain ;" and his 
 brother soldier, obedient to his directions, re- 
 moved a door from its hinges, and on it the 
 body was extended ; a sash secured it from 
 moving, and with a quantity of laurel and 
 other evergreen branches, which had garnished 
 the apartment, the corse was profusely de- 
 corated ; a plate filled with salt was placed on 
 the breast, and an unequal number of candles 
 lighted. The Irishmen looked with uncommon 
 satisfaction at each other, when their task was 
 completed, and Mahony addressed his coad- 
 jutor, " M'Dermot, isn't he nately laid out —
 
 o'hara. 61 
 
 och! but his poor mother would be glad to see 
 him. Fanny, love, you luck palish — Mac, my 
 darline, hand her a drap of wine, for crathers in 
 her way is always squamish; but may be, 
 jewel, the mistress would be wanting ye ; step 
 over, and after the berril Pll be there too, 
 for the master allowed we would all lie-in to- 
 gether — but see — there's the poor old man (God 
 pity him) whose girl died for love of the Cap- 
 tain, and him gettin the grave dug ; well, that's 
 good-natured — it would melt the heart of a 
 stone to hear him afore he died talkin about his 
 sweetheart, but they're now snug in heaven, 
 laughin at us for lamentin them." 
 
 The course of Pat's morality was suspended 
 by the measured step of the guard of honour, 
 who now had halted at the door. O'Hara, the 
 officer commanding the party, and Edwards's 
 favourite serjeant, entered, attended by a dozen 
 of the company of the deceased : some of them 
 had been severely wounded — those carried light 
 torches, while the serjeant with the remainder 
 supported the body. 
 
 The simple forms of a soldier's funeral are 
 easily arranged, and a low roll of a muffled
 
 62 0*HARA. 
 
 drum soon announced it to be in motion. The 
 detour to the place of interment was but short, 
 and therefore soon accomplished ; and for the 
 first time, and most probably for the last, a 
 military procession passed through the little 
 wicket. The music ceased as it entered, and 
 the corse was silently rested on the grass. 
 
 The Serjeant, with tears rolling down his 
 hard features, made the wishes of himself and 
 the company known to O'Hara — ** The lads 
 wanted their captain''s sash and epaulets to 
 share among them for a keepsake." 
 
 While these ornaments were removing, a 
 strong gleam of torch-light was thrown on the 
 body, and the face even in death looked beauti- 
 ful and placid ; the features were perfectly un- 
 changed — the lip was curled as if it still smiled, 
 while here and there its hue of deadly paleness 
 was tinted with a few dark spots of blood. The 
 corse, enveloped in a military cloak, was gently 
 lowered and laid beside her who was yet *' green 
 in earth." The mould gradually fell in, and 
 concealed it for ever ; no prayer was read, but 
 many a heartfelt one was uttered. The last 
 melancholy salute was thrice repeated, and the
 
 0*HARA. 63 
 
 procession silently retired. Rachel's father, 
 with some of his kinsfolk, took an affectionate 
 leave of O'Hara, who, in profound distress at 
 the premature death of his gallant friend, has- 
 tened from that *' end of all men," to seek for 
 consolation in the smiles of his lovely wife.
 
 64 o'hara, 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Oh ! blessed news 
 
 And shall we soon return to the sweet isle we left? 
 
 MS. Play. 
 
 Some days elapsed before the extent of the 
 British loss was correctly ascertained. In this 
 battle, so short in duration, with but a small 
 number of troops engaged, the English forces 
 had ninety officers, and upwards of one thou- 
 sand men, killed and wounded. The Ameri- 
 cans suffered comparatively but little, as they 
 estimated their entire casualties at under five 
 hundred men. This disparity in number may 
 be easily accounted for, by the latter having 
 an intrenched position, which, while it sheltered 
 them from the fire of the assailants, afforded a 
 secure rest for the rifle, which on that day was 
 particularly destructive. Four field-officers of 
 distinguished character in the British service
 
 o'hara. 65 
 
 fell. Poor old Colonel Abercrombie, with 
 Majors Pitcairn, Williams, and Spendlove. 
 The Americans, in the death of General War- 
 ren, lamented a loss, which they justly consi- 
 dered to be irreparable. 
 
 Congress in the interim assembled, and re- 
 solved that the war should be prosecuted with 
 vigour. The establishment of an army was im- 
 mediately voted, and a paper currency directed 
 to be issued for its support. The appointment 
 of a general-in-chief was at the same time de- 
 creed, and by a numerous vote of the assembly, 
 the celebrated George Washington was sum- 
 moned from his retirement at Mount Vernon, 
 and invested with this high command. The 
 nomination of a commander-in-chief was fol- 
 lowed by the appointment of thirteen subordi- 
 nate generals. Twelve companies of riflemen 
 were quickly embodied and marched to head- 
 quarters, and early in the month of July, 
 Washington himself set out to assume the com- 
 mand of the united forces of the States. On 
 his journey he was every where received with 
 enthusiastic respect, and escorted by volunteer 
 guards of honour, composed of associated gen- 
 
 \0L, I. F
 
 66 o'hara. 
 
 tlemen — congratulated in public addresses by 
 the principal congress of Massachusets and 
 New York — the idol of American liberty ar- 
 rived at the camp of Cambridge. 
 
 The British troops still occupied their in- 
 trenched position on Bunker's-Hill, defended 
 on the side next Mystic River by several float- 
 ing batteries, and on the other by a frigate an- 
 chored between Boston and Charleston. The 
 Americans were encamped on Prospect-hill, 
 Winter-hill, and Rdxbury, each communicating 
 with the other by small intermediate posts. 
 General Ward was with the right at Roxbury, 
 Lee had the left at Prospect-hill, Washington 
 in person commanded the centre of the revolu- 
 tionary army. The American general did not 
 for a moment remain inactive. Boston was 
 closely blockaded, and all communication with 
 the country interrupted. The English forces, 
 confined within the place, were consequently 
 subjected to many privations, but these they 
 bore with characteristic fortitude, and it was 
 determined that the town should hold out to the 
 last extremity. A period of nearly three months 
 passed on, the Americans gaining an accession
 
 o'hara. 67 
 
 to their strength daily, and the situation of the 
 army and royalists in Boston becoming still 
 more gloomy. O'Hara had been some time 
 restored to his accustomed health, and Mrs. 
 O'Hara and her infant son were quite well. 
 Mahony had recovered the use of his wounded 
 limb, and his " darline" had produced a chop- 
 ping boy. 
 
 In a few days after the battle of Bunker's- 
 Hill, Captain O'Hara, for his gallant conduct 
 on that occasion, was placed as aid-de-camp on 
 the staff of General Gage. Reinforcements 
 were anxiously expected from England, and 
 never indeed were they more wanted. 
 
 In the beginning of September, a frigate 
 arrived with despatches and a Gazette ; among 
 the promotions there appeared in the list, 
 *' Captain Frederic O'Hara from the forty- 
 seventh regiment, to be major in the twenty- 
 second, vice Miller deceased." This news to 
 Mrs. O'Hara was truly delightful ; the twenty- 
 second had just returned a skeleton from foreign 
 service, and were recruiting in Ireland, where 
 they would probjibly be stationary a consider- 
 able time. General Gage was also recalled 
 
 F2
 
 68 o'hara. 
 
 from his coinmand. With great alacrity the 
 lady and her attendant commenced the neces- 
 sary preparations for their departure from a 
 country to which they had no wish ever to 
 return. 
 
 The vessel which carried out the despatches 
 was to sail for England immediately, and as 
 nothing was then more dreaded than a winter 
 passage across the Atlantic, the Major decided 
 on embracing this opportunity of returning to 
 his native country. With General Gage he 
 might have come home in a line-of-battle ship, 
 expected round from Halifax, but he hoped, 
 by starting without delay, to avoid the stormy 
 months of October and November. 
 
 The baggage of a soldier on service is not 
 difficult to collect, and although O'Hara's, for 
 a military establishment, was large, yet the 
 preparations for his voyage were soon com- 
 pleted. The morning of their departure ar- 
 rived — the baggage was already on board — 
 the wind fair, and the vessel to sail at noon. 
 O'Hara rose early to write some letters, and 
 take leave of his brother officers, to whom he 
 was justly endeared. On entering the outer
 
 o'hara. 69 
 
 room, he was surprised to find his friend the 
 Scotch Serjeant, who for his gallantry on the 
 16th, had been just promoted to an ensigncy. 
 The Major and the now commissioned officer 
 met with sincere affection, and the Caledonian 
 having heartily shaken the hand which was 
 offered, mentioned the object of his visit. 
 ** They would na let the lads and me place a 
 tomb over the captain, sae I obtained leave to 
 stick a bush o' laurel at his head. The auld 
 body who looks till the place says, he'll have 
 an eye to it, an I guessed you would like till 
 hae a han in the plan tin o't." O'Hara thanked 
 him for his attention, and accompanied him to 
 the place where Edwards was interred. The 
 day was just dawning when they reached the 
 gate, and the old man came from his little 
 dwelling beside it, and admitted them. He 
 informed O'Hara, that nothing but the urgent 
 request of Rachel's father could have procured 
 permission for Edwards to be buried there. 
 The erection of any memorial to the dead this 
 simple people considered at best useless and 
 improper, and therefore the wish of the com- 
 pany could not be complied with, but to plant
 
 70 o'hara. 
 
 a laurel on his grave was permitted. The old 
 man led to the spot. The commands of the 
 dying soldier had been minutely obeyed, for he 
 and his beloved Rachel were covered by the 
 same turf — there was no division between the 
 graves — one little mound was raised above 
 them both. The serjeant opened the ground, 
 and O'Hara placed the tree in the earth, and 
 they retired unnoticed as they entered. When 
 separating, the Major pressed the old man to 
 accept some money which he presented to him, 
 but he delined it with respect, informing him 
 that his own sect supported him comfortably, 
 and money he neither used nor required. The 
 soldiers walked for some ,time in silence, ab- 
 sorbed in feelings of melancholy originating in 
 a similar cause. The Major commenced the 
 conversation. 
 
 *' Well, M'Greggor, we have done the last 
 kind office for our friend — Mrs. O'Hara ex- 
 pects us to breakfast — nay, make no excuses; 
 this may be the last day we'i»aj be together in 
 this world." "^ ^^ 
 
 The poor fellow's modesty would hardly 
 allow him to receive the honour which O'Hara
 
 o'hara. 71 
 
 insisted on conferring, but the latter was posi- 
 tive. As they returned to the house, the con- 
 versation turned on Edwards's successor, the 
 Honourable Gustavus Vining, who had left the 
 Guards for promotion in the forty-seventh. 
 M'Greggor, possessing both the caution of a 
 Scotchman and a soldier, to a stranger would 
 have been profoundly silent, but when the dis- 
 agreeable subject was broached by the Major, 
 he merely observed— 
 
 " To spake o' one's superiors when ye canna 
 spake weel o* them, is better let alane all the- 
 gither ; certain the change for the men is a sair 
 one — he's na man to fill the shoes o' sic as brave 
 Edwards, but he's a Laird's son or brither, or 
 sic like, and that's enough ; but here's Mr. 
 Malowney, who was sae fond o' the poor Cap- 
 tain, to bid ye farewell, and he's the one who 
 cares for neither man or devil (Lord pardon 
 us.") 
 
 Breakfast was scarcely ended, when Lieut. 
 Malowney was announced. M ' Gregor hastily 
 took leave, observing, as he had the command 
 of the Sally-port Guard, that he would again 
 see his Irish friends. The visiter, as his name
 
 72 o'hara. 
 
 would intimate, was a regularly-bred gentle- 
 man of the Connaught school — a plain, healthy- 
 looking young man, with an active, athletic 
 figure, good-humoured to a proverb, alter- 
 nately the entertainer and the butt of the mess- 
 table; with an acquaintance, nothing — with a 
 stranger, any thing would ruffle his versatile 
 temper ; a friend might teaze him for a century, 
 but an enemy dare not trifle with him for a 
 second — like the wolf-dog of his country, an 
 infant could ride scathlessly on his back, but 
 if a man crossed his path, on him he would 
 turn with ferocity. The pistol he called his 
 peace-maker ; and this same peace-maker was 
 not allowed to hold a sinecure employment. 
 Although he was a professed duellist, there 
 never was a more disinterested one, as he was 
 always readier to do battle in another's quarrel 
 than his own. Malowny had a rich vein of 
 native wit ; and when he chose to be severe, his 
 humour was keen and irresistible. Edwards 
 and O'Hara were accounted a species of demi- 
 gods ; and amidst his moments of bitterest irri- 
 tation, a word of kind advice from either would 
 instantly allay his wrath. The death of the
 
 o'hara. 73 
 
 one, and the departure of the other, aftected 
 him as deeply as his careless, thoughtless dispo- 
 sition would admit of. He came to pay his 
 farewell visit, and was entering the room, with 
 ludicrous melancholy pictured on his counte- 
 nance, when happening to meet the attendant 
 going out with the child, he, as a matter of 
 course, first kissed her, en passant^ and then 
 the infant, (who seemed mightily pleased with 
 the compliment paid to him and his nurse,) and 
 with a sorrowful face, commenced ; — 
 
 '' So you are going away, I hear. Well, 
 don't look cross at me for kissing the girl ; and 
 what am I to do without any body to take care 
 of me ? But what an unfortunate devil I have 
 been since I came to this cursed country ; and 
 at Bunker's-Hill I was in beautiful luck, wasn't 
 I ? Why I saw no more of the fun than if I 
 had been in Cunemara ! I'm sure it was some 
 blackguard trying how far his rifle would kill, 
 that drilled me, for no one was hit but myself 
 for half an hour after. All I know is, that I 
 knew nothing at all till I found myself in my 
 own bed, and then, at least, I expected the 
 Company, and what did they do but send that
 
 74 o'hara. 
 
 scare-crow from the Horse- Guards— the devil 
 bother them for the same; but the regiment 
 were told to bless God and the Duke, that they 
 did not make a grenadier of his Lordship. But 
 there's one comfort — he's in the raven's book, 
 and his last leave of absence is on the road." 
 
 ** Pray, are you and he acquainted yet?" 
 
 *^ Oh Lord, yes, intimate as brothers — did*nt 
 the Colonel bring him in yesterday to the Mess 
 in one hand, and a croft of toast and water in 
 the other, for the crature never tastes wine ; 
 and he talked of St. James's, and field-days in 
 Hyde-Park, and at eight o'clock his servant 
 came with a great coat and a muff and tippet, 
 and some of the lads said that he walked in pat- 
 tens, to keep his feet from the gravel; but, at 
 all events, off he set, greatly alarmed for fear 
 the night air would injure him." 
 
 O'Hara laughed at the lively description 
 which his countryman gave of the successor of 
 the gallant Edwards. 
 
 " But if you had seen him," continued Ma- 
 lowney, " when he showed upon parade — ^that 
 exceeded any thing — he was powdered and 
 pomatumed to the life, and his clothes was what
 
 o'hara. 75 
 
 an Irish tailor calls * an easy fit,' for they 
 touched him no place ; certainly he was not 
 by when his measure was taken ; and the 
 weight of him — he'll not be hard run to find a 
 charger when he gets the regiment." 
 
 The chord of Malowney's humour was struck, 
 and on he went without stopping. 
 
 " But yesterday he sent to excuse himself 
 Parade, as he was unwell ; and thought I, its 
 good manners to ask him how he is afterwards, 
 so over I went to his quarters, and found him, 
 large as life, stretched upon a sofa. It was a 
 fine warm day, but he had a blazing wood fire 
 on: up I went, and took him by the hand ; I 
 gave him a bit of a shake, and he roared lustily, 
 * Easy, easy, my dear Ma — Ma' — ' lowney', 
 says I, helping him out with it, for I had 
 nearly shook the breath out of him : by-the- 
 by, I was thinking if he had gone off in the 
 shake, could they have hanged me for murder. 
 Arrah ! what's the matter with your Lordship ? 
 says I. He coughed hard. I'm afraid, says I, 
 your bellows are bad, and if that's the case, 
 when the Spring comes here, you'll go like 
 snow off a ditch.'
 
 76 o'hara. 
 
 ** ' Do I look very — very ill, dear Malowney V 
 
 <* * The devil a worse, says I.* 
 
 " * Oh !' says he, ' it's these pills : I take two 
 In the morning, and they require great care, for 
 there are twelve grains of calomel divided 
 among thirty-six.' 
 
 ** « I'll tell you what,' says I, * you're kill- 
 ing yourself ; let me roll up fifteen or twenty 
 of them in a lump ; swallow that, and it will 
 be the life of you. Why they are only fit for 
 the canary in the corner there.' 
 
 ** * Speak lower, my dear fellow,' says he, 
 ' for my head is aching.' 
 
 " In came a foreign-looking villain, too rosy 
 in the nose for a water-drinker, with chocolate ; 
 he ofiered me some, but I told him I preferred 
 spirits and water. His Lordship appeared thun- 
 derstruck, and swore it was rank poison. * It 
 may be so,' says I, ' but it's a slow one, for I 
 have drank it since I was born ; but as may be it's 
 not in the house, there's a bottle on the sideboard 
 that looks like Madeira ; I wouldn't care to taste 
 a drop in a tumbler.' He spoke gibberish to 
 his valet, I'm sure it was not Irish : — the fel- 
 low went to the table, and poured a little into
 
 o'hara. 77 
 
 the bottom of the glass. Says I, ' I beg your 
 Lordship's pardon, but as I don't speak the lan- 
 guages, will you tell that saffron-faced gentle- 
 man to raise his hand a trifle, and help me as 
 as he helps himself.' " 
 
 O'Hara laughed, as he exclaimed, *' Upon 
 my life, Malowney, you are a most unblushing 
 dog, to treat your commanding Officer, and a 
 Nobleman to boot, with such easy familiarity." 
 Malowney smiled, and continued; ** Well, in 
 comes Serjeant O'Neill with the orderly-book. 
 What the devil have you there, O'Neill?" says I. 
 '' ' Nothing strange,' says he, * only we're 
 expecting some night to be called upon to re- 
 take this damned neck, please your honour, 
 which these Yankees have taken a fancy to 
 lately.' 
 
 " ' To carry it,' says I, « won't be very easy.' 
 ** ' Yourself would say that, if you but knew 
 all,' replied the Serjeant. ' It w^as reconnoi- 
 tred this morning, and may be, they are not 
 prepared for us ; not content with ditches and 
 shells, they have paraded a row of tobacco hogs- 
 heads, filt with rocks and paving stones along
 
 78 o'hara. 
 
 the top*, and when we're coming up, they are 
 to be rolled down, and as the hill's cruel steep, 
 they'll come down in a nate canter, and it's no 
 joke, please your honour (the Serjeant touch- 
 ing his beaver) to get a puncheon of paving- 
 stones trundled over a man's carcass.' 
 
 *' The personage he addressed was mightily 
 affected. * Hogsheads, shells, paving-stones,* 
 he muttered, in rapid succession. 
 
 ** * And is there no road but over this cursed 
 precipice?* 
 
 * ** Please your Lordship,' said the Serjeant, 
 ' three sides of the hill would bog a snipe, and 
 the other is as steep as the walls of a windmill.* 
 His Lordship's cough came on violently, and 
 declaring that any ascent to him was impracti- 
 cable, as half a flight of stairs always took away 
 his breath, I bowed low, and took myself off.'* 
 
 The clock struck eleven ; the travellers, equip- 
 ped for their departure, were shown down by 
 the landlord with no small regret ; for although 
 he, good man, was too sturdy a Republican not 
 most mortally to detest any thing bearing a re- 
 
 * Gazette, 1775.
 
 o'hara. 79 
 
 semblance to monarchy, yet, in one instance, 
 he made a most marvellous exception, in tolera- 
 ting the portrait of Majesty, as it appeared on 
 the converse of an English guinea, even to the 
 prejudice of the patriotic but paper currency 
 of his countrymen. 
 
 " Come along, Malowney," said the Major, 
 " this last escort was kind of you ; I must pass 
 the old 47th, and I would almost rather avoid 
 it." We seldom leave a place where we have 
 resided for some time, without a sensation of 
 regret, even should it not contain any thing to 
 particularly attach us to it ; but the party 
 looked on all they passed with total indiffer- 
 ence, until through the opening of an alley, the 
 hedge-row of the Quaker's Burying-ground 
 showed for an instant ; they paused — and when 
 they proceeded, thought they had then left be- 
 hind the last object in Boston which could ex- 
 cite even a temporary I'egret. 
 
 Malowney sighed heavily. ** I was thinking 
 of Edwards and the Quaker-girl. Wasn't it 
 strange how close he kept the business ? Poor 
 fellow! it's a quiet resting-place he's in, but it 
 would be too dull for me. It's the Church-yard
 
 80 o'hara. 
 
 of Kilnasallagh that bates the world, and it's 
 there I would like them to plant me. There's not 
 a nicer sod in Connaught for a cock-fight, and 
 the boys have a beautiful gable to play ball 
 against, not forgettin the company coming to 
 drink goats' milk in the morning. The grass 
 is the Sexton's, and his goats flog the country. 
 To be sure, it's not over much frequented of a 
 Sunday, for that's a day of rest; but for the 
 remainder of the week, show me its fellow. 
 Many a day I was flogged for staying from 
 school to court, or play cards on a tombstone." 
 During Malowney's encomium on the Cone- 
 mara cemetery, the party were approaching the 
 parade-ground of the 47th regiment, and 
 Major O'Hara became visibly affected. At 
 turning the corner,' the regiment at once ap- 
 peared under arms. They were, when they 
 left Ireland, a superior corps, and in their 
 strength and discipline inferior to none in the 
 service. The brave old Colonel was an admi- 
 rable officer, and had his regiment clean and 
 effective, by discarding as much of the old silly 
 heel-ball and pomatum systems, as the then ex- 
 isting regulations of the British Army would
 
 o'hara. 81 
 
 admit. Colonel Coote, his gallant successor, 
 came forward, and most affectionately took 
 leave of Mrs. O'Hara, and then advancing with 
 O'Hara to the front of the regiment, he ad- 
 dressed him ; — 
 
 '* Major O'Hara — It is a cause of sincere 
 regret, that your promotion could not take 
 place without depriving us of an officer who 
 would reflect honour on any corps to which he 
 was attached. We have known you too long 
 to part with jou without heartfelt sorrow ; but 
 we shall take an opportunity of more publicly 
 conveying to you our personal feelings." 
 
 A beautiful silver vase was now brought for- 
 ward by the Adjutant. 
 
 " This cup," continued the Colonel, *' was 
 presented by General Howe to the 47th Regi- 
 ment, in testimony of its gallant conduct on 
 the 1 6th June ; and, by his especial permission, 
 we beg, unanimously, to transfer it to one, who, 
 by his superior bravery, reflected half its glory 
 on the corps which owned him. Forty-seventh 
 present arms !" The regiment, as if to confer 
 an additional honour, performed the command 
 with beautiful regularity ; while, with great 
 Vol. I. G
 
 82 o'hara. 
 
 emotion, but strong; and native eloquence, 
 O'Hara addressed tliem : his companions in 
 arms listened with profound attention, and 
 when he had ceased speaking, a murmur of 
 applause ran along the ranks. 
 
 Mrs. O'Hara's feelings nearly overpowered 
 her. Lieutenant Malowney swore furiously that 
 the Major would die Speaker of the House of 
 Commons ; and Pat Mahony having one hand 
 occupied in holding the vase, was busily employ- 
 ing the other in shaking the hands of all the 
 ** Owney jewels," and Dermot honeys, in the 
 Grenadier Company. O'Hara, as he left the 
 ground, felt this, indeed, the proudest moment 
 of his life. 
 
 The Colonel escorted the Lady, and the party 
 bent their steps to the barrier, but not with- 
 out casting " many a longing, lingering look 
 behind." They reached the gate, where Ensign 
 M^Greggor had the guard turned out to receive 
 them with military honours ; and here they 
 took leave of their gallant Colonel. The En- 
 sign, with the permission of the Commanding 
 Officer, accompanied them to the Wharf. The 
 beautiful Bay of Boston was now fully dis-
 
 o'hara. 83 
 
 played to their view, and the ship-of-war in 
 which they were to embark appeared all ready 
 for starting, anchored at the distance of half a 
 mile from the Beach. 
 
 O'Hara having fallen back with M'Greggor, 
 entreated to know if in any manner he could 
 be serviceable to him : among other plans, he 
 hinted that of his leaving the Army at some 
 future time, and settling with him in Ireland. 
 
 The Ensign having cleared his throat, said, 
 with strong emphasis, ** I need na sae how 
 much I feel obligated to you. Major O'Hara, but 
 I "have been too lang in the trade to leave sod- 
 jering while I'm able to follow it ; and while 
 my poor Captain lived, nane was happier than 
 M'Greggor. His death I lament sair. As to 
 the present man, (beggin his Lordship's par- 
 don,) I suppose he will not mind us much. Mr. 
 Malowney, and the others, (baith countrymen of 
 my ain,) are fine pleasant young gentlemen to 
 serve with." 
 
 O'Hara inquired how they agreed in the 
 Company ? 
 
 *' Weel, right weel," said the Ensign, " we 
 are about half and half Irish and Scotch mixed 
 
 ' G2
 
 84 
 
 O HARA. 
 
 thegither, and we agree like brothers. Your 
 lads, Major, are blithe and winsome ; better 
 soldiers, and prettier men, never wore a wing- 
 when some odd time they get a bit in liquor, 
 they may be wild and fractious, but they sor- 
 row much afterwards if they hae done ony 
 thing amiss ; when they're an service, nane can 
 bare cauld an' hardships merrier; and, by my 
 soul, they are always readier for the fight than 
 the frolic ; but here comes the boat." 
 
 A barge, pulling eight oars, came rapidly 
 ashore, with a Lieutenant in the stern sheets, 
 to conduct his distinguished passengers on 
 board. The Major and his Lady having af- 
 fectionately taken leave of their honest escort, 
 embarked with their little suite, and soon the 
 happy party pushed off from the beach, and 
 bade an eternal adieu to the hostile shores of 
 Columbia.
 
 o'hara. 85 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 The ffale aloft 
 
 Sung in the shrouds — the sparkling waters hissed 
 Before^ and frothed, and whitened far behind — 
 Day after day, Avith one auspicious wind, 
 Right /rom the setting sun we held our way. 
 
 Southey's Madoc. 
 
 A MIXTURE of painful and pleasurable feelings 
 occupied the mind of the Major and his wife, 
 as they waved a last adieu to their military 
 friends still lingering on the beach. This chain 
 of melancholy musing was broken by the dis- 
 charge of a gun from the frigate, while, at the 
 same time, a blue-and-white flag, flying at the 
 mast-head, disappeared, and the fore-top-sail 
 was thrown loose, — the well-known signal for 
 sailing. The Rosario, to use sea-language, 
 lay " all-a-tant," and was hove short to a 
 single anchor, waiting for the boat and pas- 
 sengers. The barge pulled up rapidly, and,
 
 86 o'hara. 
 
 as it approached the ship, no confusion indi- 
 cated that any particular business was going 
 forward. The decks and tops were crowded 
 with men, who seemed quite unoccupied ; and 
 such was the silence of all, that a rope's-end 
 striking a timber-head would not have passed 
 unnoticed. At the '* weigh — enough" of the 
 lieutenant, the oars were quickly stowed, and 
 the whip, or chair of state, being lowered to 
 receive the lady, she found herself, in a few 
 moments, on board an English frigate, and re- 
 ceived in form by the celebrated Captain De 
 Clifford. 
 
 The Rosario, of 36 guns, was the finest 
 vessel of that class in the service. She dis- 
 played a fine sample of the navy of Great Bri- 
 tain: a beautiful mould, — complete equip- 
 ment, gallant crew, and dashing commander. 
 De Clifford was promoted to his ship over the 
 heads of many older ofiicers ; but his appoint- 
 ment was as honourable to the Navy-Board as 
 to himself. His short and brilliant career had 
 brought him nobly before the eyes of his coun- 
 try, and the promotion which followed was only 
 due to his deserts. He welcomed his guests
 
 o'hara. 87 
 
 with all the ease and openness of a sailor, 
 mingled with the native elegance of a gentle- 
 man, which a sincerity in his politeness told 
 was the language more of the heart than the 
 lips. 
 
 De Clifford was commonly called in England 
 *' the handsome sailor ;" and, as his fair pas- 
 senger viewed the manly and animated beauty 
 of his face, joined to a tall figure of fine pro- 
 portions, she thought, excepting her husband, 
 she had never seen so handsome a man. 
 
 The boat was taken on board, and the sig- 
 nal made for starting. The crowd of human 
 beings, who but just before were motionless 
 as statues, were, in an instant, actively em- 
 ployed. The anchor was brought to the bows 
 " by the run," the helm pnt down, and the 
 head-sails set like magic, and, as she canted 
 round, the stops were cast off, the top-sails 
 sheeted home, and the vessel, so lately riding 
 quietly at anchor, was seen, in a few minutes, 
 under a press of sail, standing out of Boston 
 Bay. 
 
 Congenial spirits, like the Captain of the 
 frigate, and his military passenger, were^oon
 
 88 o'hara. 
 
 intimate and attached, and their mutual en- 
 deavours to lighten the tedium of the voyage 
 to the lady were so successful, that time flew 
 rapidly, and soundings announced that their 
 passage across the Atlantic was drawing to a 
 close. It was the evening of a blowing day, — 
 the wind was westerly, and the frigate, *' hand 
 over hand," was hastening to her destination, 
 when De Clifford spoke with rapturous delight 
 of " England, home, and beauty." Mrs. 
 O'Hara was employed in finishing a copy of 
 a small jDencilled sketch which hung over the 
 cabin chimney-piece, the subject of which had 
 struck her forcibly, as being most singular. 
 It represented an infant, lying on the ground, 
 surrounded by martial trophies and broken 
 arms. In the distance, a party of soldiers 
 were inhuming a female figure, while a war- 
 rior, leaning on his sword, gazed with a com- 
 passionate look upon the child, who seemed to 
 stretch its little arms to him, and solicit his 
 protection. 
 
 ** Captain De Clifford, is that drawing the 
 production of your own pencil ? It is a chef 
 d'ceuvre of its kind."
 
 o'hara. 89 
 
 De Clifford coloured slightty as he replied, 
 ** No ; it is the last memorial of a dear friend. 
 A messmate of mine gave it to me, and, soon 
 after, he fell in action by my side. It was my 
 first, and poor Fielding's last battle. Per- 
 haps, for many reasons it should be removed ; 
 but it affords me a melancholy pleasure to see 
 this memento of my gallant friend, and there- 
 fore I retain it." 
 
 *' May I inquire, if it is merely a creation 
 of the fancy, or " 
 
 De Clifford appeared confused, and Mrs. 
 O'Hara blushed, to think her question had 
 probably been an improper one. After a mo- 
 mentary pause, he added, *' To explain the 
 meaning of that picture, I must communicate 
 my own history ; and the life of an obscure 
 sailor cannot be an interesting concern to a 
 lady." 
 
 ** Not an obscure sailor, certainly," said the 
 Major. 
 
 The Captain bowed, and, with great mo- 
 desty, mentioned the particulars of his own 
 story. 
 
 His father, the Honourable Henry De Clif-
 
 90 o'hara. 
 
 ford, married imprudently, and being the 
 younger son of a very poor but proud family, 
 was disowned for his folly by his relations ; but 
 neither he, nor the cause of his misfortunes, 
 lived to experience the fruits of family dis- 
 pleasure. The regiment went on service, and 
 he fell in the first encounter. The fatal news 
 was incautiously communicated to her ; she 
 had just given birth to a boy, and she ex- 
 pired on the second day after. The ill-starred 
 soldier and his wife were interred in one 
 grave. 
 
 On the evening of the lady's death, an Irish 
 officer, the Major of the regiment, came to 
 take possession of his effects. Two or three 
 wild-looking women were in the tent, and the 
 poor baby was crying piteously for want of 
 sustenance. '' Why do you let the child cry, 
 ye damned brimstones," roared the good- 
 hearted Irishman. " And what have we to say 
 to it ?" *' It's hers," said a savage virago, 
 pointing to the corpse in the corner. " Out, 
 ye hags," cried the Hibernian, as he drove 
 them from the tent. ''It's a pity," said the 
 Major's man, " to lave the darlin." '' Leave
 
 o'hara. 91 
 
 it I" said the Master, " who, in the devil's 
 name, would leave it? Lift it gently, Corney, 
 and give Serjeant M'Manus Major O'Shaugh- 
 nessy's compliments, and I'll give him half 
 my pay, and my blessing, if his woman will 
 give it share of what she has." Corney lifted 
 the orphan, and the Serjeant's wife received 
 it affectionately. The war lasted for several 
 years. O'Shaughnessy wrote frequently to 
 the family of the child, but, as he was but an 
 indifferent scribe, it is probable his epistles 
 never reached their destination. 
 
 The desolate infant was often without a 
 shelter. His patron would have nestled him 
 in his heart if he could ; but he very, very 
 often found a shelter for the heads of either 
 unattainable. Peace was concluded, and the 
 Major returned to his own " loved home 
 across the water." But soon his young protege 
 was fated to be cast again unprotected on 
 the world. In a visit to a friend's house, 
 O'Shaughnessy and a neighbouring gentleman 
 differed in opinion about the colour of a 
 game-cock, and having retired from the table 
 to the field, poor Arthur's friend was mor-
 
 92 
 
 O HARA. 
 
 tally wounded by his antagonist. He had 
 only time to send for the boy, and having 
 confessed, now that all was over, that the 
 cock was a custard dun, (but he would scorn to 
 have acknowledged it, till after a shot,) he 
 informed those who surrounded him of Ar- 
 thur's history, and, having forgiven his sor- 
 rowful opponent, and made him promise to 
 carry the infant to his family, expired, in- 
 voking blessings on the youthful mourner. 
 
 His promise to the dying man was faithfully 
 performed by the repentant homicide : he 
 conveyed the child, now four years old, to 
 England, and, having learned that the noble 
 family he sought were at their magnificent 
 chateau on the Sussex coast, with a splendid 
 party visiting them, O'Connor determined to 
 introduce his charge with due publicity. The 
 Earl, he was told, was high and haughty; 
 but, had be been the devil himself, the Mi- 
 lesian would not have shrunk from his engage- 
 ment. Arriving at the next village, he learned 
 
 that the Prince of was there. O'Connor 
 
 dressed himself and the boy in their best ap- 
 parel, and, taking him in one hand, and a
 
 o'hara. 93 
 
 stout cudgel in the other, proceeded to exe- 
 cute the commands of his deceased opponent. 
 He reached the house just as dinner had 
 ended, and, on asking for the Earl, was stur- 
 dily told by the porter, that he was engaged 
 with his betters. Directed by the noise, the 
 janitor, with amazement, perceived the in- 
 truder leisurely crossing the hall, and, most 
 unceremoniously, entering the banquetting- 
 room ; but his astonishment was far sur- 
 passed by the effect of the appearance of this 
 curious phenomenon on those within, as he 
 announced himself to the haughty group 
 around the table,—" Here I am, Roderic 
 O'Connor, of Slishmeen, your Royal High- 
 nesses most obedient servant till death — Here, 
 my Lord Earl, is your well-looking grandson. 
 Down on your knees, jewel, and ask the old 
 boy's blessin : and here are the proofs, as he 
 laid down the crab-tree to pull a roll of 
 smoke-dried papers from his side-pocket. 
 Hands off, you staring blackguards, till I tell 
 all about it. No noise ; for here I stand in 
 the presence of my Prince, and Roderic O'Con-
 
 94 o'hara. 
 
 nor demands justice for the child of Captain 
 Henry De Clifford." 
 
 The party was strangely surprised, and the 
 servants utterly confounded. In a few words 
 O'Connor told his simple story. The Earl 
 took the child in his arms, and the Prince 
 kissed his cheek. The lord of Slishneen was 
 invited to sit down, and with that easy as- 
 surance attributed to the character of Ireland, 
 he soon felt himself quite at home; and, after 
 a sojourn of a few days, during which he exhi- 
 bited to the delighted party all the unbridled 
 vivacity of an unschooled Milesian, he took 
 his leave of the child, and, with a lightened 
 heart, returned to his castle of Slishmeen. 
 
 But the orphan's fate was still to be thrown 
 friendlessly on strangers. In three years, the 
 Earl died of apoplexy, without making any 
 provision for young Arthur ; and when it was 
 quite uncertain, whether any of his cold- 
 hearted uncles would deign to think of the 
 desolate child, an old friend of his father's, 
 Commodore Sir Joshua Hardyman arrived, 
 and, by accident, became acquainted with the
 
 o'hara. 95 
 
 circumstances of the family. He tendered his 
 interest and protection, and it was readily ac- 
 cepted. Sir Joshua, though illiterate him- 
 self, decided on giving a suitable education to 
 his protege. He, accordingly, sent him to 
 school, where, after remaining five years, he 
 had him rated midshipman. Arthur soon after 
 accompanied the Commodore ^to the West In- 
 dies on board the Tremendous, of eighty- 
 four guns, then carrying his flag as commander 
 of that station. 
 
 It is unnecessary to follow the young De 
 Clifford through all the brilliant achievements 
 which distinguished his splendid career. Sir 
 Joshua remarked and rewarded them by suc- 
 cessive promotions ; and now, at the commence- 
 ment of a profitable war, he started for fame 
 and fortune, in the command of the finest fri- 
 gate destined for the American coast. 
 
 There was a strange coincidence between 
 De Clifford and his father. He was also mar- 
 ried, and report added — imprudently. The 
 lady was a portionless woman of family, and 
 extravagant to a blamable deg-ree. She lived 
 in London, and the pay and prizes of her gal-
 
 96 o'hara. 
 
 lant husband, (some of whlcli were considera- 
 ble,) were supposed quite insufficient to defray 
 the prodigality of his wife. She never accom- 
 panied him to sea ; and, it was whispered, that 
 even the very limited periods which the duties 
 of the service allowed him to indulge in on 
 shore, were imbittered by her cold and un- 
 amiable disposition. 
 
 Although many an hour was spent by him 
 in talking of his '•' beloved wife," yet it was 
 evident that at times he was far from happy. 
 These feelings were as studiously concealed as 
 they could be, and the most that he ever ven- 
 tured to hint on this agonizing subject, was,^ — 
 ** a pity poor Lady Sarah had been so expen- 
 sively brought up : she was so generous, so 
 unsuspicious,* so charitable, that her small 
 pittance was scarcely adequate to her wants ; 
 and, on his return from sea, he usually found 
 her in little difficulties." From these unhappy 
 recollections, he would turn to his child, then 
 two years old, and the delight her remem- 
 brance recalled assisted in banishing from his 
 mind the misconduct of her parent. *' Poor 
 fellow!" sighed O'Hara, as the Captain was
 
 o'hara. 97 
 
 suddenly called upon deck, " 1 fear it is a 
 cold and gloomy home you hasten to !" 
 
 The wind blew fair and steadily till the Ro- 
 sario dropped her anchor in Plymouth har- 
 bour, nineteen days from the time she last 
 weighed it. Here the brave friends parted for 
 ever. De Clifford, with all the rapidity of 
 four horses, started for Londo-n with the 
 despatches, and O'Hara directed his course, 
 by easy stages, to Holyhead, to embark in the 
 packet for Dublin. 
 
 To be once more on English ground in 
 
 safety, accompanied by him who had induced 
 
 her to leave it, was a subject of unqualified 
 
 delight for the fair voyager. The Major was 
 
 now recalled from foreign service, and she 
 
 looked forward to the termination of this 
 
 destructive war with the Colonies, or her 
 
 own gentle influence, ultimately succeeding in 
 
 withdrawing him from a military life. The 
 
 blessed security of a land internally at peace 
 
 formed a striking contrast to the unfriendly 
 
 aspect of the shores they had cjuitted. Cooped 
 
 within the narrow compass of a blockaded 
 
 town, or confined on shipboard, the liberty 
 Vol. I. H
 
 98 o'hara. 
 
 of an open country was glorious as exhila- 
 rating. The peasantry were comfortable and 
 contented, — the farm-yards frequent and pro- 
 fusely filled with corn, — and, as she viewed 
 the peace and plenty which surrounded her, 
 she rapturously exclaimed, — '' Oh ! who, for 
 the bubble reputation, would leave the bless- 
 ings of a British hearth?" Her husband 
 sighed, as he folded up the newspaper he had 
 been perusing. There the state of Ireland was 
 rather mysteriously slurred over. It was a 
 ministerial print, and, from the slovenly man- 
 ner certain political circumstances were passed 
 by, O'Hara augured that the tranquillity of 
 his native land was not unbroken ; but, feehng 
 the spell must of necessity be soon dissolved, 
 he forbore to cloud the sunny moment of 
 return, by breathing the probability of a 
 doubtful future. On landing in Dublin, he 
 found his fears confirmed : he had only left 
 one land of civil commotion for another. Ire- 
 land was wretchedly agitated. A heavy and 
 portentous storm had been long collecting, 
 and none could say when or where it would 
 burst.
 
 o'hara. 99 
 
 We shall pass over for some years the com- 
 mon-place detail of the life of O'Hara, and 
 the infancy of his son, to give a rapid sketch 
 of the history and politics of the country. 
 This was, indeed, a stormy period, and the 
 eventful year of 1799 will be long remem- 
 bered. 
 
 England found herself engaged in a triple 
 conflict, — America, France, and Spain, were 
 united against her. The combined fleets of 
 the two latter powers, unawed by the Channel 
 fleet, inferior to them in strength and number, 
 threatened the coasts of Gr^t Britain with 
 invasion, while the remote and unguarded 
 parts of Ireland and Scotland remained in 
 momentary apprehension of descents from nu- 
 merous privateers, which, having almost anni- 
 hilated a declining commerce, followed and 
 destroyed the shipping in the harbours, or 
 landed openly on the coast to plunder the 
 houses of the wealthy. The existence of the 
 Government was a subject of critical appre- 
 hension, and could be continued only by a 
 mighty resistance ; and in order to prevent the 
 country from becoming the theatre of a doubt- 
 
 H 2
 
 100 o'hara. 
 
 ful conflict, it was deemed imperative by tJie 
 Ministry of the day to endeavour to keep the 
 battle at a distance. The exertions necessary 
 to efifect this indispensable measure drained the 
 kingdom of its soldiery, and thus no alterna- 
 tive was left to the Parliament but to remove 
 the military force so requisite at the time for 
 its defence, and abandon the country to its 
 fate. The maritime towns, fearful of plunder 
 and destruction, called on the Government to 
 assist them, but were answered that no troops 
 could be spared, and their protection must be 
 confided to themselves. In consequence of 
 this communication, a numerous and respect- 
 able body of citizens were embodied, and, 
 aware that the public finances were in a state 
 of bankruptcy, they at individual expense 
 clothed and armed themselves ; while the Exe- 
 cutive, delighted at the spirit of determined 
 resistance then happily pervading the Irish 
 people, encouraged it by their approval, and, 
 to give it effect, dispensed an immense quan- 
 tity of arms and military stores throughout 
 the kingdom. 
 
 Here was the origin of the volunteers of
 
 o'hara. 101 
 
 Ireland ; and be it remembered, to their im- 
 mortal honour, that although organized and 
 disciplined by themselves, they not only paid 
 profound deference to the laws, but frequently 
 and zealously interfered in having them impar- 
 tially and faithfully executed. 
 
 The advantages and defects of this once 
 celebrated institution have been frequently 
 canvassed, and very differently decided on. 
 Their day has long passed by, but they will 
 not soon be forgotten. It will be sufficient to 
 observe generally, that as a military associa- 
 tion they deterred their Gallic neighbours 
 from an invasion ; while the internal peace and 
 tranquillity of the country was in an eminent 
 degree preserved by their vigorous exertions, 
 and the willing co-operation given by this 
 body to the unbiassed administration of jus- 
 tice. 
 
 The utihty of the volunteers has been uni- 
 versally acknowledged ; few have doubted the 
 purity, none the patriotism of the system ; but 
 as their numbers were imposing, and their 
 influence unbounded, the Government soon 
 had cause to view them with apprehension and
 
 102 o'hara. 
 
 distrust. The members of this popular insti- 
 tution speculated loosely in the politics of the 
 times, and, as their enemies alleged, deviated 
 from their original object by forming provin- 
 cial meetings for the avowed purpose of dis- 
 cussing questions of parliamentary reform ; and 
 whilst protesting against the abuses of the 
 Constitution, they pressed, and probably too 
 strongly, upon Ministers the necessity of re- 
 storing it to its pristine purity. In further- 
 ance of these principles, the Dungannon Con- 
 vention assembled on the 15th February, 1782. 
 Tlieir resolutions were most determined in de- 
 manding a speedy reform, and a more general 
 diffusion of the rights of civil liberty. No 
 wonder the Government felt that there was 
 more of dictation than prayer in the petition, 
 for their opinions were delivered with the bold- 
 ness of delegates, the representatives of one 
 hundred thousand men in arms. 
 
 The example of the volunteers of the North 
 was followed by the meeting of the delegates 
 of Leinster, in the month of the ensuing Octo- 
 ber ; and, as a finale, the grand National 
 Convention, comprising delegates from every
 
 o'hara. 103 
 
 corps in Ireland, assembled at the Royal 
 Exchange in the metropolis, on the 10th No- 
 vember, 1783. 
 
 Previous to this period, the volunteers in 
 many places had invited the Roman Catholics 
 to associate and take up arms. A corps of 
 great strength, called the Irish Brigade, was 
 accordingly embodied, and it was resolved, at 
 a meeting of delegates, that the training of 
 every class of Irishmen to the use of arms was 
 a measure of vital importance to the country. 
 In pursuance of this resolution, a regular drill 
 was established, and, in the summer, an en 
 campment formed at Roebuck, in the county 
 of Dublin, in which the Irish Brigade, and 
 the Volunteers of the City, practised camp and 
 military duties, and all the manoeuvres con- 
 nected with active service. 
 
 In the north of Ireland, the Presbyterians 
 had been for many years firmly united to the 
 Americans, and the principles of the new 
 Republic were universally admired by a consi- 
 derable proportion of the inhabitants of Ul- 
 ster. The subsequent events strongly proved 
 that the period elapsing between the declara-
 
 104 o'hara. 
 
 tion of the independence of the United States 
 and the era of the French Revolution had 
 confirmed these democratic feelings. 
 
 It will be necessary here to remark, that for 
 several years prior to 1792, this part of Ire- 
 land was constantly disturbed by the reli- 
 gious animosities of the Dissenters and Roman 
 Catholics, After the volunteering system had 
 gradually expired, the former, becoming jea- 
 lous of the latter party's retaining a vast 
 quantity of arms in their possession, which 
 they had instructed them to use, frequently 
 assembled during the night for the purpose of 
 disarming their quondam associates ; the Pres- 
 byterians assuming the title of *' Peep-o'-day- 
 boys," the others adopted the name of " De- 
 fenders." The passions of the contending 
 parties being artfully inflamed by the leaders, 
 no opportunity of exercising mutual animosity 
 was suffered to escape. Many severe skir- 
 mishes ensued ; at last, after several ineffec- 
 tual attempts had been made towards a recon- 
 ciliation, the hostile parties came to a general 
 engagement, at a place called '* the Diamond," 
 on the 21st September, 1795, which termi-
 
 o'hara. 105 
 
 iiated in the entire defeat of the Defenders, 
 who were driven from a strong position, after 
 numbers of their friends had been killed or 
 wounded. 
 
 To commemorate this victory, the first 
 Orange Lodge, composed exclusively of Pro- 
 testants, was instituted. 
 
 We now return to O'Hara: the regiment 
 in which he had gotten his promotion, after 
 having been for some time at Belfast, was 
 ordered to Dublin, and there remained for 
 two years, doing garrison duty. The Major 
 had therefore many opportunities of visiting 
 his estate in the north. Soon after they had 
 been removed to the metropolis, Mrs. O'Hara 
 was dehvered of a second son, who survived 
 its birth but a few days. The lady's confine- 
 ment had been very unfavourable, and in con- 
 sequence her health became so much impaired, 
 that an immediate change to her native air 
 was prescribed, as necessary for her recovery. 
 The Major, tired of an inactive military life, 
 and aware that the health and happiness of 
 his wife required it, determined, after mature 
 deliberation, to leave the army and retire on
 
 106 o'hara. 
 
 the half-pay list. Many things tended to in- 
 duce him to adopt this measure : his estate 
 was most improvable, situated in a wild and 
 romantic country, and yet contiguous to seve- 
 ral respectable market-towns. Accordingly, 
 he memorialized the Commander-in-Chief, 
 who, in consideration of his brilliant, though 
 short services, acceded to his retirement, and 
 gazetted him out on full pay. 
 
 The Ex-Major, therefore, in the latter end 
 of 1778, bade adieu to the honourable trade 
 of arms, and with his lady and his young son, 
 took possession of the mansion of his fore- 
 fathers.
 
 O KARA. 
 
 107 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Yet he's gentle ; never school'd, and yet learned ; full of 
 noble device ; of all sorts enchantingly beloved. 
 
 As You Like It. 
 
 Castle Carra was wild and lonely in its si- 
 tuation ; it stood on a bold eminence, over- 
 looking the narrow union of two extensive 
 lakes, on one side, while on the other it was 
 surrounded by a cordon of rocky hills, rising 
 above each other in alternate ridges, till the 
 black and broken summits of the Mourne 
 mountains topped the entire, and threw a 
 duskier shade upon the heaths beneath them. 
 The edifice was in perfect preservation ; the 
 ornamental parts of the building, its turrets, 
 narrow arched doors, and gothic casements, 
 executed with that beautiful regularity which 
 characterizes the designs of former artists, 
 displayed the same appearance they had done
 
 108 o'hara. 
 
 two hundred years before. The roof was 
 flagged with grey-stones ; the doors were 
 oaken, and studded with iron bolts ; the win- 
 dows filled with glass of dark and gloomy 
 colours ; the whole looking strength without 
 comfort, pride without magnificence. No 
 alteration in its appearance was observable, as 
 any repairs which time had rendered necessary 
 were effected without taking aught from its 
 antiquity. The offices detached from the main 
 building were partly sunk in a ravine, and 
 partly shaded by the tall trees that embo- 
 somed them. Clumps of oak-trees and scrub 
 (as the lower Irish term coppice-wood) were 
 interspersed over the distant heaths. The 
 castle towered above the whole, and from the 
 high bank on which it stood forced itself upon 
 the view with an imposing air of gloomy iso- 
 lated grandeur. A broad ditch, once filled with 
 water, encompassed the ancient fortress ; but 
 the later owners had given the stream another 
 direction, and, levelling the mounds, clothed 
 their sloping sides with verdure, while the river 
 which had supplied the fosse, diverted from 
 its original channel, fell a little to the right
 
 o'hara. 109 
 
 into the lake, wandering in its course through 
 shrubberies and extensive gardens. The lakes 
 extended fourteen or fifteen miles, and were 
 irregular in their breadth, varying from one to 
 seven. The extremities of neither were visi- 
 ble, as the prospect terminated by the head- 
 lands shutting in on either side. The castle, 
 being placed on the narrow strait, where the 
 waters of both united, had been erected to 
 command the ancient bridge, a pass at that 
 time undoubtedly of great importance. 
 
 In the retirement of Castle Car ra, Henry 
 O'Hara was educated. The boy, from his 
 infancy, seemed destined to support some ar- 
 duous character in the drama of human life : 
 his constitution, his form, and his youth, were 
 all extraordinary for his years. The conti- 
 guous heaths afforded him health and exer- 
 cise ; sickness or restraint had never prevented 
 him from braving each opposite of heat and 
 cold ; and, attended by his tutor, more as a 
 companion than a guide, he wandered wherever 
 fancy prompted. 
 
 The period of infancy is soon passed over ; 
 years roll on rapidly, and that portion of ex-
 
 no o'hara. 
 
 istence comprised between childhood and ado- 
 lescence is but remembered as a dream. The 
 mother of young O'Hara had been removed 
 before her son could well estimate her loss, 
 and his surviving parent devoted himself 
 wholly to the education of the orphan ; but of 
 necessity, it was, in many material points, wild 
 and imperfect. The seclusion of his father, 
 and the solitude of the mansion, had given a 
 romantic turn to the habits and opinions of 
 the son,' and when he had completed his fif- 
 teenth year, he knew men as he was taught 
 mathematics, — solely by the agency of others. 
 The ill health of Mrs. O'Hara had made 
 Dr. Molloy a constant visiter at the castle : 
 from the child's infancy the physician had 
 been attached to him, and so sincerety, that 
 when he lost his mother, the Doctor retired 
 from practice, and took up his residence at 
 Castle Carra, where he had been an inmate 
 for many years. Dr. Molloy had crept into 
 life from great obscurity, and his youth had 
 passed away before he obtained the requisite 
 qualifications for practising physic. To a 
 figure of singular oddity, he united uncouth
 
 o'hara. Ill 
 
 manners ; the exterior was harsh and repulsive, 
 but the feeling heart it contained was inesti- 
 mable. Kindness and innocence were buried 
 beneath the rough and unpolished habits of 
 his youth ; and when his breast throbbed as he 
 listened to a tale of misery, his features at the 
 moment would have pictured gloomy misan- 
 thropy, although a dole, too liberal for his 
 limited fortune to warrant, was dealt with an 
 unsparing hand. Nature had refused her 
 favours to his person, but she had been other- 
 wise munificent. A comprehensive mind, and 
 prodigious memory, gifted this self-taught 
 scholar ; and while his abstracted manners would 
 have admitted a charge of downright stupi- 
 dity, perhaps at the moment this singular 
 being was lost in contemplations from which 
 minds of no ordinary capacity would have 
 shrunk with dismay. As a professional man, 
 his character stood justly high ; and, conse- 
 quently, the liberal and extensive practice he 
 had possessed enabled him to exert his benevo- 
 lent dispositions, and acquire a moderate inde- 
 pendence. He was fond of society, although 
 his unconquerable absence of mind often in-
 
 112 o'hara. 
 
 commoded him in conversation, and his wan- 
 dering thoughts could never be sufficiently at 
 home to allow him to engage at the card-table. 
 In the drama he delighted, and as he listened 
 to the strollers who occasionally visited the 
 adjoining market-town, to him the delusion of 
 the scene disappeared, and all was truth and 
 reality. On one occasion he interrupted the 
 business of the stage by throwing a handful of 
 silver to " Lieutenant Workington," and even 
 once arrested the fate of the gentle Desde- 
 mona, by striding over the benches, and shout- 
 ing, «* Othello, you're a fool !" and tendered 
 his oath to the exculpation of the suspected 
 beauty. His was a character constructed of 
 opposites ; one moment grappling with a folio, 
 and the next bewildered in the intricacies of 
 a romance. He wrote much, but his lucubra- 
 tions were usually committed to fate and shreds 
 of paper. He had once, indeed, gone so far as 
 to send a clever work into the world, notwith- 
 standing arrangement was not to be included 
 among the number of its excellencies. Every 
 one in the neighbourhood subscribed to what, 
 with one or two exceptions, no one in the
 
 o'hara. 113 
 
 neighbourhood could understand. But none 
 of these patrons of genius ever thought of 
 sending any equivalent, — to wit, the cash : 
 this latter, he (** good easy man,") overlooked 
 — the patrons and publisher shared the profit, 
 and the disciple of iEsculapius was permitted 
 to pay the incidental expenses. Such was 
 young Henry's tutor ; and under him he was 
 likely enough to become a ponderous scholar ; 
 but parental solicitude, perceiving that some- 
 thing was necessary to correct the same failing 
 so discernible in the preceptor, determined 
 O'Hara to sacrifice his love of retirement to 
 the interests of his child, and introduce him to 
 the world. To the University he turned his 
 thoughts, and concluded by placing his name 
 on the books, and attending to the progress of 
 his studies there. A house was accordingly 
 provided in Clare-street, and with reluctance 
 he prepared to bid adieu to the seat of his 
 ancestors, and enter once more on a world, to 
 which he had lately supposed he had bidden 
 an eternal farewell. 
 
 Since the decease of Mrs. O'Hara, a clumsy 
 offer had been made by her brother towards a 
 
 Vol. I. I
 
 114 o'hara. 
 
 reconciliation. O'Hara generously met these 
 advances, and extended the '* olive-branch'* to 
 his undeserving relative ; and, anxious to 
 show how sincerely he intended, he nominated 
 young Moore (then admitted to the practice of 
 the law) his agent, and established him with a 
 liberal salary in his new office. This act of 
 generous and kind confidence was requited as 
 it did not merit ; and an ill-fated reliance 
 reposed in his false and wily kinsman, proved 
 eventually ruinous to the fortunes of his son. 
 
 The morning of the departure of the 
 widower was one of i*eal sorrow ; the carriage 
 drew up to the hall-door ; it was the same 
 Mrs. O'Hara had used during her life, and 
 this was the first time it was employed by her 
 husband, to convey him from a spot hallowed 
 by her remembrance. The Major was deeply 
 affected ; tears coursed each other down his 
 manly cheek, and while Molloy blessed his 
 pupil, and cursed and cried alternately, the 
 carriage started. The traveller threw himself 
 back in an agony of distress, while Henry, in 
 a mingled mood of joy and sorrow, watched 
 the old gates closing — his solitude was de-
 
 o'hara. 115' 
 
 serted, and now *' the world was all before 
 him." 
 
 The period of young Henry's entrance into 
 Dublin was fated to behold that city in the 
 zenith of its greatness ; glittering amid an 
 halo of surrounding splendour, like the tropi- 
 cal sun, glorious to the last, its brilliancy was 
 scarcely shaded for a moment, when it sunk in 
 the waters for ever. The opulence and beauty 
 of the Irish capital ranked it inferior to few 
 cities in the world. Then, a native Parlia- 
 ment was assembled, and scarcely was there a 
 man of rank and affluence in the kingdom who 
 had not a winter residence in the metropolis 
 Public and private amusements were conse 
 quently splendid ; routes were every night to 
 be heard of ; the carriages of the nobility and 
 gentry thronged the squares ; flambeaux glit- 
 tered in the streets, and Venice and its carni- 
 val was often emulated by the festive gaiety of 
 the city of the " Emerald Isle." What a 
 mournful contrast was it fated to exhibit ! 
 Ten short years saw it splendid and wealthy- 
 deserted and undone ! The contemplation is 
 
 I 2
 
 116 o'hara. 
 
 sickening, — like that melancholy air of Swit- 
 zerland which maddens, by its reminiscence of 
 lost liberty, those who were once free. Dublin 
 
 as it was, and as it is. But we shall not 
 
 carry on these unhappy recollections. 
 
 The court of 1792, nearly equalled St. James's 
 in splendour and display. The first and haugh- 
 tiest in the empire trode its carpets, and few, 
 very few, of that nameless multitude, whom 
 lack of better afterwards introduced, were 
 ever seen within its halls. The table was 
 crowded with bidden guests; but, " woe worth 
 the day," now the highways and streets are 
 forced to contribute their quota, and eke out 
 a lamentable deficiency with paupers or ple- 
 beians. The Irish court, preserving a sem- 
 blance of royalty, then deferred to birth and 
 talent. Now and then, when a whimsical 
 vicegerent presided, a mercer, or music-master 
 suffered knighthood in a drunken frolic ; but, 
 not presuming on the solemn mockery, and 
 feeling the bitter irony of their elevation. Sir 
 John's voice was never loud, but in the 
 choir; while the only alteration in Sir James
 
 O KARA. 
 
 117 
 
 was, a more than common adroitness in slip- 
 ping his scissars through the lutestring, — like 
 the unschooled tuition of Scrub, when he 
 wished to rival his " brother Martin" at the 
 knife-board, the good knight's envy and emu- 
 lation never ranged beyond the confines of 
 Skinner-row ; but tempora mutantur, — that 
 is, the tables are turned, — and nothing so 
 plenty in the metropolis, as knights and 
 empty houses. 
 
 To a person returning after an absence of 
 some years, the wonderful change in the 
 occupations of the streets would forcibly 
 strike him, — " To what uses may we not re- 
 turn !" At that time, the beautiful row of 
 houses in Sackville-street was undisfigured 
 by shop or show -board ; neither huge Ele- 
 phant, nor tawdry Chinese merchant, had ex- 
 istence. The brass plates upon the doors 
 informed the reader, that a Lord, or Lady, or 
 M. P., was the occupant. But now, alas ! 
 names and trades glitter from the attic to the 
 area; and the coronetted carriage has given 
 place to the grocer's cart. Can Dublin yet 
 sink lower ? Is degradation not consummated ?
 
 118 0*HARA. 
 
 Impossible ! unless some Sultan Mahmoud, of 
 devastatiiig propensities, would altogether 
 qualify it to dower some portionless screech- 
 owls. 
 
 Let no reader here imagine, that I make 
 these observations, as in any way contemning 
 trade and its followers. Far be it from me. 
 I myself am a member of one of the humblest 
 classes of society, and would not, therefore, 
 despise any individual of the community. I 
 have passed through life, (praise be to God,) 
 without even an attempt having been made 
 to subject me to the pains and penalties of 
 knighthood. I have, furthermore, cause to be 
 thankful, for (although I do not wish to vaunt 
 me of my good fortune,) I never was appel- 
 lated Esquire but once, and that by the mis- 
 take of a Methodist preacher, persuaded by 
 a wag, to apply to me on a begging occasion, 
 as a well-known contributor to Gospel minis- 
 ters and conventicles. For this good luck, I 
 suppose myself indebted to my youthful days 
 being gone by, before the Esquire epidemic 
 had broken out with its present violence. 
 Last Saturday, as I strolled along the banks
 
 o'hara. 119 
 
 of the royal canal, I picked up a letter with a 
 barbarous superscription, purporting to direct 
 the enclosure, *' To Fill Ruggins, Esquare, 
 No. 2 J, Cross Poddle." Ah ! I understand 
 it. Some young spendthrift on his keeping. 
 I will deliver it myself. I made out Phil 
 Ruggins, Esq., forthwith, at his residence, 
 2J, Cross Poddle ; and, by Heaven ! he was 
 a journeyman bobbin- weaver. But what has 
 Phil Ruggins to say to this story? 
 
 I was, I remember, speaking of Dublin 
 Castle ; and, like the etiquette of the said 
 castle, one story shall introduce another, and, 
 therefore, one anecdote more of myself, (I am 
 a little egotistical to-day). Many a time, with 
 a lady on either arm, Mrs. Timothy Flin, of 
 the Weaver's-square, and Mrs. Peter Dun^ 
 lavy, of Mark's-alley, have I left the liberty 
 in the evening, to view the grandees, as they 
 went in state to the drawing-room. Cork- 
 hill was our favourite station, and there, 
 among apprentices, mantua-makers, and la- 
 dies' waiting-women, known to the mob by 
 the familiar title of ** kitchen stuff," have we 
 gazed with admiration, on the showy equi-
 
 120 o'hara. 
 
 pages, at one moment at a dead stand, and at 
 the next, with rapid motion jerking themselves 
 into the vacancy occasioned by the last set- 
 down. Nor were we permitted to look on 
 with impunity. Pickpockets were on the alert, 
 while, now and again, a grenadier, with a 
 charged bayonet, and " Stand back, blast 
 yees," made an awful irruption into our terror- 
 struck squares. Last week I read among the 
 list of presentations, the names of Mrs. Henry 
 Rourke, and Mrs. T. P. Reilly. Often have 
 they gazed from these arms, till they ached, 
 on passing peers and peeresses. The former 
 was Julia Dunlary : the latter, Matilda Hen- 
 rietta Flin. 
 
 Will another story be tolerated? I hate 
 apologies, so I shall give it without any. 
 I wanted stockings, (by, the by, my washer- 
 woman accuses me of great severity on the 
 heel,) and had recourse to an eminent hosier's 
 to refit. It was dusk, and all the neighbour- 
 ing shops were closing. I hate haggling with 
 a shop-keeper : the bargain was soon con- 
 cluded, — the stockings in paper, — and my one- 
 pound-note undergoing a severe scrutiny on
 
 o'hara. 121 
 
 the counter. " Mat!" cried a shrill voice 
 from the farther end of the shop. Matthew 
 started. " Mat, my dear !" Matthew be- 
 came more composed. " Send James to the 
 row for our carriage, — Sir Thomas's coach is 
 at the door, and his shutters on this half 
 hour, — don't mind the pickle people, — ever 
 since his wife was persented, she makes it 
 a rule to be an hour later than the world. 
 Ah, Mat ! if you took the right side in the 
 hall, I would have been inter duced long ago." 
 The truth is, Mat is a common council-man, 
 but having a bad drop in him, (his grand- 
 mother was a papist,) he did not roar, with 
 the remainder, against the Roman bill, — and 
 I can assure the hosier's lady, that she will 
 never, in the drawing-room of Dublin Castle, 
 elbow Mrs. Nelligan, of the pickle ware- 
 house, unless the aforesaid Mat entertains 
 more orthodox sentiments of the damnable 
 doctrines of Pope and Popery !
 
 122 o'hara. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 That Lord Fitzwilliam's viceroyalty would have banished 
 
 all discontent I cannot suppose ; but, that if the Catholic 
 
 claims had been settled, or some parliamentary reform taken 
 
 place, rebellion would not have reared its head, I am willing 
 
 to believe. 
 
 Hardy's Life of Charlemont. 
 
 Retired from the busier scenes of former life, 
 O'Hara watched in its progress the arduous 
 struggle for freedom bej^ond the Atlantic, until 
 the consummation of the hopes and independ- 
 ence of America was achieved by those whom 
 oppression had determined to be free. The 
 insane policy of ministers was persevered in till 
 all their misconduct could effect was completed ; 
 they severed the colonies from the parent— ^ 
 raised a mighty power into political existence, 
 which, had common moderation been granted to 
 their supplication, would have been contented 
 to have remained auxiliary and dependent, — and
 
 o'hara. 123 
 
 taught a lesson of liberty to the world, which 
 often afterwards made monarchy tremble on the 
 throne. 
 
 In this contest for freedom, glorious in its 
 issue, O'Hara had to lament the fall of many 
 of his former companions in arms ; and in the 
 last effort made by the royal army to relieve 
 itself from the miserable dilemma into which 
 the ability of the American leaders had drawn 
 it, before safety was secured by an unavoidable 
 surrender, Malowney and M^Greggor fell. The 
 Highlander, by exemplary conduct, had at- 
 tained the rank of captain ; and Malowney 's luck, 
 as he termed it, having carried him in safety 
 through many a bloody conflict, at length de- 
 serted him, when in the command of the forty- 
 seventh regiment, to which he had pushed his 
 way by dint of sheer fighting, without owing a 
 single compliment to either duke or minister. 
 He made his exit from the stage of life in the 
 most summary manner, in an attempt to force 
 the American lines at Saratoga. A bullet in the 
 brain to many would not have been particu- 
 larly desirable, but honest Dennis was no man 
 for round-about measures, and probably felt
 
 124 
 
 O KARA. 
 
 this mode of bidding «' his long good night" 
 just as agreeable as in having his last sands 
 eked out under the cautious directions of a 
 regular physician. He fell not in victory, but 
 the attempt was well planned and boldly exe- 
 cuted ; and, like Montgomery dying before the 
 barriers of Quebec, even in death and defeat he 
 left a gallant name behind him. 
 
 The death of Mrs. O'Hara in 1786, seemed 
 to be the opening of her husband's misfortunes, 
 and from that time his destinies became gradu- 
 ally overcast. The precarious health of his la- 
 mented consort had for years before her death 
 precluded any close intimacy from subsisting 
 between Castle Carra and the gayer world. 
 The remote situation of the mansion rendered 
 distant visiting impracticable to an invalid ; but 
 the high crime of inhospitality (a grievous sin 
 amongst the Irish) did not attach its stignria to 
 its hall. The castle was not without visiters, 
 and as O'Hara took a leading part in the poli- 
 tics of these times, many names, afterwards 
 fatally distinguished in the field and on the 
 scaffold, were found among his intimates. Lord 
 Edward Fitzstephen, Wolfe, Russell, O'Moore,
 
 o'hara. 125 
 
 and others of the democratic leaders, composed 
 a group of attached associates. There the oc- 
 currences of these stormy times were discussed 
 or arranged — there the necessity of reform was 
 enforced — there election opposition to county 
 aristocracy was embodied ; in fine, the retirement 
 of O'Hara was the focus whence the Whigs and 
 Reformers incessantly poured forth their remon- 
 strances, and fulminated resolutions and protests. 
 Among the many friends of O'Hara, there 
 was one to whom he was particularly at- 
 tached. At the termination of the American 
 war, Fitzstephen returned to Ireland ; he was 
 then a very young man, and a captain in the 
 fifteenth regiment. During the contest with 
 the States, he served with distinguished repu- 
 tation, and gave early promise of possessing 
 those military talents which afterwards gained 
 him a melancholy celebrity. With the soldiery 
 he was frank, condescending, and humane ; 
 while in the hour of danger, each felt safety 
 and assurance in the unmoved bearing of their 
 chivalrous leader. He bore fatigue and the se- 
 verities of climate with unalterable composure; 
 and obstacles, which had hitherto bounded the
 
 126 o'hara. 
 
 attempts of all, gave way to his enterprise and 
 determination. He seended to be the very 
 chief of the Poet — 
 
 Who shall lead a host 
 From India's fires to Zembla's frost. 
 
 O'Hara and Fitzstephen became acquainted on 
 service — both were soldiers, and both enthu- 
 siasts — their opinions on the subject of civil and 
 religious liberty alike, and their advocacy of 
 its justice bold, warm, and unguarded. Fitz- 
 stephen, at the time we mention him, was pro- 
 bably thirty years old ; his figure, though 
 small, was perfectly well formed ; his hair and 
 complexion of the deepest brown, his eyes dark 
 and penetrating, his carriage free and active, 
 his step soldierly ; such was the exterior — but 
 let those who remember him complete the por- 
 trait — the mind gifted and intelligent ; the 
 manner exquisitely polished, but warm, wild, 
 and winning ; his honour unblemished as his 
 beauty — but surely Lord Edward, in Ireland, 
 is not forgotten ! 
 
 To recall to the memory of his country his 
 virtues and misfortunes (and they were many) 
 would be unnecessary ; his crimes have received
 
 o'hara. 127 
 
 the fiat of another tribunal — we trust and be- 
 lieve they were but few- — psace to his ashes ! 
 
 The year 1795 opened with prospects of 
 conciliation, which alas ! were transitory and 
 delusive. An appointment to the chief govern- 
 ment of Ireland had taken place, from which 
 much advantage was expected to arise. Lord 
 Fitzwilliam succeeded Lord Westmoreland, and 
 one *, who to the last was faithful to the coun- 
 try which gloried in him, gave the discontented 
 strong assurance that the reign of bigotry was 
 drawing to a close. The Viceroy landed in 
 Dublin on the 4th of January, and no time 
 was lost by the Roman Catholics in preparing 
 a petition, praying for a removal of the disabi- 
 lities under which they suffered. In this appeal 
 to the House the northern Presbyterians heartily 
 concurred ; a majority of the Protestants sup- 
 porting the catholic claims from principle, while 
 many, who had hitherto studiously avoided 
 interference in political affairs, but now, 
 conscious that the ferment of public opinion 
 required some sedative to allay its violence, 
 stepped forward to join their voice to the ge- 
 * Henry Grattan.
 
 128 o'hara. 
 
 neral call made on the government for justice. 
 This was the last eflfort of Ireland, and it was 
 blasted. Lord Fitzwilliam was suddenly called 
 from his government, leaving an abused people 
 without one ray of hope to gild the darkness of 
 their despondency. What must have been the 
 deep sorrow of the Reformers and Roman Ca- 
 tholics in seeing him removed from the lieute- 
 nancy, may be conjectured from the character 
 given of him by the most bigoted and credu- 
 lous chronicler of the times*: — ** From the re- 
 spectabihty and amiableness of his character, 
 no person could doubt the rectitude of his in- 
 tentions ; or that he had any other object at 
 heart than the interest of the empire — but it is 
 believed that his lordship was unacquainted 
 with the real state of the kingdom." 
 
 The hopes of the Roman Catholics had been 
 raised to the pinnacle of expectation, and on the 
 destruction of their high prospects, they gave 
 way to anger and despair. A deputation from 
 the catholic board hastened to St. James's ; but 
 their remonstrance was coldly received by the 
 king, and the Duke of Portland referred the 
 
 • Musgrave, page 161.
 
 o'hara. 129 
 
 prayer of their petition to ** those dreadful 
 guardians" who had succeeded Earl Fitz- 
 william — '* that combination" (to use the 
 words of the lamented Grattan) '* which galled 
 the country with its tyranny — insulted her by 
 its manners — exhausted her by its rapacity, and 
 slandered her by its malice." The new go- 
 vernment instantly proceeded to visit the male- 
 contents with cruel and unjustifiable severity : 
 under the plea of security, the metropolis was 
 rendered intolerable to all but the minions of 
 the administration ; while, with the pretence of 
 restoring social order, Lord Carhampton re- 
 paired to the midland and western counties, 
 and alleging that the laws were inoperative in 
 them, " resolved to restore their energy by" 
 what Sir Richard calls " a salutary system of 
 severity." He assembled the principal Orange- 
 men of each county, and having in concert with 
 them , examined the charges against the leaders 
 of this banditti, who were in prison, but defied 
 justice, (anglice, persons against whom no 
 shadow of evidence could be produced to war- 
 rant their conviction,) he, with the concur- 
 rence of these gentlemen, sent the most nefari- 
 VoL. I. K
 
 130 o'lIARA. 
 
 ous of them on board a tender stationed at 
 Sligo. By this bold measure, founded on ob- 
 vious principles of political necessity, he com- 
 pletely restored peace in the disturbed districts. 
 This unparalleled outrage on Irish liberty 
 elicited universal deprecation; and, arbitrary 
 as the government was, it soon found itself 
 unequal to shelter the engine of its tyranny 
 against the numerous civil actions which were 
 in progress against him, till, by the unprece- 
 dented measure of resorting to a bill of indem- 
 nity, the unhappy sufferers had their wrongs 
 and hopes of redress equally silenced for ever. 
 This infamous bill passed, after a furious oppo- 
 sition, early in 1796. Fitzstephen in his place 
 in the Commons, and O'Hara at a county meet- 
 ing, delivered their opinions of these unconsti- 
 tutional proceedings with a freedom of depre- 
 cation which gave mortal offence to the Irish 
 court. At this period, January, 1796, we 
 resume our private memoir. 
 
 It is probable that O'Hara's resolution of 
 passing some time in the Irish capital was con- 
 firmed by the advice of Lord Edward. The 
 friends who had associated at Castle Carra
 
 o'hara. 131 
 
 •were once more assembled in Clare-street. The 
 character of the times was now taking an im- 
 posing aspect—discontent was too loud and too 
 determined not to bring on a speedy crisis. The 
 organization of United Irishmen, from the mo- 
 ment of its birth, had become truly formidable, 
 and the government at last saw their danger. 
 Had they gone too far to conciliate? Could 
 not the storm, which had been so long gather- 
 ing, and whose explosion was no longer to be 
 reckoned an uncertainty, be mitigated by gentle 
 measures, and its violence dispersed by those 
 whose mal-administration had first raised it? 
 This question was not deemed worthy of con- 
 sideration, or if it was, an opposite conclusion 
 was the result. 
 
 With the personages more than the politics 
 of these days our business lies, and in a short 
 summary we shall comprise the history of these 
 unhappy times. From the period of 1792, the 
 lower classes of the Reformers were in com- 
 motion, and the higher dissatisfied. French 
 politics gained ground apace ; mobs of great 
 numerical force frequently assembled, and were 
 only dispersed by military interference and 
 
 K2
 
 132 o'hara. 
 
 mutual loss of lives. The discontent of the 
 lower Irish was further augmented by the pass- 
 ing of the Militia Bill : the disaffection of the 
 higher confirmed by espionage, arrests, and 
 ex officio prosecutions. A clergyman of the 
 establishment, to avoid the ignominy of a public 
 execution, perished by poison at the bar; while 
 many of the leading malecontents saved their 
 lives by a voluntary expatriation. Military 
 license and tyranny became intolerable — sus- 
 pected persons were seized, and sent on board 
 the royal navy, without even the mockery of 
 investigation — houses were searched for arms, 
 and should the inmates be absent, they were de- 
 nounced as rebels, and their property consigned 
 to the flames. In their marches, the soldiery 
 overloaded and injured the horses and carriages 
 of the peasantry, or committed shameless ex- 
 actions on the most flimsy pretexts. Bills of 
 indemnity were passed — the habeas corpus act 
 suspended — multitudes of Roman Catholic fa- 
 milies driven from their homes in Ulster to 
 seek refuge in the wilds of Connaught, while 
 an armed and bigoted yeomanry were loosed 
 upon the country ; and the troops, sent from
 
 o'hara. 133 
 
 England ostensibly to quell a rebellion, seemed 
 much better qualified by their cruelty to foment 
 it. Such is a faithful picture of the royalists 
 and their proceedings, from 1790, until the in- 
 surrection actually broke out. Justice requires 
 us to view the opposite party in their progress, 
 and though it may be a painful task, yet it shall 
 be performed with impartiality. 
 
 In times of civil commotion, it is a misfortune 
 that any number of parties in oj^position to 
 the existing government, and whose plans and 
 security require a secret bond of union, are too 
 frequently identified in crime, when their pre- 
 sent views and ultimate objects are widely 
 though indistinctly different. 
 
 This was the case for some years prior to the 
 eventful 1798. That savage and ruffian com- 
 bination, called " Defenderism," was strangely 
 clashed with the system of the United Irishmen. 
 To both, the Orange party had an equal avex'- 
 sion ; and the principles of the Reformers were 
 blackened with the atrocities of a banditti, with 
 whom they neither held communication, and to 
 whose objects they neither aftbrded their coun- 
 tenance or support. The Defenders were ex-
 
 134 o'hara. 
 
 cluslvely Roman Catholics of tlie very dregs of 
 society ; — their leaders illiterate boors, or tra- 
 velling Friars, the lowest grade of the Popish 
 Clergy. Plunder and assassination accompanied 
 their nocturnal expeditions, and their vengeance 
 was directed as well against the purses as the re- 
 ligious profession of their Protestant neighbours. 
 The Irish Union was composed of different 
 materials ; and actuated by noble, though mis- 
 taken feelings, (I shall speak of it only at its 
 formation,) the bar, the pulpit, and the senate 
 gave it leaders, eminent for family and fortune, 
 talent and private worth ; and its principles, in 
 1792, were the mere echo of those promulgated 
 by the delegates at Dungannon ten years be- 
 fore. The members were so numerous, as to 
 embrace by far the greatest portion of the opu- 
 lent merchants, private gentry, and industrious 
 farmers in Ulster. Such was the Irish Union 
 in 1792; and had the Government, instead of 
 crusading blindly against a body which could 
 have been dismembered by moderation, and 
 conciliated by an act of common justice, en- 
 tered into the spirit of the grievances so often, 
 so respectfully laid upon the Commons' table,
 
 o'hara. 135 
 
 and which were read only to be rejected,- 
 pike would never have glittered on the heights 
 of Tara, nor the blood of its inhabitants been 
 spilled in the peaceful streets of Antrim ! 
 
 For two years Henry pursued his studies 
 in the University, and would have continued 
 there until he graduated, had not a circum- 
 stance occurred which at once put a period to 
 his sojourn, and stamped his public character 
 for ever. In Alma Mater, politics ran as high 
 as in any other society, and a more divided 
 body in their political sentiments than the Fel- 
 lows and Students of Trinity College, could 
 not be found in the empire. Henry's short 
 career was too brilliant not to throw a shade 
 of distinction over his name. Classic and scien- 
 tific Jionours accompanied his progress ; and, 
 as he mixed in the athletic exercises of the Park, 
 his superior strength and activity were noted in 
 the field, till by a kind of spontaneous consent, 
 the Republican party selected him for their 
 leader. 
 
 His rival in academic glory and political sen- 
 timents, was a lad named Loftus, the orphan 
 eon of a deceased Clergyman, and the eleve of
 
 136 o'hara. 
 
 an Archbishop. His manners were plain, his 
 temper hasty, his talents only moderate, but 
 with industry sufficient to overcome every ob- 
 stacle in his course. Next to O'Hara, Loftus 
 was the classic hero ; and although the perse- 
 verance of the latter was constantly defeated 
 by the superior brilliancy of his gifted rival, 
 undismayed by defeat, he redoubled his exer- 
 tions, and viewed his second-rate trophies with 
 contempt. Never were two beings more op- 
 posite : — the one, diminutive in his person, mo- 
 rose in his manners, and retired in his habits ; 
 the appearance of the other, dignified and 
 noble — in temper, arch and playful — in dispo- 
 sition, generous, open, and convivial. The 
 January examinations were approaching; — 
 Loftus made prodigious efforts to surpass his 
 opponent, and there was not an Orange Fellow 
 in the University whose cut questions were not 
 copiously administered. O'Hara read with his 
 common attention, and followed his amuse- 
 ments in the Park. The eventful day arrived, 
 and Loftus again found his antagonist his su- 
 perior ; one only hope was left — ^he heard that 
 Henry had paid but little attention to the
 
 o'hara. 137 
 
 branch of science which was to form the exami- 
 nation of the morrow, and if he could only 
 defeat him in it, he had every thing to hope 
 from the noted partiality of the examiner. But 
 when the trial came, the contest was equal, 
 and not a shade was discernible in the answer- 
 ing. Such was the result of the first six hours. 
 The victory was hollow, and Henry left the 
 Hall amid the exultations of his friends. 
 
 When he reached Clare-street, the servant 
 who opened the door, told him the Major was 
 not well. *' Not well ! Why I was in his cham- 
 ber this morning, and he was in excellent health." 
 He ran up to his dressing-room, and found his 
 father lying on the couch, pale and disordered. 
 The faint smile which played on his sickly fea- 
 tures, while he inquired after his son's success, 
 was forced and unnatural. Henry was making 
 anxious inquiry, when a loud knock at the door 
 started his father, and Lord Edward's voice, in 
 unusually high tones, asked where the Major 
 was ? and he scarcely waited for a reply till his 
 step was heard in the passage. ^' Henry, my 
 boy, leave the room. Lord Edward, not a 
 syllable — I know it."
 
 138 o'hara. 
 
 Heniy, as he retired, looked alternately at 
 Fitzsteplien and his father. The former seemed 
 raised almost to madness, and was labouring 
 with a volcano of rage which O'Hara's caution 
 barely kept from bursting. That his father 
 and Fitzstephen were concerned in some un- 
 pleasant afikir was obvious, from the demeanour 
 of both ; that they were not quarrelling them- 
 selves was also plain, from the warm, though 
 hurried greeting which had passed before him. 
 The business must be consequential, for neither 
 would suffer a light concern to disturb their 
 usual tranquillity. It was almost time for him 
 to return to the examination hall ; to leave the 
 house in such uncertainty was intolerable ; and 
 while he debated whether he should go to his 
 father, and demand some elucidation of the 
 morning's transaction, his valet placed a scroll 
 in his hand and retired. It was Lord Edward's 
 writing ; — 
 
 *' Dear Henry — Go to your examination — 
 make your mind easy ; at dinner you shall be 
 made acquainted with the business you wish to 
 know. Adieu. Victory attend you. ' Aut 
 Caesar, aut nuUus'. Fitz.'*
 
 o'hara. 139 
 
 This was Lord Edward's usual style to liis 
 favourite, and the note relieved his uncertainty. 
 He accordingly hurried to the College ; his ap- 
 pearance bespeaking mental ease and confidence. 
 He observed the groups he passed loitering 
 before the hall, eyed him with peculiar atten- 
 tion. The Orange party looked with some- 
 thing like triumph ; his own friends mightily 
 cast down. '« What," thought he, "■ do they 
 flatter themselves that Loftus will carry the 
 prize off. Well, I trust I shall lower your 
 exulting looks before long. How dull the 
 others seem — some one has frightened them; 
 but here's one of the gayest with a face like a 
 mute at a funeral. Why, M'Donnell, .what's 
 the matter ?— cheer up, man — you see I'm not 
 cast down by the morning's business." 
 
 " Well, certainly Harry, you're a bold fel- 
 low : but how is your father?" 
 
 *« Better, better — I left Lord Edward with 
 him : but hark ! the bell rings for victory." 
 
 All crowded into the hall ; and the brilliant 
 answering of the afternoon possessed O'Hara 
 of both premiums. 
 
 Rage and disappointment stung Loftus to
 
 140 o'hara. 
 
 the soul ; the decision, his heart told him, was 
 as it should be, but he had not temper to bear 
 defeat with equanimity ; with an infernal sneer, 
 he snatched a newspaper from a fellow-student, 
 and exclaimed, as he handed it over the table 
 to his rival, " Reallv your honours \f ill be quite 
 a set-off against the mall mishap of your father 
 and his loyal confederate." 
 
 McDonnell snatched the extended paper, and 
 Henry overheard, in a suppressed tone, the 
 words '' Ungenerous — unfeeling." 
 
 The morning scene flashed on his recollec- 
 tion; he demanded the newspaper. M'Donnell 
 refused it. '* M'Donnell, by our friendship, I 
 request it : you would not surely trifle with me. 
 It must be some pleasant communication that 
 Mr. Loftus would trouble himself to select ;" 
 and he bitterly eyed his pale and discomfited 
 opponent. He threw his eye on the paragraph 
 — it ran thus — " It mus tbe a source of sincere 
 congratulation to every loyal and well-disposed 
 subject to know, that his Majesty is determined 
 to remove from the Army List, the names of 
 every favourer of Jacobites, Revolutionists, 
 <ind Rebels. Two names of political notoriety,
 
 o'hara. 141 
 
 for systematic opposition to the Government, 
 will be found in this day's Gazette ; and as the 
 simple sentence, announcing their disgrace, 
 speaks more than pages, we refer our readers 
 to the next column." O'Hara's cheeks blazed 
 as he rapidly ran his eyes over the paper ; his 
 sight grew dim, his brain burned as he read — 
 ** His Majesty has been pleased to direct that 
 the names of Major Frederic O'Hara, on the 
 retired list, and Lord Edward Fitzstephen, on 
 the half-pay of the 19th regiment, be erased 
 from the Army List, for disaffection ; and that 
 these Officers be declared incapable of ever 
 holding any commission in his Majesty's service." 
 As Henry read, every eye was turned on him. 
 Loftus gazed with malicious delio-ht ; while 
 O'Hara crumpled the paper coolly in his hand, 
 and flung it in his face. " You mean scoundrel 
 — miserable in mind as in figure — if your 
 wretchedness did not shield you from my re- 
 sentment, this hall should not save you. As to 
 the alleged disgrace thrown on my father and 
 his noble friend, they despise it ; they would 
 feel degraded in serving an ill-advised King 
 and a corrupt administration."
 
 142 o'hara. 
 
 The noise and confusion arrested the atten- 
 tion of the Vice-Provost, who walked over to 
 the table where Henry was declaiming, and who, 
 although fully aware of the Doctor's political 
 animosity, continued to abuse the Government 
 with more warmth than discretion, and, in 
 consequence, was summoned to attend the 
 Board the following day. 
 
 The disclosure of the severe and unmerited 
 disgrace cast upon his father and Lord Edward 
 overwhelmed Henry with sorrow as he hurried 
 home. The Ex-Major was astonishingly com- 
 posed since morning, and endeavoured to soften 
 the insult offered to an old and meritorious Offi- 
 cer. Not so Lord Edward ; his feelings were 
 vented in reproaches and threats, and the most 
 uncomfortable day ever recollected by the par- 
 ties, was heavily dragged through. The morn- 
 ing dawned to consummate the disgrace of the 
 O' Haras. Henry was tried by the Board of 
 Trinity College for sedition ; found guilty of 
 abusing the Government ; condemned, and sen- 
 tenced " tanquampestis, e Collegio in perpetuo 
 amoveri!" 
 
 Thus terminated his literary career. The
 
 o'hara. 143 
 
 same Journals announced his classic victories 
 and his expulsion. His father, heart-sick of 
 Dublin, retired to his estate ; Lord Edward 
 left Ireland for Paris ; and Henry bade a tem- 
 porary adieu to his native land, and set out, ac- 
 companied by a gentleman of erudition and 
 integrity, to travel wherever the disturbed state 
 of the Continent would permit him.
 
 144 o'hara. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 With news the time's in labour. 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 Castle Carra was now solitude itself. An- 
 other year rolled on ; and while O' Harass 
 mind brooded over his military disgrace, as if 
 to augment his chagrin, and consummate his 
 public degradation, a command from the Lord 
 Chancellor recalled his Commission of the 
 Peace. No impropriety could be adduced to 
 warrant this act of harshness, nor was any 
 attempted. It was briefly stated, that the 
 Government considered him unfit for holding 
 that oflfice. 
 
 In the following paper, the death of his 
 gallant friend De Clifford was announced. 
 In a frigate of very inferior strength, he had 
 brought the Republican ship Egalite, of 48, 
 and the corvette El Corso, of 18 guns, to
 
 0*HARA. 145 
 
 close action, and after two hours' desperate 
 fighting, captured the corvette, and sunk the 
 frigate ; but fell by one of the last shots from 
 the sinking Frenchman. His first lieutenant 
 caught him in his arms as he tottered. The 
 crew of the Endymion cheered at the mo- 
 ment. *' Has she struck?" asked the dying 
 commander. *' No ;" was the reply, *' but 
 she can scarcely swim. There, — there, — she's 
 gone, by Heaven!" " Save them! — save 
 them!" muttered De Clifford, and expired. 
 
 '* I had almost completed my answer to 
 your last letter," said the Major to his son, 
 ** when one from the widow of my gallant 
 friend reached me. Poor De Clifford has 
 named me his executor, and, with her mother, 
 joint guardian of his daughter. All the pro- 
 perty he left is but trifling, — not quite two 
 thousand pounds ; and his widow entreats me 
 to procure her some retired residence in my 
 neighbourhood. She has, I fear from neces- 
 sity alone, given up her establishment ; but I 
 am informed it will scarcely cover her debts. 
 The trust confided to me is truly distressing, 
 
 Vol. I. L
 
 146 0*HARA. 
 
 but it is sacred, and I shall fulfil it as I best 
 may. I have replied to Lady Sarah De Clif- 
 ford, and invited her and her daughter, on 
 disposing of their house, to make Castle Carra 
 their home, till they can be accommodated 
 with a suitable residence. Therefore, my dear 
 Harry, on receipt of this letter, I must re- 
 luctantly entreat your return. My spirits are 
 not fit to entertain a mourner, and your pre- 
 sence will be necessary to perform the more 
 active rites of hospitality. 
 
 ** P. S. — I have received a reply, grate- 
 fully accepting my invitation ; early in Spring 
 I am to expect them. This will give you six 
 months' further leave of absence. Till then, 
 command your own time. 
 
 '* F. O'H." 
 
 To connect our memoir, we will give a few 
 extracts from the elder O'Hara's letters to his 
 son. The notices of politics were necessarily 
 short and cautious, as any correspondence be- 
 tween a suspected person, and a resident in a 
 hostile country, would be a subject of sus- 
 picion to the Government.
 
 0*HARA. 147 
 
 *« September, 1796. 
 
 " Politics," continued the Major to Harry, 
 " are alarmingly violent. All our old neigh- 
 bours are disunited. There can be no neu- 
 trality in this unfortunate country. I am an 
 object of suspicion to both parties. My mili- 
 tary disgrace has turned all the Orange faction 
 on my back ; and the Republicans, finding me 
 firm in my determination to avoid any political 
 connexion at present, eye me with something 
 bordering on distrust. My retirement is now 
 profoundly seclusive. When a tenant visits 
 the Castle on business, even his humble call 
 is now-a-days somewhat consequential to us. 
 You may remember what numbers crowded to 
 ' his Honour for laa (law).' The Chancellor 
 (and, God knows, I thank him for the measure, 
 though the means were not so agreeable) has 
 despatched my clients to justices of better re- 
 gulated opinions ; and when the knocker falls 
 at times, even poor old Pero (sole survivor 
 of all the spaniels) loudly testifies his asto- 
 nishment. I sometimes contrast the present 
 with other days. But I have done. Adieu.'* 
 
 L2
 
 148 0*HARA. 
 
 " October, 1796. 
 ** I told you, the last time I wrote, how 
 much the society of our old neighbours was 
 broken by the discordance of their political 
 sentiments. You desired me to tell you how 
 they are. I can only answer your inquiry by 
 telling you « they live.' Mr. Nugent has built 
 an addition to his house, and become a violent 
 tool of the Government. Whether his mansion 
 has been amended in an equal ratio to his po- 
 litics, I cannot pretend to say ; but I fear his 
 fortune by both has suffered deterioration. 
 You know my opinion of his understanding 
 was never flattering, and I conceive him to be 
 just a character fit for persecution, when 
 prompted by a powerful but unprincipled 
 aristocracy. Nugent will be the puppet, dan- 
 gled by hands behind the curtain, and, in 
 these dreadful days, may be made a terrible 
 engine of oppression. His house is always 
 filled with company, and rather resembles an 
 officer's barrack than a private habitation ; 
 and, notwithstanding its being the focus for 
 horse, foot, and artillery, the Misses Nugent 
 still remain unwedded.
 
 o'hara. 149 
 
 '* Of M'Cullogh I know, unwillingly, more 
 than I do of Mr. Nugent. He, you are aware, 
 purchased the estate of the unfortunate Fitz- 
 maurice, and, as his new purchase stretches 
 along the lake, parallel to the Castle Carra 
 property, he set up a claim to Islandbeg and ' 
 Islandmore. However, the islands and roy- 
 alties of the whole lake were found to be 
 vested in me ; and his lawyer, fortunately, 
 could make out no feasible claim, by which 
 he might litigate their ownership. Finding 
 his hopes of gaining those beautiful little 
 islands by litigation desperate, he offered me 
 1000^. for them (the fellow's made of money). 
 I returned an answer, that, in that little sa- 
 cred spot, my ancestors, for many a genera- 
 tion, reposed ; and I would not barter the 
 last resting-place of the O' Haras for the six 
 thousand acres which composed the Fitzmau- 
 rice estate. I am told he was furious, but, as 
 he knew he dare not turn restive, like an 
 uneasy horse, he contented himself with champ- 
 ing on the bit a little. 
 
 '' This man's extraordinary rise in life would 
 appear fabulous, did we not know the fact to
 
 150 o'hara. 
 
 be past disbelief. His father was an orphan, 
 and M'hen a boy, our old herd, * Paurick 
 More,' (Big Pat,) remembers him for a short 
 time in the kitchen of Castle Carra, assisting 
 your grandfather's cook as turf-boy. He left 
 this house, and soon after the country, forever. 
 Latterly, for five or six years, the name of 
 M'Cullogh was known as a purchaser of pro- 
 perties in the county, and suddenly the me- 
 nial's son returned. What will not money do? 
 Every one in the neighbourhood, but the dis- 
 graced owner of Castle Carra, visited and in- 
 vited the ci-devant kitchen-boy's descendant. 
 Determined to raise a name, he is building an 
 over-o-rown house, and seeking a matrimonial 
 alliance to perpetuate it. Lord Loftus has 
 borrowed 30,000/. from him, and actually 
 countenanced his addresses to Lady Constant ia, 
 your old flame. Nothing, however, could 
 bring her ladyship to listen to his detested 
 overtures, and, they say, he is now looking 
 after the Baronet's sister. But to have done 
 with him, I shall sketch his appearance in the 
 hue and cry style :— « M'Cullogh is about five 
 feet, two inches and a half in height ; round
 
 o'hara. 151 
 
 shoulders, m-kneed, clumsy figure, much in- 
 clined to corpulency, scorbutic face, grey eyes, 
 and snub nose ; has an awkward, shambling 
 walk, with a loud and vulgar manner of speak- 
 ing.* Such is the lord of three estates — such 
 the builder of Belvue, and such the lover of 
 Lady Constantia Loftus !" 
 
 *« Nov. 1796. 
 *' I introduced Mr. M'Cullogh to you in 
 my last letter but one ; and if you recollect 
 aright, I told you that I refused to let him have 
 the islands for love, law, or money. If you 
 have forgotten these circumstances, he has not ; 
 but to the detail. We had a meeting of grand- 
 jurors, magistrates, and gentry, to petition par- 
 liament against the Roman Catholic claims. I 
 attended to oppose this measure, as I have uni- 
 formly done since it became the fashion to send 
 a yearly tirade to parliament against the P«- 
 pishes, as these ill-starred Irishmen are called by 
 the yeomen who sign it. In the course of the 
 proceedings I spoke and dissented ; the news- 
 papers say the speech was good ; all I know 
 is, that it was too true. Mr. M*Cullogh, 
 however, was determined to give me a dressing
 
 152 o'hara. 
 
 (his own words in a whisper to the sheriff), and 
 made a most brutal exhibition. He poured 
 forth in bad English, and worse sense, a furious 
 libel against the Papists, and wondered how a 
 gentleman, who was seldom seen at church, 
 (meaning me) could presume to talk of matters 
 of religion. I coolly replied, that I thought it 
 was as illiberal as impertinent in any man to 
 question the religious opinions of his neigh- 
 bours ; as to my own part, whatever might be 
 defective in mine, I trusted the morality of my 
 character was not of a questionable complexion. 
 (' Hear, hear,' from friends and foes.) I con- 
 tinued — ' This testimony, gentlemen, is the 
 more grateful, as I hope it will tacitly repel 
 the irreligious charge brought against me by 
 the honourable gentleman,' — (strong emphasis 
 here.) — * I never arraigned any one for his 
 faith, and I never knew, nor asked, what were 
 the religious opinions of the high-minded gen- 
 tleman opposite to me, who has dignified this 
 county by selecting it for his residence. But, 
 gentlemen, if there be any liberality in my con- 
 duct, I inherit it from my father ; for I will be 
 bold in asserting that he never questioned the
 
 O HARA. 
 
 153 
 
 tenets of the worthy gentleman's father when 
 in earlier life he honoured Castle Carra with 
 his presence.' All stared, and M'Cullogh grew 
 pale as ashes. * No, gentlemen, though my 
 father was a rigid Calvinist,he never quarrelled 
 with his cook for the difference of their faith ; 
 and I have some reason to suppose, that the elder 
 Mr. M'Cullogh occasionally accompanied that 
 lady to the Mass-house, as in his subordinate 
 situation the retention of her friendship must 
 have been to him a matter of paramount import- 
 ance.' Shall I describe the effect of this ex- 
 pose of Mr. M*Cullogh's earlier life on himself, 
 and on the meeting ? No pen can do it. The 
 course of the business which collected us was 
 instantly arrested, and in the turmoil, I leisurely 
 called my carriage, and returned to the castle. 
 The next morning, Mr. Nugent waited on me, 
 and after many apologies on his part, he at last 
 informed me his embassy was seeking one. — 
 ' An apology for telling the history of an in- 
 teresting era in the annals of Castle Carra ? 
 That the father of the High Sheriff elect was 
 here formerly a cook's underling ! But I must 
 satisfy you, Mr. Nugent, as I presume you are
 
 154 o'hara. 
 
 the plenipotentiary. Here, Philip; call Pau- 
 rick More, (big Pat).' Nugent looked silly. 
 * Paurick,' said I, in Irish, « was Mr. M*Cul- 
 logh and you formerly acquainted V 
 
 * Nonough ner braig e thin, a waisther, 
 (there's no lie in that, master,)' said Paurick. 
 
 ' What was he in my father's service ?' 
 
 * Boheil beg in she kishthena,' (a little kit- 
 chen-boy.) 
 
 ' Are you certain?* 
 
 * Shuraulthe a waisther,' (certain.) 
 
 * Would you swear it ?' 
 
 * Thorum an lower,' (hand me the book.) 
 
 ' Now, sir,' when Paurick More had left 
 the room, < tell Mr. M*Cullogh that I believe 
 Paurick More, his father's friend's word too 
 firmly, to have a doubt of his real parentage 
 and early occupation.' 
 
 ' Hem — ^but — hem ; can I not accommodate 
 matters — a slight explanation — ' 
 
 * Could not alter a true assertion,' said I, 
 with a silent bow, and rang the bell for lunch. 
 Nugent affirmed he never snacked, and con- 
 cluded b}^ giving me in a round-about speech, 
 a message for the ensuing morning. I attended,
 
 o'hara. 155 
 
 with Mr. Drummond as my friend, on this im- 
 portant occasion. Mr. M'Cullogh and Nugent 
 were dilatory in making their appearance, and 
 at the same moment Mr. Scanlan arrived with 
 the posse comitatus, and we were stayed in 
 form from the mortal combat which we medi- 
 tated. The crowd, which, from the delay, had 
 assembled in great numbers, and either from 
 personal affection for me, or from a feeling of 
 disappointment in not being rewarded by an 
 exhibition, hissed M*Cullogh and his second off 
 the ground, and shouted forth their opinions 
 that Mr. Scanlan was brought by my antago- 
 nist. Thus ended the affair of honour, as 
 the public prints term it; and I presume I 
 may henceforth, and for ever, reckon Mr. 
 M'Cullogh among the list of my deadliest 
 enemies." 
 
 Shortly after the receipt of this letter, and 
 while Henry was on his return to Ireland, the 
 long expected visiters arrived. It was evening 
 when the Major's carriage (which had been 
 sent to meet them at the last stage) set down 
 at the castle. The sun was sinking in the lake,
 
 156 o'hara. 
 
 when the relict of De CliiFord and her orphan 
 daughter entered O'Hara's territory. The 
 wild character of the scenery was calculated to 
 impress no very flattering idea of the place of 
 her destination on the imagination of a London 
 lady of fashion. The road ran along the shore 
 of the lake, and was in many places hewn out 
 of the side of the hill, which precipitated its 
 descent to the waters at its base. Huge masses 
 of mountain granite here and there overhanging 
 the travellers, threatened to crush them as 
 they passed ; and when these hills were left 
 behind, the view only opened on a wide and 
 lonely heath, on one side resting on the moun- 
 tains, and on the other enclosed by the lough. 
 The short and stunted copse-wood did not im- 
 prove its features, and from its own declining 
 look, added to the dreariness of the parent 
 moor. Now and again, a few green spot^ of 
 herbage were visible, and the scanty flocks 
 which were scattered upon them harmonised 
 in ragged poverty with the coarse pasture on 
 which they browsed. 
 
 Before them the prospect was dreary indeed. 
 The road apparently terminated in the lake,
 
 O HARA, 
 
 157 
 
 and their destination was no where to be seen. 
 Here there was a descent of half a mile, and 
 when they turned a sharp angle, where the pro- 
 montory rested its base in the waters of the 
 lough, Castle Carra, with its antique battle- 
 ments, its oaks, and its islands, burst suddenly 
 on their view. All was improved, but not 
 changed — the heath became less withered in its 
 appearance, the herbage more green and fre- 
 quent, the trees numerous and healthy, till at 
 length the carriage rolled over rich meadow, 
 beneath the shade of ancient oaks, which more 
 immediately surrounded the mansion. 
 
 It was now almost dark. The ladies gazed 
 on the high and gloomy pile with something 
 like alarm ; and when they stopped before the 
 heavy entrance, every thing was done appa- 
 rently to make a din — dogs barked, men scolded 
 them in English and Irish ; the hall-door was 
 unbarred with due clangor, while the carriage- 
 steps rattled as they fell. From the landing- 
 place which led to the hall, the Chieftain was 
 seen to descend, but the ladies' curiosity could 
 not be gratified by an accurate view of his per- 
 son or features. The words of welcome were
 
 158 o'hara. 
 
 pronounced in all the warmth of Irish hospi- 
 tality, by a sweet and manly voice, and with 
 their host in the centre, the fair visiters were 
 ushered into the antique hall, and thence con- 
 ducted by two elderly waiting- women to their 
 resjDective chambers. 
 
 The interior of O'Hara's mansion was care- 
 fully scrutinized by the new-comers, as they 
 descended to the drawing-room. The stair- 
 case was but narrow, and, together with the 
 pannels and doors which everywhere concealed 
 the walls, was constructed entirely of black 
 oak. A few pictures and portraits in antique 
 framing, and indifferently painted, were sus- 
 pended around, and in no way relieved the 
 sombre hue of the gloomy wood-work. The 
 ceiling was sheeted, and formed of the same 
 heavy timber with the massive beams on which 
 the rafters rested. The hall, lighted by a 
 small lamp, diifered from the lobbies above, ' 
 only in being flagged with mountain granite ; 
 instead of pictures, its pannels were adorned 
 with hunting bugles, ancient Irish weapons, 
 and moose-deer horns, which had at different 
 times been discovered in the surrounding bogs.
 
 o'hara. r 159 
 
 A large fire, and porter's chair, occupied a cor- 
 ner, where two blind musicians were seated ; 
 an old man filled the seat of honour, while the 
 huge chimney, heaped with turf, diffused heat 
 and light around. 
 
 The drawing-room door was partly unclosed, 
 and the ladies paused, by a kind of mutual con- 
 sent, to look at the master of the house. A 
 large and brilliant fire of bog-deal illuminated 
 the apartment. O'Hara stood, leaning on his 
 arm, against the lofty old-fashioned chimney- 
 piece, and was apparently lost in meditation. 
 His dress was deep and mournful, although 
 in those days gentlemen, when in dinner cos- 
 tume, wore gay and lively colours ; his height, 
 his dark features, and raven hair, were all in 
 unison with his melancholy mood, and the 
 venerable air of the apartment. He was evi- 
 dently a very handsome man, and although his 
 ebon hair was here and there interspersed with 
 grey, this uncertain indication was all which 
 would have marked his having passed over life's 
 meridian ; his carriage was lofty and erect, and 
 when a rustling of female dresses roused him 
 from his reverie, the manly and unbroken step
 
 IGO o'hara. 
 
 with which he crossed the room to meet his 
 guests, betrayed nothing of approaching seni- 
 lity. His manners accorded with his appear- 
 ance — they were those of high birth and po- 
 lished society ; but in his smile, although sweet 
 and winning, there was that shade of sorrow 
 mingled, which bespoke the presence of a " mind 
 diseased:" the efforts he made to conceal it 
 were, however, successful, and when the din- 
 ner was announced, the hospitality of his coun- 
 try seemed to have overcome every other feel- 
 ing. Lady Sarah was astonished when handed 
 to the dining-room ; it was spacious, and, not- 
 withstanding its oaken pannels, magnificent; 
 the furniture was heavy, but handsome ; the 
 plate, of which there was a profusion, ancient 
 and massive ; and the grey-headed butler of 
 O'Hara's father, with four richly-dressed foot- 
 men, were in perfect character with all. 
 
 The hall was so ample, that the entertainer 
 and his banquet occupied but the upper extre- 
 mity ; while at the bottom of the chamber, and 
 scarcely visible from the table, the harpers 
 were seated, and according to the custom of 
 the country, played during the meal. Some
 
 o'hara. 101 
 
 curiosity was excited by the appearance of a 
 fourth cover on the table ; but an inquiry from 
 O'Hara, " if the Doctor had returned?" par- 
 tially removed it, by acquainting the ladies, 
 that the expected was a professional gentleman. 
 On the servant's replying that he had not, the 
 host observed, ** My friend the Doctor is nearly 
 as eccentric in his movements as in his appear- 
 ance — we never wait for him ; but I hear his 
 step ; the creak of his shoe is not to be mistaken, 
 and therefore he shall describe himself." The 
 expected Physician accordingly entered the 
 room with considerable bustle. He was a very 
 little man, whose circumference far exceeded 
 his altitude — his figure excessively outrt — his 
 proportions exactly those of a nine-pin, with a 
 very rubicund countenance, which would not 
 have brought discredit on a civic officer. Al- 
 though he certainly enjoyed the advantages of 
 a recent refit, it was easy to conjecture that the 
 business of the toilette formed but a trifling 
 part of the Doctor's concerns in life : his clothes 
 were very unequally put on, no one button 
 being fitted in its natural receptacle; the knot 
 of his neckcloth drawn under his ear, precisely 
 Vol. I. M
 
 162 o'hara. 
 
 as the hangman would have placed it had he 
 been in attendance ; one cheek was obscured by 
 hair-powder, while its fellow glistened with 
 pomatum; his bow and introductory address 
 were quite in character. 
 
 " My dear Doctor," said the host, when the 
 party were seated, '^ we had nearly rated you 
 an absentee— old David was active in his re- 
 searches, and reported you to be missing." 
 
 *' Missing," cried the Physician, "as I am 
 to be saved, I was for the last hour in the library. 
 Ah ! poor Davy — ^years, years, my dear Lady, 
 will make the best of us subject to mistakes. 
 I remember poor Doctor Pillagrew — (here 
 O'Hara groaned) — he died at eighty-three, and 
 practised to the last. You may recollect Miss 
 Golightly, Major ; he gave her digitalis for a 
 dropsy the morning she was delivered of a 
 daughter." The Ladies looked confused, but 
 Molloy would scarcely have remarked them 
 had they been fainting. *' On her recovery, 
 she married a Methodist Preacher, and had a 
 blessed death, as the man said in the funeral 
 sermon, for she went off raising the hymn at a 
 love-feast. Talking of death (O'Hara again
 
 o'haba. IG3 
 
 groaned), I never saw a finer man on a table 
 than poor Pillagrew; we opened him at his 
 own request — liver scirrhous : otherwise, sound 
 as a beli;' 
 
 " For the sake of Heaven, Doctor," cried 
 O'Hara, interrupting the reminiscences of 
 Doctor Pillagrew and Miss Golightly, '' give 
 us some soup." 
 
 The Doctor mechanically dipped the ladle 
 in the tureen. '^ Poor Pillagrew ! he was a 
 facetious man. Doctor Drench, of Edinburgh, 
 a friend of mine, and Author of Hints on Hy- 
 drophobia — " 
 
 '' Soup, soup," cried O'Hara, unmercifully 
 interrupting anecdotes of Doctors living and 
 dead. ** Hang Doctor Drench — come, you 
 will starve the Ladies." 
 
 The Doctor begged pardon, sent soup round 
 the table without spoiling the cloth ; and, if we 
 except his mistaking Emily for her mother, and 
 a fillet of veal for a roast turkey, with a few 
 other trifling misnomers, he acquitted himself 
 with unusual adroitness. 
 
 Nor was the first impression made by Major 
 O'Hara on the minds of his guests weakened 
 
 M2
 
 1G4 o'hara. 
 
 by a subsequent intimacy ; each succeeding day 
 displayed a character of bold but amiable pro- 
 perties, while his mental acquirements, the 
 fruit of much reading and reflection, enabled 
 him to gain an extraordinary ascendency over 
 the affections of his female friends. His equal 
 and gentle hilarity brightened the long hours, 
 and robbed retirement of its dulness ; and, as 
 was sometimes the case, when the hand of care 
 appeared to press for a moment heavily on his 
 brow, some odd or mal-a-propos remark of the 
 Doctor, banished the cloud which hung gloom- 
 ily over the party, and all again was sunshine. 
 At times, however, his mind appeared lost in 
 considerations of deep moment ; he often left 
 the drawing-room early ; and Lady Sarah 
 De Chfford remarked, that though hours must 
 have elapsed after the household had retired to 
 rest, yet the closing of the library-door disco- 
 vered that some one was still waking. Con- 
 ferences between O'Hara and many strangers 
 were frequent, and conducted with much cau- 
 tion, while the receipt of a letter obliged him 
 often to rise abruptly from the table, to which 
 he did not again return. Of the many visiters
 
 0*HARA. 165 
 
 of O'Hara, very few were introduced to the 
 Ladies, and seldom any of them remained for 
 dinner. The Castle was carefully secured at 
 night-fall, and a person during the day was 
 stationed on the battlements, from whence, for 
 many miles, the view was uninterrupted. 
 
 O'Hara seemed to have much and important 
 business to transact ; and at the board , when 
 his gaiety appeared assumed, his acting was so 
 admirable, that none but an experienced ob- 
 server could discover his mirth to be foreign 
 to his heart. Whatever might have been his 
 sorrows, and deeply as his concerns might oc- 
 cupy his mind, his politeness, or ease of manner, 
 was never for a moment forgotten; and the 
 Ladies could never accuse him of neglecting 
 that which was due to his own hospitality or 
 their sex. 
 
 The peerage told that Lady Sarah De Clif- 
 ford was in her forty-third year ; and but for 
 that, and the tell-tale presence of a marriage- 
 able daughter, she might have thrown oflf the 
 latter five without much fear of detection. She 
 never had warm feelings or affections ; and ex- 
 cepting where her own pleasure was compro-
 
 166 O'^HARA. 
 
 mised, the sufferings of the nearest friend little 
 endangered her mental tranquillity; and to 
 this cold and heartless tone of character, she 
 might probably attribute the continuance of 
 fresh and unfaded beauty. She was still very 
 lovely; and many who were strangers to the 
 greater and more momentous concerns which oc- 
 cupied O'Hara's mind, would have pronounced 
 his fate and her victory secure. To have 
 achieved the conquest of his heart would have 
 been a desirable object from the first ; but after 
 a longer intimacy, more than common worldly 
 advantage swayed Lady Sarah's conduct. 
 O'Hara was both amiable and handsome; and 
 his rank, his family, and the eclat, which even 
 followed him to seclusion, would have rendered 
 him a high object in the eyes of one to whom 
 penury and imprudence had made the more 
 elevated walks of London dissipation unattain- 
 able. However, the widow's castles were all 
 air-built. O'Hara's gentlemanly attention en- 
 deavoured to anticipate the wants and wishes 
 of Lady Sarah ; but still there was no more of 
 warmer sentiment in this delicate and gentle 
 kindness, than if he had wanted eyes, or Lady
 
 o'hara. 167 
 
 Sarah beauty. Trifling circumstances soon 
 told the widow her chance of conquest was 
 hopeless, and like an able general, she had 
 scarcely broken ground, until, perceiving the 
 fortress was impregnable, she forbore to press 
 the siege, and retired in good time and perfect 
 order. 
 
 Lady Sarah was a thorough manoeuvrer, and 
 finding that Castle Carra would not own her 
 for its mistress, she determined to transfer the 
 command to her daughter. Henry's return was, 
 therefore, impatiently expected, and Emily was 
 regularly prepared to entrap the young Mile- 
 sian, whose subjugation was counted certain, as 
 the lady was strictly beautiful, and the gentle- 
 man an Irishman of twenty-four.
 
 168 o'hara. 
 
 CHAPTER X, 
 
 Sick was tlie sun, the owl forsook his bower. 
 The moon-struck prophet felt the madding hour. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 The return of the heir of Castle Carra had been 
 expected for some time, and a letter, stating 
 that he was on his way from London, had been 
 received. Two years had elapsed since the 
 father and son had last parted, and the imagi- 
 nation of the parent was employed in fancying 
 the alteration likely to have been effected in 
 the manners and appearance of his absent boy. 
 The curiosity of the visiters was equally intense ; 
 they wished to see one of whose personal ac- 
 complishments every tongue was prodigal. 
 The minds of both were sceptical as to the 
 truth of the high-wrought colours with which 
 the name of Henry O'Hara was emblazoned.
 
 o'hara. 169 
 
 " Could it be possible that this sequestered 
 Castle had given birth and education to one in 
 whose character and aj^pearance romance might 
 find colouring for her hero, and graces for the 
 love-ditty of a Troubadour V 
 
 '' Impossible," said the younger lady, with 
 something like a sneer. " Who are these 
 O'Hara's eulogists? That old, noisy savage, 
 whose screams wakened us this morning, who 
 has been (God knows how long) huntsman to 
 the clan ; he, forsooth, reckons him a prodigy, 
 because he could ride vicious horses, and leap 
 break-neck fences ; and then he is head of a 
 horde of half-clad mountaineers, and knows 
 them and their sons, and their daughters, and 
 jabbers Irish better, I suppose, than he can 
 speak English. Pshaw ! I fear I shall be mi- 
 serably disappointed." 
 
 " But his father,"" rejoined the Matron — 
 
 '' Ay, Lady Sarah; but consider the differ- 
 ence of opportunity — the one educated in those 
 bleak turrets with a die-away Mamma, and en- 
 circled by a collection of drunken Squires or 
 crazy Doctors ; the other schooled in the world, 
 and a soldier from his boyhood. Well, we
 
 170 
 
 O HARA, 
 
 shall soon see with what justice his praises have 
 been trumpeted over hill and dale." 
 
 While these and such conjectures amused the 
 ennui of the secluded fashionables, the object 
 of their curiosity arrived. It was one of those 
 bright and placid nights which are not unfre- 
 quent during the winter in Ireland. Binnian 
 and Slieve Donard were capped with snow, and 
 contrasted their blanched summits with the dark 
 hue of the ridges stretched beneath their tower- 
 ing heights. The night was clear and strong, and 
 the young moon, peeping over a little hill, shed 
 a gentle side-light on the lake below her. Every 
 thing looked with something endearing in it to 
 the returning Irishman ; every heath he passed, 
 and every hillock his eye traced, were intimately 
 remembered. When he approached nearer to 
 his home, each recollection became more vivid, 
 each feeling an agony; — there were the towers 
 of his youth, and there the scenes of all his first 
 joys and sorrows ; — there sat his parent expect- 
 ing him, and there the *' mille fealtha" ^ waiting 
 to receive him. The carriage stopj)ed, and 
 leaving it to pursue its more circuitous road, he 
 
 * Thousand Avelcomes.
 
 o'hara. 171 
 
 took a nearer path through the plantations 
 which skirted the Castle Park. He passed ra- 
 pidly through the well-known inclosures, when 
 turning suddenly into a little vista, he started 
 at seeing a human figure seated on a stone, mut- 
 tering, in low and hollow tones, sounds which, 
 although not intelligible to the ear, had some- 
 thing in them unearthly and terrific. The light 
 was dim, for the moonbeams were excluded by 
 the fir-trees which surrounded this lonely clell, 
 and superstition had not failed to seize on a 
 spot so favourable for her traditions, and people 
 *' Glan Dullogh" with fays and spectres ; an an- 
 cient barrow was its boundary, and, of course, 
 added to the terror of this gloomy hollow. 
 Henry O'Hara was brave, but he had some 
 slight taint of that superstition which so gene- 
 rally imbues the character of the Irish of even 
 the higher ranks. That a spot so lonely and 
 desolate, should be chosen for the ordinary pur- 
 pose of resting in, was unlikely, for the most 
 courageous of the peasantry avoided it even in 
 the noontide. He stood, irresolute to advance, 
 but yet scorning to retire, while a well-known 
 voice addressed him — *' Welcome, Henry
 
 172 o'haua. 
 
 O'Hara— Welcome ! said I ? Oh! that I could 
 bid you one, but never did man return under 
 worse omens than yourself." 
 
 ** In the name of God, what do you here, 
 Alice More?" cried O'Hara, advancing and re- 
 cognising the speaker; *' why sit you here, like 
 a night raven, to damp my happy return with 
 your croaking and foreboding — and how is it 
 that first of all I hght upon you, Alice? None 
 count it fortunate to meet you ; and never did 
 1 see you in my father's house but in time of 
 sorrow and distress." 
 
 *' Ask me not, Henry O'Hara, how I knew 
 that I should meet you — nothing earthly sent 
 me here — the ' Far a Knuick' (the man of the 
 hills) has screamed the live-long night round 
 the old towers — lie has screamed over the place 
 where your forefathers are sleeping — not a hill 
 or valley, but has echoed with his cries." 
 
 O'Hara felt unusual alarm as he listened to 
 Alice More; his native gallantry of spirit, how- 
 ever, conquered his latent superstition, as he 
 boldly continued, " And what care I for the 
 Far a Knuick — what care I for his cries — I tell 
 you it is all rank superstition ; you have been
 
 o'hara. 173 
 
 deceived yourself, and 3^ou want to deceive 
 me." 
 
 *' Superstition — deceit, call you it," screamed 
 Alice More ; " I tell you, Harry, in your heart 
 you feel a shudder. When the English broke 
 into Shaun Rua's (Red John's) hall, and spilled 
 his blood on his own hearth, did not the * Far 
 a Knuick' cry? When your grandfather ex- 
 pired in his bed, and none knew it, did I not 
 hear the spirit on the hill, and was he not found 
 cold and clammy, even when I was telling it to 
 his serving-man ? When your mother (God 
 be good to her) died, who could sleep for the 
 Hill-man's cries ? I heard him mourning: when 
 these ill-boded English women came to the house 
 of O'Hara ; but never did his cries equal those 
 with which he made the mountains echo for 
 your return." 
 
 She had raised herself from the stone on 
 which she rested, and through an opening in 
 the trees, the moonbeams shone on her hard 
 and heated features, and her tall form, wrapped 
 in the loose mantle which was carelessly flung 
 around her, recalled much of the exj^ression 
 given by painters to the witch of Scripture
 
 174 o'hara. 
 
 confronting Samuel. The uncommon energy 
 with which she had spoken, struck unaccount- 
 able awe into the heart of young O'Hara. 
 These tales were familiar to him from his child- 
 hood; and, if he disbelieved the existence of 
 the " Far a Knuick," he was probably the only 
 sceptic within the circle of many miles round 
 the dwelling of his family. 
 
 '' Alice More," said he, '' do not gloom the 
 hour of happiness, by anticipating what may 
 never be fulfilled. I fear not what may be in fu- 
 turity — my hour may be short and transient, but 
 even you, Alice, shall never make me tremble." 
 
 " Hush, hush," said Alice, placing her arm 
 on his, '' there is a step — beware, none but 
 one would venture in the gloaming to the lonely 
 spot on which you and I are standing." 
 
 Henry's heart beat, as he strained his ear to 
 catch the sounds which Alice More had heard; 
 some one advanced, for the leaves rustled be- 
 neath a cautious footstep, and the bouglis, al- 
 though gently displaced, indicated that an in- 
 truder was contiguous. 
 
 " Alice," said a deep, disguised voice, " what 
 do you here? Am I betrayed ; and is it mortal
 
 o'hara. 175 
 
 man wlio stands beside you? Speak, or by the 
 merciful God, I will fire at it, be it man, be it 
 devil." 
 
 To this extraordinary address which issued 
 from the thicket, within a few paces of the spot 
 where they stood, Alice coolly replied, '' Un- 
 grateful boy — am I a betrayer ? Need I have 
 brought you to ' Glan Dullogh' to sell or slay 
 you ? When you lay exhausted on my own bed 
 — when famine, fatigue, and fever made you 
 unable to lift the cup of water to cool your 
 burning lips, did Alice More betray you ? 
 When none could succour ye, none dare shelter 
 ye, who, in the storm of midnight, when nothing 
 earthly was a-foot, sought ye in the haunted 
 cave * where the bloody Arnold murdered his 
 grey-headed father ? Pat Mahony ! come for- 
 ward, and see him whom you would have slain." 
 The person addressed sprung lightly through 
 the bushes which had concealed him, and, with 
 a pistol in his hand, approached confidently to 
 O'Hara; but suddenly, with a cry of horror, 
 
 * A remarkable cavern on the Mourne coast, and the scene 
 of a dreadful murder.
 
 17G o'hara. 
 
 he dropped the weajoon at his feet, and hid his 
 face in his hands. 
 
 '' Unhappy young man, how is it I find you? 
 Why did I select you from all my father's 
 people, and In the fond hope of making you 
 comfortable to your parents and honourable to 
 society, gave you that education which many 
 a well-born Irishman has been denied — and 
 what do I find you, Pat — a wandering out- 
 law, dragging out a detestable and precarious 
 existence, and branded by the community as an 
 outcast. Leave me, Pat, leave me — perhaps, 
 in strict justice I should now give you back to 
 the offended laws whose retribution you have 
 for a time evaded ; but the recollection of what 
 you once were robs me of the resolution. Leave 
 me, Pat Mahony, and leave me for ever ; cross 
 not my path again — retire from this country, 
 or by the soul of my fathers, should we meet 
 again, not even the feelings of past affection 
 shall shelter a murderer from justice." Ma- 
 hony calmly raised his head, and unbuttoned 
 the loose grey coat which he had on ; a blun- 
 derbuss, a case of pistols, and a knife or dirk
 
 o'haha. 177 
 
 were concealed beneath it — these he laid at his 
 master's feet, and then, while sobs almost stifled 
 his utterance, he spoke to young O'Hara — 
 " There, Master Henry, there ; no longer will 
 Pat Mahony keep the hill-side — to be called a 
 murderer by the world — to be the disgrace of 
 my father's old age was hard to bear; but to 
 be scorned by you, Mister Harry — to be 
 thought a cold-blooded assassin — who could 
 bear it ! There lie, what would stretch the best 
 yeoman M'Cullogh could command, had he on 
 the heath dared to question me. Come on, I am 
 ready ; good bye, Alice — heaven reward you 
 for what you did to me and mine ; and when I 
 am at the gallow's-tree, I will declare, as I did 
 to judge and jury, that I never, in life or death, 
 did injure Bryan M'Bride (God take his soul), 
 and as he hopes for God's mercy in the next, 
 (for man's in this world he neither asks nor 
 cares for) never did man or woman's blood lie 
 at the hands of Patrick Mahony!" 
 
 There was a solemnity in the appeal of the 
 youthful outlaw, that brought conviction to his 
 master's heart ; he raised him from the ground, 
 on which in despair he had thrown himself. 
 
 Vol. I. N
 
 178 o'hara. 
 
 and listened to his own confession of the part 
 which he had acted in tlie tragedy of M 'Bride's 
 murder. He had, with others, consented to his 
 death, but repenting, followed the murderers 
 to save their victim. He came only when 
 they were separating, after having accomplished 
 the death of the devoted informer ; he was seen 
 leaving the spot by a passing traveller, and on 
 his imperfect evidence was convicted, and sen- 
 tenced to be executed. The night preceding 
 the day on which he was to suffer, he made a 
 most extraordinary escape from the j)rison, and 
 though two hundred pounds was offered for 
 his detection, he evaded every attempt to seize 
 him. The disaffected through the mountain 
 districts afforded him shelter and assistance, 
 and his uncommon boldness, the result of native 
 courage, unduly excited by desperation, spurred 
 him on to the achievement of many exploits, 
 which at once made him the admiration of the 
 one party, and the terror of the other. 
 
 " Ye must part, ye must part!" exclaimed 
 Alice; *' see how the moon is rising; I will 
 bring you to each other soon, but ere now, 
 Pat Mahony, your foot should have been on
 
 o'hara. 179 
 
 the heather of Glancullen (pointing to a high 
 hill beside them^ ; but God protect us — did you 
 see any thing either of ye?" — and the cold 
 drops stood on her high forehead. 
 
 " Nothing, Alice," said O'Hara, while 
 Mahony cocked his blunderbuss and sprang 
 forward. 
 
 ** Lay it down, Pat — lay it down ; what 
 would arms do against a spirit — it was shorter 
 than you, O'Hara," as she peered over his face 
 and figure — when, turning to the outlaw, 
 *' The wraith was yours, Pat Mahony." 
 
 " Mine, Alice!" said the wanderer; ** well, 
 Well," as he sighed, *' the sooner I am in the 
 ground the better. Hear me. Master Harry ; 
 perilous times are coming — blood will flow in 
 rivers ; join neither party till you see me again ; 
 you may not meet me for a time, and should I 
 never see you more, ask Alice, and she will tell 
 you much." 
 
 At the moment, the bugles of the cavalry 
 sounded, and the evening gun of the garrison 
 pealed across the lake. Alice called out loudly, 
 ** Away, not a moment must be lost!" Ma- 
 hony pressed Henry's hand respectfully to his 
 
 N8
 
 180 o'hara. 
 
 lips, and lifting his arms, concealed them be- 
 neath his coat, and disappeared through the 
 underwood. Alice, taking an opposite direc- 
 tion, beckoned Henry to follow. They passed 
 the thick glades in profound silence, till, emerg- 
 ing from the coverts, they found themselves in 
 an open avenue leading to the castle, which was 
 now revealed in the pale moonlight. Alice 
 paused. " O'Hara, God bless you, and may 
 you be more lucky than all things bode you — 
 of one thing beware— beware of love ; she who 
 will endanger your heart, is now a guest in the 
 halls of Castle Carra ; but a higher destiny 
 awaits you — a more important object must en- 
 gross your thoughts, and your country's claims 
 predominate. Ask me no questions, I will 
 answer none. One thing more, and I will 
 leave you ; — none have deadlier foes — none 
 more devoted friends ; but it is your fate — 
 away, away !" 
 
 She started suddenly from his side, and 
 before he could recover his utterance or self- 
 possession, Alice More had turned into the 
 coppice wood, and was no longer seen. O'Hara 
 stood rivetted to the spot — was it a dream, or
 
 O'HARA. 
 
 181 
 
 was it reality ? This extraordinary meeting with 
 two persons, with whom peculiar circumstances 
 of life and character rendered an interview so 
 improbable, was indeed singular. Alice More 
 was rarely seen beyond the precincts of her 
 little garden, which, with her cottage, was 
 placed in an unfrequented hollow between the 
 bases of Glancullen and Binnion. That Ma- 
 hony, a proscribed felon, should be at large in 
 the evening and in a frequented park, was still 
 more unaccountable. " But these occurrences," 
 said Henry, *' after all, do not require a super- 
 natural solution. This strange woman, ever 
 wayward and unsettled, would naturally choose 
 the dark dell, as a place suited to indulge the 
 fancies of a weak and unsteady mind ; and 
 should I yield up my independence to the 
 trammels of a crazy dotard ? Rouse yourself^ 
 O'Hara ! — there is the home where a fond 
 father waits to embrace you ; banish what 
 would damp its welcome — courage!" 
 
 It was now ten o'clock, and the carriage had 
 made its tedious circuit, and rolled over the 
 distant avenue ; Henry rushed up the steps, 
 and knocked loudly at the door.
 
 182 o'hara. 
 
 <Mt is his foot,'' cried the blind Harper. — 
 ** It is his knock," said old David ; and amidst 
 the joyous bustle of servants, and the over- 
 whelming caresses of his favourite dogs, Henry- 
 rushed into the library, and was locked in the 
 arms of his father.
 
 o'hara. 183 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 But I know what my own taste in female beauty is, and I 
 will describe it. A woman five feet two inches high (without 
 her shoes), half an inch more or less ; plump, even when 
 young-, and prone to crum rather than crust as she increases 
 in years ; small-boned, small hands, and small nimble feet, 
 and giving evident proofs that the fruit of her love is not, for 
 want of an ample natural supply, to be banished to a hireling 
 breast. Sprightly eyes, of I care not what colour ; features 
 that speak; a voice at once feminine and firm, and a laugh 
 that banishes melancholy from my abode. 
 
 Cobbelf. 
 
 When young O'Hara retired to his chambei*, 
 he sought in vain the repose which the fatigue 
 of his day's journey might have been expected 
 to produce. An indistinct apprehension of 
 danger is sometimes felt, although one cannot 
 resolve it to any satisfactory cause ; and Henry 
 endeavoured to banish uneasy feelings which 
 threw a feverish restlessness over his slumbers.. 
 If for a moment he succeeded in composing
 
 184 0"*HARA. 
 
 himself to sleep, dreams of Mahony and Alice 
 More disturbed him, and he arose, to break the 
 chain of sombre meditations, by looking on the 
 placid scenery which lay before his window. 
 The clock struck three, and to his surprise, 
 voices not very distant stole on his ear ; he 
 listened anxiously, and from a glass-door which 
 opened from the library upon the lawn, a man 
 issued, carefully muffled in a dark cloak, and 
 immediately the door was closed and bolted. 
 The stranger stopped — looked around him for 
 an instant, and seemed uncertain which path to 
 strike into. After a moment's hesitation, he 
 turned into a narrow walk which led circuit- 
 ously to the lake, and in a short time the faint 
 sound of his retiring footsteps ceased to be heard. 
 Henry hurried on his clothes, and taking his 
 travelling pistols from the table, passed down 
 to the library. All was perfectly silent, and 
 he found no difficulty in passing through the 
 same door which had given the stranger egress. 
 A private turn through the shrubbery led by a 
 neglected path directly to the water, and this 
 he chose as likely to enable him to overtake the 
 object of his curiosity. Nor was he deceived —
 
 o'hara. 185 
 
 for on reaching the termination of the walk, 
 cautious footsteps announced that the unknown 
 was approaching. Concealed in the thick foli- 
 age of the Laurestinas, he perceived him issue 
 into the moonlight, and after looking carefully 
 round for an instant, he clapped his hands 
 sharply — the signal was promptly answered by 
 a small boat starting from a little inlet, and 
 stopping at the bank to receive him. One 
 man was in the skiff, and as Henry was about 
 to start from his concealment and confront 
 those mysterious persons, the well-known tones 
 of the boatman (in whom he recognised Pat 
 Mahony) arrested him. " Well, Colonel, what 
 the devil kept you — three long hours — and it 
 is so confoundedly cold." 
 
 " Was all quiet since," said the stranger. 
 
 ** Still as the grave — nothing astir but ghosts 
 and water-fowl. Was all right at the castle?" 
 
 " All," said the stranger. *• Young O'Hara 
 detained me a full hour talking of his travels 
 to the old one, and faith I thought the father 
 would be so new-fangled with the story, as 
 to keep me shivering in the closet till cock- 
 crow. I got the despatches for the Directory,
 
 186 o'hara, 
 
 and you must land me as far up the lake as 
 you can." 
 
 '* Come, then," replied the boatman, '^ let 
 us be moving ; if M'Cullogh knew the precious 
 freight and crew that occupy his boat to-night," 
 and he laughed heartily. ** Faugh! there's as 
 much tawdry orange in the stern-sheets as in 
 the Nassau Lodge on a making-night ; only it 
 may be useful again, by St. Peter I would stave 
 it, although it cost me a long hour. Here, 
 Colonel, here is a real Protestant oar for you, 
 never contaminated by a Popish paw till now — 
 pull away , my hear ty . " 
 
 The boat shot away from the shore ; in a few 
 minutes it doubled a head-land, and Henry re- 
 turned to the castle. On reaching the glass- 
 door, a light ip his father's dressing-room at- 
 tracted his attention. This apartment opened 
 immediately from the library, and was con- 
 sidered by the inmates of the house as the 
 private chamber of O'Hara. When engaged 
 here, no domestic presumed to enter, and the 
 task of airing and arranging it was intrusted 
 to his own personal attendant. Through the 
 opening in the shutters Henry perceived that
 
 o'hara. 187 
 
 his father was not alone — there was another 
 in the room, but owing to the confined aper- 
 ture, the figure was but indistinctly seen ; once 
 he passed between him and the lights, and it 
 struck him that he had seen the person before. 
 At the moment, his father lifted a taper from 
 the table, as about to retire, and he was obliged 
 to pass hastily into the library. Before he 
 reached his chamber, the noise of the locking of 
 the door indicated that O'Hara had retired for 
 the night. 
 
 Once more he threw himself upon a restless 
 bed — fancy was too busy to let him sleep, and 
 the suspicion long entertained was too true — his 
 father was an United Irishman ! Every cir- 
 cumstance confirmed it — the characters he had 
 remembered as intimates at Castle Carra were 
 notoriously inimical to the existing government, 
 and would his father hold sentiments different 
 from his associates? No — he knew that the 
 recollection of his military disgrace rankled 
 deeply in his breast — his character as a soldier, 
 and his popularity M'ith the disaffected, would 
 render him a desirable leader to head the exist- 
 ing conspiracy ; the offer would be made, and
 
 ]88 o'hara. 
 
 the remembrance of what he considered as the 
 persecution of the Irish executive would stimu- 
 hite him to accept this dangerous honour, and 
 thus display political feeling and gratify private 
 revenge. Yet if his father was so deeply con- 
 cerned as he had reason to suspect he was in 
 the conspiracy, how should it happen that he 
 was j^ermitted to remain at large, while the 
 other reformers were prisoners or exiles, and 
 when Lord Edward, his associate and friend, 
 was obliged to conceal himself in the country, 
 or remain beyond seas ? On the cool, calculat- 
 ing temper of his father he relied much ; but 
 the insult offered to the honour of a jealous 
 soldier by the government, was too keen to be 
 forgotten, and would spur a duller spirit to 
 retaliation. These reflections robbed him of 
 his rest, and the night of his return was the 
 most unhappy he had ever passed beneath his 
 paternal roof. 
 
 The same anxiety which had kept him from 
 repose made him an early riser, and he strolled 
 into the Park to enjoy the freshness of the 
 morning air. None of the family were stirring 
 — the domestics were engaged in their custo*
 
 o'hara. 189 
 
 mary occupations, and the wolf-dogs deserted 
 the guardianship of the Castle-hall to ramble 
 with their young master, A Danish Fort was 
 at the other side of the gardens, and, from the 
 summit of its grassy mound, commanded a 
 noble prospect of all the variety of scenery 
 which Castle Carra boasted. How often had 
 he laid himself upon its shelving sides, and read 
 and mused away the hours, before manhood, 
 and its inseparable anxieties, had chased the gay 
 and happy visions of thoughtless childhood. 
 Seated on the bank, over the tops of the sur- 
 rounding evergreens, he contemplated two strik- 
 ing objects, and each brought its reflections. 
 The little island where his ancestors for many a 
 generation slept, lay before him — the lake was 
 unruffled by a wave, excepting where the trout 
 sprang at the passing insect, and broke its sur- 
 face here and there with many a circling eddy. 
 The stillness of the water, the dark foliage of 
 the fir and cypress trees, which grew on the in- 
 sulated Burying-place, recalled tlie memory of 
 her who rested beneath their gloomy shade ; 
 he thought of " years agone," when she had 
 rambled with him over the adjacent grounds,
 
 190 o'hara. 
 
 and his eye was now *' upon the very spot— 
 the last to which his feet had followed her." 
 The tear of filial sorrow trembled on his cheek ; 
 but, when his glance rested on the livelier ob- 
 jects which lay beyond the water, the soft emo- 
 tion vanished ; and, as he dashed the tear away, 
 the darkened brow and flashing countenance 
 betrayed the presence of some unwelcome ob- 
 ject ; — it was the large and magnificent mansion 
 of M'Cullogh ; every thing connected with it 
 bespoke the wealth and profusion of the owner 
 — an immense park was newly walled in, spa- 
 cious gardens were laid out, while plantations 
 of prodigious extent encompassed this princely 
 demesne. «' And was it not enough," thought 
 he, ** to heap on the house of O'Hara every 
 insult which political rancour could inflict ! 
 Was it not enough to place our name in the 
 mouth of every brawHng bigot, but this up- 
 start must come to beard us at our door, and 
 presume to bribe us for a spot sacred to our 
 ancient family — a pleasure -house above my 
 mother's tomb ! — her ashes to be violated by a 
 menial ! " 
 
 It was, indeed, a bitter moment ; the insulted
 
 o'hara. 191 
 
 honour of a high-born Irishman was excited, 
 and the softer sympathies a mother's memory 
 had recalled, only gave deeper poignancy to 
 feelings outraged by an arrogant intruder. 
 Footsteps were heard, and he perceived two 
 females approaching — their appearance could 
 not be mistaken — and Lady Sarah De Cliiford 
 and her daughter stopped nearly beneath the 
 mound he stood upon. The elder and taller of 
 the two was still a fine woman ; and confident 
 that the charms she had once so lavishly pos- 
 sessed were but slightly impaired by the hand 
 of time, appeared, by the studied elegance of 
 her dress, determined still to assert her claim 
 to admiration. Her face was of that order 
 which never fails to command attention from 
 even the most careless admirer of beauty — the 
 features were marked and regular, the eye full 
 and brilliant; but a haughty assumption of 
 superiority was discernible in every look, and 
 an unconscious knitting of the dark and arching 
 brow, betrayed a tem^oer impatient of contra- 
 diction and intolerant of restraint. Henry 
 turned his attention to the younger lady ; never, 
 he determined, had he seen so lovely a face,
 
 192 o'hara. 
 
 never had he viewed a more perfect form. She 
 seemed fuller in person than females usually 
 are at that early period of life ; but a total ab- 
 sence of every thing coarse and inelegant gave 
 to the roundness of her figure that rich and 
 sumptuous character vi^ith which statuaries 
 have gifted their Hebe and Sleeping Venus. 
 The form of her bosom and arms was exquisite ; 
 and when she stooped to tie her sandal, which 
 had by accident been unfastened, a foot and 
 limb of perfect symmetry were disclosed : the 
 shape of the face was particularly fine — the 
 fairness of the complexion strikingly contrasted 
 with nut-brown hair, * while the wreathed smile' 
 which curled on the lip, and lightened in the 
 eye, gave that life to loveliness without which 
 even beauty cannot charm. 
 
 *« Well, I never supposed such cruelty ex- 
 isted in this wicked world — to think that peo- 
 ple could exist four long hours in a room of 
 West Indian temperature ! Country routes and 
 strong tea would destroy me in one winter ; and 
 that noisy mob at loo and the whist-table, was 
 enough to destroy the nerves of Broughton 
 himself. How I pitied you, Mamma, after I
 
 O^HARA. 193 
 
 was tired pitying myself. ' Lady Sarah, (mi- 
 micking) ogh ! if you had but another trumph, 
 and I had the king, and you had the queen, 
 and he had the ten, and she the knave, why we 
 would have been game. Well, we'll squeeze 
 their dollar after all, I hope.' " 
 
 " Emily, for the sake of Heaven, never name 
 that beastly Scanlan to me — the brute knows 
 no more of whist than magic ; and then to have 
 him drawling out after every deal his ifs and 
 ands, till half the pack are disposed of; and 
 the savage is half an hour what he calls * put- 
 ting them on their legs ;' he would no more at- 
 tempt to play with a knave, heels uppermost, 
 than with his eyes shut." 
 
 " And the dancing," continued the young 
 lady ; *' the musicians drunk, the kitchen emp- 
 tied to the very turnspit to see the quality, the 
 low room reeking with mutton lights — why, 
 my ottar had no more effect over this combi- 
 nation of vlllauous smells than dead lavendar 
 or withered rose-leaves. But where is the Star 
 — the Phoenix — the Apollo Belvidere — the Non- 
 pareil. Oil ! Lady Sarah, I am dying to meet 
 Vol. I. O
 
 194 o'hara. 
 
 this eighth wonder. Bell, luckiest of waiting- 
 women, has seen him, and pronounces him an 
 Adonis proper, of six feet two inches." 
 
 Henry began to feel a little uneasy ; he was 
 an unintentional listener, and there would be 
 now much awkwardness in a discovery. The 
 dogs at the moment rustled through the under- 
 wood. ** Some one is coming this way," said 
 Lady Sarah. '* Let us strike into the other 
 walk." Emily threw her shawl round her 
 shoulders, and turning away, left young CHara 
 in undisturbed indulgence of his own thoughts. 
 How long his musings would have continued, 
 we cannot pretend to guess, for the breakfast- 
 bell startled him from his reverie. 
 
 "• Have you seen my truant boy," said 
 O'Hara, as he entered the breakfast-room. 
 <« But no — his first visit will be to the kennel 
 or paddock, where his old favourites are placed 
 in honourable retirement. We never part with 
 our horses. Lady Sarah ; when they have lost 
 their vigour in our service, we allow them food, 
 shelter, and protection; and, among yonder 
 group of venerable hunters, (which he pointed
 
 o'hara. 195 
 
 out in a distant enclosure) you may remark two 
 milk-white ponies, one was the first horse which 
 carried Henry when a child, and the other the 
 last favourite of his lamented mother. What 
 a brute Scanlan appeared to be, when he re- 
 commended me to shoot them, or remove them 
 to the heaths of Finlough, as their pasturage 
 would fatten beeves admirably. Poor animals ! 
 The first was a merciful proposition, when com- 
 pared with the last. But here comes my boy," 
 and his eyes brightened as he gazed on the form 
 that entered ; *' here comes the heir to all the 
 pride and poverty of Castle Carra l" 
 
 After the ceremonial of introduction was 
 over, and the business of the breakfast-table 
 permitted a furtive glance to be interchanged 
 between the ladies, Lady Sarah's eye re- 
 proached her daughter with incredulity, while 
 the heightened colour on Emily's cheek con- 
 fessed how truly fame had spoken, when she 
 boasted of this accomplished cavalier. 
 
 The Doctor's vacant chair produced an in- 
 quiry from Henry, where his old friend was ? 
 
 «* Really, Mr. O'Hara," said Lady Sarah, 
 
 o 2
 
 196 o'hara* 
 
 ** that is a question of some difficulty. I ex- 
 hibited him in more than usual health and spi- 
 rits at Mr. Nugent's, last night, but having re- 
 peatedly inquired for my Cicisbeo, when the 
 carriage was ordered, I discovered that I had 
 been cruelly abandoned by the false knight, 
 who had been seen riding off with a country- 
 man, but whether on a physical or political 
 errand, no person could pretend to determine." 
 
 " I'll acquit him of the latter, unless he is 
 marvellously changed since I left Ireland." 
 
 *« But here," said the Major, '' comes a cou- 
 rier, and probably brings tidings of the lost 
 gallant;" and, as he looked again — '* Himself, 
 by all that's healing !" 
 
 Doctor Molloy had been called from the 
 rout of the preceding evening, to attend a sick 
 tenant of Castle Carra, and having been de- 
 tained to a late hour beside the patient's bed, 
 had taken up his abode for the night with an 
 adjoining farmer. Here the news of his fa- 
 vourite's return had reached him at the moment 
 he was venting his wrath on the Village Apo- 
 thecary. To roar for his pony, and strike into
 
 o'hara. 197 
 
 a lame canter, was the work of a moment ; and, 
 when discovered from the windows, he was 
 evidently in violent emotion ; while a peasant, 
 without hat or shoes, was running alongside. 
 A discharge of technicals announced their 
 nearer approach — 
 
 ** Sinner that I am, I tell you it was no more 
 Socotrine than Asafoetida. What will the 
 world come to? Nothing but Jamaica, vile 
 Jamaica ; but where's Harry — where's Harry ? 
 I say, you Hobson, tell Fillup to * tere et 
 divide in charte ;' but zounds, why talk to a 
 clod-hopper. Pll write." 
 
 " Af your Honour would write plain, for 
 the other Doctor says he can't read it — " 
 
 '' The other Doctor, he's no Doctor — an 
 Apothecary, Pharmacopolist, adulterator of 
 aloes. Ah ! Harry, I see you — Damn Fillup, 
 sells Jamaica, and calls it Socotrine." The 
 Doctor's joy at his Pupil's return was indescri- 
 bable. " Never thought to see you home — 
 hate the French, — Goths, Barbarians. Cut off 
 Lavoisier's head — first Chemist in the world ; — 
 tucked up the Sieur Fredaine to a lamp-iron — 
 unequalled in comparative anatomy."
 
 198. o'hara."^ 
 
 Molloy swallowed a hasty meal, and followed 
 his Pupil out, to ascertain if he had really es- 
 caped from those ruthless Republicans, who 
 showed so little respect to Chemists and com- 
 parative Anatomy.
 
 o'h\ra. 199 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 -And then the Justice 
 
 ****** 
 Full of wise saws and modern instances. 
 
 As You Like It. 
 
 Time flew rapidly— nothing of consequence oc- 
 curred at Castle Carra — the days 'passed in re- 
 ceiving the visits and congratulations of the 
 neighbouring gentry, and to the surprise of 
 the O' Haras, and joy of Lady Sarah, many 
 families whom political opinions had prevented 
 for a long time from calling at the Castle, 
 seized on the return of the heir as a proper 
 opportunity of leaving their names, and thus 
 renewing a former intimacy. In revisiting his 
 ancient haunts, Emily generally accompanied 
 young O'Hara ; and the constant business which 
 engrossed the Major's time, and Lady Sarah's 
 indolence, left them, of necessity, much toge-
 
 200 o'hara. 
 
 ther. An invitation to a party at Mrs. Glos- 
 sins, reminded Henry that he had not returned 
 the visits of his friends, and he mounted his 
 horse and set out to make a round of the neigh- 
 bouring mansions. 
 
 The first visit of the morning, was to his next 
 neighbour, the Justice. Mr. Scanlan had been 
 for many years the proprietor of a country 
 shop, in which he had carried on trade to some 
 advantage, when the death of a maiden aunt 
 induced him to leave off business, and retire to 
 a profitable farm, which had been the property 
 of the departed virgin. Fortune took one pair 
 of scales out of his hands only to replace them 
 with another ; for at the next contested elec- 
 tion the Government candidate, in considera- 
 tion of the use, pro tempore, of certain forty- 
 shilling freeholders, procured him the commis- 
 sion of the peace, and conceded the balance of 
 justice to his custody. In the country for many 
 miles round, there were few less exceptionable 
 Magistrates — he jobbed, and so did they all ; 
 and then he was an empty, but a good-natured, 
 fool. The Quarter Sessions heard his harangues, 
 but never blushed for his persecutions. In his
 
 o'hara. 201 
 
 office he talked plaintiff and traverser tired of 
 law ; and as he always, instead of encouraging 
 them to hostilities, endeavoured to persuade 
 them to peace, the going Judges had seldom 
 any of his handy -work to distract them at the 
 Assizes. He himself was the only sufferer, for 
 he was laughed at by the aristocracy, and 
 humbugged by the mob. 
 
 Through a long winding lane, darkened by 
 high quickset hedges, Henry approached the 
 mansion. It was an old-fashioned building, in 
 which taste and cleanliness never seemed to 
 have been on terms of intimacy. On arriving 
 by a circuit through piggeries and cow-sheds, 
 and turf-stacks at the grand entrance, his loud 
 knock brought a wild-looking, staring lad to 
 the door, and the following colloquy ensued: — 
 
 ** Pray is your master at home?" 
 
 " He is, or he's all as one — " 
 
 " You're a liar," roared an old woman, 
 starting out from the kitchen ; '' and ye know 
 ye are, Paddy Pheahen." The accused turned 
 wrathfully round. 
 
 "I tell you, Molly Corr, that his Worship 
 is at home, af ye'd but tell God's truth."
 
 202 o'hara. 
 
 ** But he's not, ye whalp, ye," returned 
 Molly Corr. 
 
 '* Bad luck to the liars !" ejaculated Master 
 Pheahen. 
 
 '* Isn't that the taxman, ye baste, ye?" cried 
 the old lady, in no suppressed whisper, as she 
 bolted forward. 
 
 '' No, it's not, ye ould Ommadawn*!" shouted 
 the boy. *^ Don't I know him well, a wee, hard- 
 featured man, on a sorrel mare." 
 
 Henry hearing himself taken for one of not 
 the most popular professions in Ireland, an- 
 nounced his name. The old woman curtsied 
 to the ground, while the footman jumped out 
 of the door. 
 
 " His worship's, please your honour, in the 
 mud, (turf-bog). Run, Paddy Pheahen, the 
 devil's luck to ye, and tell him who's come to 
 see him." Molly then hooked O'Hara's horse 
 at the door, and ushered him into the mansion. 
 
 During the absence of the proprietor, Henry 
 amused himself by examining the apartment. 
 It was evidently the chanjber of audience into 
 which he had been conducted. The Justice's 
 
 * Ommadawn or Omadaun, in Irish, means ajbol.
 
 o'hara, 203 
 
 Assistant was open on the table, among paper 
 and implements of writing. The library con- 
 sisted of a dozen or two of old and odd volumes, 
 most probably procured on easy terms from 
 some itinerant bibliopolist since the elevation 
 of the enlightened owner. A fowling-piece, 
 fishing-rod, and dog-couples, were suspended 
 above the chimney-piece. On the opposite 
 wall, and exhibited to the very best advantage, 
 hung the military accoutrements of his honour, 
 who was first lieutenant in the Cultimaugh 
 Cavalry ; while boots, breeches, and all sorts 
 of garments, occupied sundry pegs in the 
 apartment. This chamber seemed also to be 
 the refectory of the mansion, for the table was 
 covered with the necessary apparatus for eating, 
 and a tea-kettle simmering on the fire, associ- 
 ated with a black bottle and sugar-bowl, inti- 
 mated that Justices of the Peace were, like other 
 mortals, liable to occasional thirstiness. 
 
 The visit of the young stranger seemed to 
 have created a mighty confusion throughout 
 the edifice — loud and earnest whisperings were 
 heard in the hall — at last the door burst open, 
 and in rushed Paddy Pheahen; he flew to a
 
 204 
 
 O HARA. 
 
 press, but exclaiming — " Holy Bridget! the 
 more ye haste, the worse ye''ll speed," disap- 
 peared ; but soon returned with a fork, with 
 which he attacked the door of the cupboard, 
 dashed it violently open, and from this reposi- 
 tory extracted the usual implements for shav- 
 ing — applied the box to the pipe of the tea- 
 kettle, and proceeded in raising a lather with 
 due diligence. Henry stared with amazement 
 at the oddity of the scene, when Pat with great 
 composure requested that ** as his Honour was 
 brave and lengthy, he would lift him down the 
 leathers." 
 
 The boon was granted. Pat threw the 
 breeches across his arm, tore down a pair of 
 top-boots from a peg, and exclaiming, ** The 
 Justice will be with you in a shake," bolted 
 out of the apartment. 
 
 After a considerable delay, Mr. Scanlan, 
 fully attired, entered, and with respect and 
 cordiality welcomed the visiter to his house, 
 and congratulated him on his improved and 
 altered appearance. He protested he never 
 had a more constant and punctual customer, he 
 meant friend, than his father, and concluded
 
 o'hara. 205 
 
 his speech by entreating him to take pot-luck, 
 in a bachelor's way, with him on Tuesday. 
 Henry accepted the invitation, and after a few 
 desultory observations on the game-laws, and 
 the advantage of planting potatoes in drills, in- 
 stead of riggs (ridges), the visiter took leave of 
 the magistrate, and rode slowly from the door. 
 
 Rockland, the seat of his friend *' the Cap- 
 tain," (as Mr. Nugent was called by the country 
 people) lay on the opposite side of Ballycar- 
 naney (the name of Mr. Scanlan's chateau.) 
 It was necessary to pass by the Justice's hay- 
 yard to reach the cross-road leading to the com- 
 mander's, and from an enclosure the voice of 
 Pat Pheahen was heard singing with great 
 spirit, although his notes were frequently lost 
 among the screams of alarmed poultry. Pat 
 was too intent on his music and the business 
 which then occupied him, to perceive that he 
 was not alone ; he held a hen in his grasp, and 
 from the attitude of the bird and the presence 
 of a knife, Henry conjectured that deliberate 
 murder was about to ensue. Pat, all unmoved, 
 sang gaily on — 
 
 My love, says I, you're Venus fair — 
 No, sir, says she, I'm Norah Creena.
 
 206 o'hara. 
 
 When the voice of Molly Corr arrested the 
 harmony. *' Drap her, Pat Pheahen, drap 
 her ; he'll not stop, thank God, for dinner. 
 Agh ! if we were but over Tuesday ; and its 
 the yalla hin that's sittin, ye have a hauld of. 
 Oh, ye natarel !" 
 
 Pat Pheahen flung the hen at Molly Corr, 
 
 bid the devil bother her for an ould : the 
 
 monosyllable was luckily lost in the confusion, 
 and as it probably might not have been flatter* 
 ing to Mrs. Corr's character, we will omit con- 
 jecturing what the epithet was. Pat clapped 
 his hands in his pockets, whistled a loud and 
 lively air, and danced gaily to his own music. 
 
 Rockland at a little distance appeared to 
 have been formerly insular; a flat marshy 
 country, in many places covered with water, 
 surrounded it on every side. The eminence 
 arising from those morasses, on which the house 
 stood, had for a century back been the resi- 
 dence of the Nugents, and yet it was but im- 
 perfectly reclaimed. When Henry had last 
 been in the country, Mr. Nugent was com- 
 mencing a large addition to the mansion, and 
 he had afterwards understood that this, added 
 to his former embarrassments, had severely
 
 o'hara. 207 
 
 injured the 'Squire's property, already loaded 
 with incumbrances. As he approached Rock- 
 land, every thing looked as it had always done. 
 The entrance-gate was oS its hinges, and many 
 practicable breaches were visible in the park- 
 wall, but the present appearance of the man- 
 sion was most singular: it was what an Irish 
 artist would term of the true " Comj^osite 
 order ;" for, being the handy work of several 
 of the Captain^s progenitors, each man seemed 
 merely to have consulted his own taste, un- 
 prejudiced by that of his predecessor. The 
 wings and additions were as different as they 
 were numerous — some were built of brick, 
 others were constructed of stone. The interior 
 was still more curious ; for the numerous ad- 
 ditions had their several lobbies and staircases, 
 and to reach some of the *' Wee-set-offs," (as 
 the domestics of the family entitled these out- 
 shots,) short turns, ascents and descents, were 
 so numerous, that the whole edifice seemed to 
 be built pretty nearly on the plan of the Cretan 
 Labyrinth . 
 
 A person who acted as porter joined Henry 
 at the gate, and accompanied him to the man-
 
 208 o'hara. 
 
 sion. Two men, who at his first entrance into 
 the avenue had come forward to the front of 
 the house, now disappeared. Their showy 
 dresses and arms, however, caught Henry's 
 eye, and he inquired of his companion who 
 they were ? The fellow looked knowingly on 
 hearing the question, and replied in an under 
 tone — 
 
 " The Captain, please your Honour's, on his 
 keepin, and its two of the yeomen, who're 
 watching for fear of bailiffs." 
 
 *' Good Heaven'." observed the visiter, " is 
 it possible that a man in that embarrassed situa- 
 tion would think of seeing company, and his 
 house beset by creditors?" 
 
 ** Arrah the devil a man of them dare come 
 there," replied the gate-keeper, " for two 
 clainer or sharper boys aint in the corjDS than 
 the two very boys that's gardin him, and a 
 whistle would bring the dogs from the yard 
 and the boys from the kitchen." 
 
 Perhaps it was the intimate terms on which 
 the janitor and horseman appeared to be, or 
 probably from a prior knowledge of the visiter 
 being expected, which prevented these tutelary
 
 o'hara. 209 
 
 Genii from barring his passage ; on the con- 
 trary, one of them advanced from his ambus- 
 cade, and having received O'Hara's horse, 
 applied his knuckle to his mouth, and whistled 
 loudly. A boy answered the signal by coming 
 to lead the steed to the stable, and Henry 
 stepped into the hall. 
 
 He entered the mansion unannounced, for the 
 gate-keeper, acting as a vidette, immediately re- 
 turned to his post, and the soldier as quickly ab- 
 sconded. A knocker would have been desirable, 
 but the door unhappily proved to be unfurnished 
 with that customary appendage. No servant 
 was visible, and no bell appeared by which one 
 could be summoned. Repeated bursts of mer- 
 riment were heard from the apartment on the 
 right, and Henry determined to enter this 
 joyous assembly. He paused with his hand on 
 the lock — romping, he knew, was the order of 
 the day at Rockland, but the noise and tumult 
 in the drawing-room was most tremendous. 
 Feeling, however, that if any of the inmates 
 discovered him as he stood, he might be sus- 
 pected to be a listener, he boldly pushed the 
 door open. The entrance was not undisputed, 
 
 Vol. I. P
 
 210 0*HARA. 
 
 a chair-cushion, hurled with miglity force, 
 struck the wall beside him, and narrowly 
 missed his head. Henry started back at re- 
 ceiving this extraordinary salutation, while the 
 females of the party, discovering that a stranger 
 had entered, uttered a wild scream, and ran to 
 sofas and chairs, leaving the carpet strewn 
 with cushions, gloves, and bonnets. A hand- 
 some young man in regimentals advanced from 
 the head of the room, and apologized for his 
 great apparent rudeness, " but really he 
 thought that Mr. Edward Nugent, who had 
 just left the room, had been returning." Henry 
 smiled at his mistake, and assured him that no 
 apology was necessary, and, addressing himself 
 to Miss Nugent, who was covered with blushes 
 in the corner, renewed his former acquaintance, 
 and begged not to be considered a stranger. 
 The easy, volatile manner of the speaker had 
 more effect than his words ; he was speedily 
 introduced and acquainted with all the party. 
 Familiarity gradually ensued — romping recom- 
 menced by degrees, and in five minutes from the 
 date of his debut, Henry was on the floor an 
 active combatant.
 
 o'hara. 211 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 The devil take order, now ! I'll to the throng. 
 
 Henry V. 
 
 The latest addition to the neighbourhood we 
 mentioned, was Mr. George Glossin, late of 
 Grafton-street, Dublin, who had by great in- 
 dustry and good leather, made a fortune as a 
 ladies' shoemaker. His lady was a professed 
 ' Bas Bleu,' and had formerly obtained some 
 celebrity as a provincial performer, before Mr. 
 Glossin led her from the Temple of Thespis to 
 the Altar of Hymen. When the Fitzmaurice 
 estate came to the hammer, he purchased, by 
 order of his lady, a small hunting-lodge, as 
 Mrs. Glossin was ambitious to lead a life of 
 classic retirement. She changed the name from 
 Tally ho to Pompeii, demolished dog-kennels 
 without mercy, and new modelled the Villa to 
 her own perfect satisfaction. Mr. Glossin was 
 
 P 2
 
 212 o'hara. 
 
 what ladies call an excellent family man ; he 
 was most submissive to his wife, and never ven- 
 tured to think or act without previously ob- 
 taining the approbation of his gifted helpmate. 
 A ride on his fat dun pony, a bottle of wine 
 after dinner, and permission to sleep ad libitum, 
 rendered him the happiest of mortals. He 
 never interfered with politics, although Mrs. 
 Glossin was a staunch Republican ; and, as he 
 was clearly unfitted for active life, neither party 
 troubled him on the subject. 
 
 Major O'Hara had gone through the form 
 of visiting and entertaining the Glossins on 
 their arrival in the country, but as he rarely 
 went into company, their acquaintance had al- 
 most ceased. On the arrival, however, of Lady 
 Sarah at Castle Carra, Mrs. Glossin was 
 among the first to visit one whose name had 
 been so often recorded in the annals of tonnish 
 life ; and the day after Henry's return was 
 known, Mr. Glossin and his dun pony were 
 put in requisition to invite him to what his 
 Lady called " her Literary Melange." What 
 kind of concerns Mrs. Glossin and her Me- 
 lange were, young O'Hara could not imagine.
 
 O ITARA. 
 
 213 
 
 His father knew nothing of them ; Lady Sarah 
 could only tell that she heard that Glossin had 
 been a shoemaker. Dr. Molloy, who had been 
 there professionally, assured him that he was 
 in a state of dotage, and the remainder of the 
 family perfectly deranged. The Doctor pro- 
 tested to God, nothing but the wish he ever 
 had to disseminate useful information, would 
 tempt him to have any fellowship or intercourse 
 with Miss Carney, who resided with Mrs. 
 Glossin, and whom he pronounced to be a vain 
 and impudent maniac. She had the hardihood 
 to assert, that painting was a nobler art than 
 physic ; however, he would this once deign to 
 tolerate her, but never, never, would he have 
 a good opinion of any woman who would com- 
 pare a dauber of canvass with a Professor of 
 Pharmacy. What would Davy Drench say if 
 he heard her ? 
 
 Henrj^'s curiosity was much excited to see 
 this extraordinary family; some unexpected 
 guests had dined at Castle Carra, and it was 
 consequently late when the party arrived at 
 Pompeii. During the momentary stop in the 
 entrance-hall, while the ladies were unshawling,
 
 214 o'hara. 
 
 a most extraordinary uproar was heard in the 
 reception-rooms, and the parties paused by 
 mutual consent, as a violent quarrel was then 
 raging between Doctor Molloy and a number 
 of the gentler sex. 
 
 . «' Ohl laws, Doctor, dear, there's Mrs. 
 Money penny, and she in her present delicate 
 situation ;"—" and Mrs. Jordan," cried ano- 
 ther damsel; — " and Mrs. Dowdale," said a 
 third; ''Ladies, for God's sake — ;" but ano- 
 ther volley of voices overwhelmed the speaker. 
 
 " You, Doctor, who know the consequences ; 
 why Mrs. Black's as white as a sheet." " Salts 
 for Mrs. Dowdale," shouted another. "Don't 
 be alarmed, Mrs. Jordan, he would not be so 
 cruel at to read that dreadful paper." *' Will 
 you hear me, ladies?" A still more terrific 
 burst totally overpowered the unfortunate 
 Doctor, and the servant seizing on a moment's 
 calm, at the full strength of his lungs an- 
 nounced *' Lady Sarah De Clifford." 
 
 The reception rooms of Pompeii were 
 crowded to suffocation, as the country had 
 risen en masse ^ attracted by the novelty of a 
 literary display. The entre of the Castle Carra
 
 o'hara. 21.:i 
 
 party seemed electric. Lady Sarah's rank and 
 jewels, and Emily's beauty combined, were 
 certainly enough to derange the order of a 
 country rout. One party flocked to gaze 
 upon the lovely stranger, and another to wel- 
 come young O'Hara. From the moment they 
 entered, Mrs. Glossin ajDpeared to forget that 
 her rooms contained any persons save them- 
 selves^ and even the High Sheriff was for a 
 time unlooked ; but " malgre" all her efforts, 
 the hostess found monopoly impossible, till at 
 last she cunningly contrived to place them in a 
 corner, and occupy a chair which commanded 
 the devoted group. 
 
 '* Pardon me, dear Mr. O'Hara, but really 
 the uncommon satisfaction I feel in having such 
 an addition to the little circle of Pompeii has 
 flurried me excessively. Beauty and Genius 
 should ever go together," as she glanced right 
 and left. " Dr. Molloy has been loud in your 
 praises — I mean your mental ; but I have for- 
 gotten you ; — here, Joanna, (to a little girl, 
 her daughter,) send the footman with coffee. I 
 call Joanna after the pride of Genius and of 
 Women, Joanna Baillie. James, the tray, Mn
 
 216 
 
 O HAKA, 
 
 Glossin's mother and I quarrelled on the sub- 
 ject : a good, plain sort of body, but not a ray 
 about her ! She entreated me to call her De- 
 borah, and tendered a five hundred pound de- 
 benture as a douceur, but I scorned the vulgar 
 bribe, and Deborah and her detestable deben- 
 ture were discarded from my nomenclature — 
 and there she is * without a shilling, but a 
 nobler name,' as Miss Carney sweetly ex- 
 pressed it in a delightful little poem, elicited by 
 the occurrence. Here, Mirabeau, (to an ama- 
 zingly ugly little boy) call George Washing- 
 ton. Poor Charlotte Smith has burned her 
 foot, and my little Bonaparte is quite an infant, 
 * mewling and puking in his nurse's arms,' as 
 the immortal Bard has it. George Washing- 
 ton, as you may perceive, has suffered from the 
 small-pox ; but, thank Heaven, Genius is not 
 subjected to the calamities incident to beauty ; 
 and though Pope was plain, who captivated so 
 many hearts? But, my dear Mr. O'Hara, will 
 you, for Heaven's sake, endeavour to pacify 
 the Doctor, and we shall have our second read- 
 ing." And, indeed, a pacificator was necessar}-, 
 as the Doctor furiously resented the treatment
 
 OHARA. 217 
 
 his fasciculus (as he termed his morceau) had 
 received, which having been assailed with a 
 charge of indecency, was (as Bob Acres would 
 say) ** voted incapable/* 
 
 No one could have undertaken the task of 
 soothing the irritated author, with any proba- 
 bility of success, but Henry, who having taken 
 him aside, persuaded him that so ingenious and 
 erudite an affair as the aforesaid fasciculus, was 
 quite above the standard of female understand- 
 ing ; lamenting, at the same time, the mental 
 weakness of the sex, and whispering the old 
 proverb of '* Pearls thrown to swine." The 
 Doctor was mollified, and Miss Carney was 
 called on for her contribution. 
 
 Miss Carney, the dear friend and literary 
 companion of Mrs. Glossin, was known to the 
 world as the Authoress of two or three suc- 
 cessful Novels, and a volume of Namby Pam- 
 bys, of the Delia Crusca school. The friend- 
 ship subsisting between the Lady of Pompeii 
 and the Novelist was most singular — for whe- 
 ther from her manners, in which a more than 
 ordinary share of acid prevailed, or some name- 
 less cause, the women generally disliked her;
 
 218 
 
 O HARA. 
 
 while, with the otlier sex, she was still more 
 unfortunate, for the men usually concluded the 
 description of some unlucky female by saying 
 she was '* just such another devil as Miss Car- 
 ney." Her personal appearance was not in 
 her favour — she was tall, thin, and angular ; 
 and having reached that unhappy period of life 
 when it is said unwedded ladies all but despair, 
 the strange efforts she made use of to repair 
 the damages of time, by dress and the " art 
 cosmetique," placed her in that order of beings 
 which in Ireland are distinguished by the title 
 of Dusts. On this eventful evening she was 
 attired in the very extremity of a freshly-im- 
 ported fashion ; her hair wreathed fancifully 
 with oak-leaves and flowers — roses she had in 
 profusion, but they were confined to her head, 
 for those which had erst bloomed upon her 
 cheek, had absconded before the recollections 
 of the greater part of the company could re- 
 call the memory of their existence. 
 
 Miss Carney advanced with due dignity to 
 the table. The company were as quiet as 
 could be expected, as the females were half 
 tired, and the men half drunk. She surveyed
 
 o'lIARA. 219 
 
 her auditory 'with a gracious smile, and unclo- 
 sing a huge portfeuille, commenced her prefa- 
 tory address : — 
 
 *' The short and trifling scene I am about to 
 confide to your indulgence, is from the MS. 
 Romance of * The Awful Monitor, or the 
 Caverns of St. Antonio.' The characters 
 which will be Introduced are, the Duca D'Ur- 
 bino ; Rosalvina dell' Angelicano; Annette, her 
 Maid; the Viscounts Manfredonia, Squande- 
 rini, and Martelli ; their profligate companions, 
 Signors Contarino, Marinelli, and Scamparoni ; 
 with the Bravoes Sanguinario and Spado; 
 the Castellan, Apothecary, Confessor, Sbirri, 
 Gondoliris, and a part of the Banditti." 
 
 *' Lord preserve us from such a brigade," 
 cried a Yeomanry Oflicer. " Amen," was 
 generally responded. 
 
 Miss Carney requested the candles should be 
 snufl'ed, and then smilingly commenced — 
 
 ^* Night came on dark and dismally — the 
 clouds, in thick and eddying columns, densely 
 shaded the lofty watch-turrets of the Castello, 
 while vivid lightning, accompanied by pealing 
 thunder, awfully illuminated its dusky corri-
 
 220 
 
 O KARA. 
 
 dors ; the demon of the storm bestrode tlie 
 blast, and yet, amid the pauses of the tempest, 
 bursts of noisy merriment ascended from the 
 grand saloon, where D'Urbino revelled with 
 his profligate compeers. One bosom in the 
 Castle was undismayed, for conscious innocence 
 cheered it. Oh ! that was Rosalvina's. ' Alas !' 
 sighed the sufferer, * what a night is this for 
 the guilty. Does not thy flinty bosom tremble, 
 Duca D'Urbino?' 
 
 '* The sufferer's soliloquy was interrupted by 
 a noise, and a firm and sounding step approach- 
 ing the painted chamber, resounded along the 
 tesselated passage. The unknown stopped and 
 knocked loudly at the door, — the sound was in- 
 stantly repeated, and before our fainting He- 
 roine could say ' Come in,' the portal was 
 rudely unclosed, and the ruthless Sanguinario 
 entered. 
 
 " Rosalvina sprang from the sofa, and with in- 
 dignant displeasure pourtrayed in her fine face, 
 demanded, ' Who was the mannerless intruder?' 
 
 ** ' Donna,' replied the unblushing Bandit, 
 * it is Sanguinario, your Excellenza's very 
 humble slave, who now intrudes on your Serene 
 Highness, to conduct you to the expiring Duca.'
 
 o'hara. 221 
 
 ** Indignation gave way to terror, as with 
 ashy paleness tinting her lovely features, Ro- 
 salvina gasped, * Merciful Heaven ! is he dying V 
 
 '' ' Only with love,' said the Robber, ele- 
 vating his whiskered lip into a demoniac grin. 
 
 '' * I will not go,' said the trembler ; ' the 
 daughter of Angelicano holds no intercourse 
 with hiebriate Cavaliers.' 
 
 " ' And this is then your resolve, haughty 
 Donna." 
 
 " ' It is, man of blood,' replied the perse- 
 cuted Contessa. 
 
 '- ' Ha!' roared Sanguinario, as he paused 
 for a moment, and gazed on her with a look of 
 indescribable malice, ' this shall be remem- 
 bered;' and flinging the door almost off its 
 hinges, he strode furiously from the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 '• Scarcely had the Bandit retired, leaving 
 our Heroine in a state of pitiable agitation, when 
 the light-hearted Annette entered ; but on per- 
 ceiving the palUd countenance of her angelic 
 mistress, the attached creature burst into tears, 
 and exclaimed, ' Oh ! has that terrible San- 
 Sfuinario been here V
 
 222 o'hara. 
 
 «* ♦ He has,' faintly articulated Rosalvina. 
 
 *' 'Oh! did you but know what has hap- 
 pened since I left your Excellenza, to get harts- 
 horn from the new Apothecary, Pedrillo ; you 
 may know him. Donna, — he wears a sooty-co* 
 loured wig, and has a turn in his left eye — ''^ 
 
 '« ' Go on, dear Annette, and never mind Pe- 
 drillo's left eye,' said Rosalvina, with a 
 heavenly smile. 
 
 *« « Well, thank the Virgin, I have got the 
 hartshorn, or you would faint past recovery. 
 Well, as I was crossing the west corridor, to 
 reach the spiral staircase, leading to north- 
 east gallery, I heard a footstep rapidly follow- 
 ing me ; blessed Mary, how my heart palpi- 
 tated ; I could neither go back nor forward ; 
 but do not look so pale, dear Donna. On came 
 the person, and who do you think it was V 
 
 << * Probably Anselmo, the gardener,' said 
 the Heroine. 
 
 *' * Oh, no, poor man, he has been confined 
 in the dungeons for the last week, by order of 
 the Duca, for being accessory to a bad sallad, 
 although he offered to take his oath the fault 
 lay in the dressing — '
 
 o'hara. 223 
 
 «* * Well, well, go on, Annette.' 
 *' * It was Ludovico,' said the Waiting-maid, 
 casting down her eyes and blushing." 
 
 ** Damn'd thrash, damn'd thrash," muttered 
 Doctor Molloy, loud enough, unfortunately, to 
 be heard by the Authoress, who flung down 
 the MS. and with fury flashing from her eyes, 
 attacked the inconsiderate Physician. 
 
 ** Such trash is it as your clinical catch- 
 penny, or cases, or whatever name you gave 
 your abominable account of a—" 
 
 *' Oh ! fie. Miss Carney," exclaimed half a 
 dozen Misses. 
 
 ** Ladies, I stand corrected ; his obscene book 
 will not bear quotation." 
 
 ** My obscene book!" shouted the Doctor. 
 ** What was your last novel about, Miss Car- 
 ney ? Worse before God than a county calen- 
 dar, all rape and robbery." Both parties 
 advanced in a threatening attitude.- '* The 
 old man's case!" shouted the Novelist. 
 
 *' Viola's mother in the bower!" roared the 
 Doctor. 
 
 The young woman screamed " Romance !"
 
 224 o'hara. 
 
 " Theodora ruined by Ferdinand !" sputtered 
 Physic. 
 
 What would have been the consequence it is 
 impossible to conjecture, had not a servant at 
 this critical moment called out — *' Supper's 
 served." 
 
 Every person was immediately on the alert ; 
 some shouted, supjDer !~some cried, damn the 
 Duca ! — and others, damn the Doctor ! While 
 Miss Carney and the author of " Clinical 
 Cases" were borne off by the crowd, heartily 
 abusing each other, until their voices were 
 lost in the *' Melee" for seats at the supper 
 table. 
 
 *^ Well, really I could not have imagined 
 such a scene as Mrs. Glossin's melange made," 
 said Lady Sarah, as the carriage started from 
 Pompeii. 
 
 ** Yes," replied O'Hara; " the early part of 
 the concern was unequalled — that execrable 
 Novelllst — I wish she was in the hands of her 
 own banditti, or in the deepest dungeon of her 
 friend Duca Urbino, or whatever name she 
 gave the gentleman who disliked bad salad. 
 The impudence of that beggarly book-maker is
 
 0*HARA. 225 
 
 not endurable. You might have remarked a 
 mild, gentlemanly young man in black; he 
 came in just after us — an officer asked who 
 he was? And Miss Carney, with unparalleled 
 effrontery, curled up her nose, and said, * Oh ! 
 it's the Curate — dull creature — quite fit for 
 church lumber.' " 
 
 " And the supper was nearly as droll as the 
 melange," said Emily ; "the singing was ludi- 
 crous beyond description. The elderly gentle- 
 man who sang the comic song with all the 
 gravity of Billington at an oratorio — I was all 
 but in tears — " 
 
 " But," said O'Hara, *' what tempted my 
 poor friend, Driscol, to select * Time has not 
 thinned my flowing locks,' — when, to my cer- 
 tain knowledge, he has not had a hair on his 
 head these ten years." 
 
 *' And Miss Carney's cracked treble, as she 
 shrieked — * See from ocean rising,' — to the 
 accompanying growl of the cross-looking gen- 
 tleman in the ' sooty wig,' as that arch Mr. 
 Thornton called him across the table," said 
 Emily. 
 
 *' Oh! as to Thompson," observed O'Hara, 
 
 Vol. I. Q
 
 226 o'hara. 
 
 '* really his horror of * that Carney,' as he calls 
 her, is beyond concealment, and he never lets 
 an opportunity slip to teaze her ; but the best 
 of all was, when she was doing modesty and 
 mentioning that she rarely sang without an in- 
 strument, Thornton whispered a servant, who 
 returned with a Jew's-harp, and placed it on 
 the table with his compliments ; and, as if she 
 was not sufficiently enraged, he gravely con- 
 gratulated her on her great command of voice, 
 for * it was evident she could stop whenever she 
 pleased.""' 
 
 The melange, with its supper accompani- 
 ments, kept the party in a roar until the car- 
 riage passed through the gates of Castle Carra,
 
 o'hara. 227 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The vulgar Irish are worse than the undaunted and un= 
 tamed Arabian, the devilish, idolatrous Turkoman, or the 
 moon-worshipping Carmines. 
 
 Lithgow's Travels, 
 
 Thirty years have made a striking change in 
 the moral constitution of the Irish. The man- 
 ners and habits of all classes have been reformed 
 and amended, and much of the barbarism which 
 tainted their feelings and degraded their native 
 virtues, has given way to the touch of refine- 
 ment and civilization. Although *' Green Erin" 
 has not forgotten the hospitality which distin- 
 guished her in " olden time," she has learned 
 to substitute social comfort for savage de- 
 bauchery. Excessive drinking is now banished 
 from the tables of the higher orders ; and , 
 while a host of the last century would have 
 deemed lymself disgraced in permitting his 
 guest to leave his hall without the assistance 
 
 Q2
 
 228 o'hara. 
 
 of liis servants being indispensable, a better 
 ordered hospitality allows free indulgence to 
 individual fancy, and the visiter, when the wine 
 has lost its charm, is allowed a safe retreat, with- 
 out endangering the loss of life or character. 
 
 A very different system was once observed 
 in the conduct of an Irish banquet. The 
 entertainer secured his company from retreat- 
 ing by locking them safely in : — '' fast and 
 furious" — the drinking commenced; and if an 
 unfortunate individual happened not to be pro- 
 vided with as potent a skull as the more gifted 
 bacchanals who surrounded him, he was either 
 obliged to sit quietly till he tumbled from the 
 chair, or absconded by the fortuitous opening 
 of a door or window, and even then, most pro- 
 bably, accompanied by the tender missive of a 
 decanter hurled at his head. These escapes 
 were, however, not generally to be effected ; 
 and, if this weak vessel had the good fortune 
 to escape prostration under the table, he had 
 still the chance of prostration on the field. If 
 the host was a choice spirit, he would most 
 probably resent this infraction on the laws of 
 Irish orgies, by parading the fugitive in the
 
 o'hara. 229 
 
 morning, and repay the slight passed upon his 
 port, by " tapping the claret" of the offender. 
 It may easily be conceived that drunkenness 
 was not the only ill consequence of those revels. 
 The national spirit, wayward and ungovern- 
 able, was prepared to catch at any questionable 
 word or opinion, as contrary interests actuated 
 them. These were unfortunately often called 
 forth in the moment of inebriety, and the con- 
 sequences of a trifling misconception were fatal 
 to the peace of families. All this is gone by — 
 the memory of our fathers' follies is fresh ; and 
 while the chivalrous spirit of Ireland, shrinking 
 from the semblance of insult, secures honour 
 from violation, and delicacy from outrage, these 
 sanguinary scenes of private encounter which 
 were once so frequent, thank God, at this day 
 but rarely occur. 
 
 That class of worthies, celebrated by such 
 cognomens as " Five-bottle Jack"—-** Fire- 
 away Frank" — "Ten-duel Tom," are nearly ex- 
 tinct, and there are many high-spirited gentle- 
 men, who have never yet been brought to the 
 sod, on whose fathers the honour had been con- 
 ferred, probably for the tenth time, before they
 
 230 o'hara. 
 
 had reached the years of their children. I have 
 known a gentleman, whose son still preserves 
 the weapons with w^hich seventeen affairs of 
 honour were concluded, (a registry is notched 
 on the handle,) of which number nine fell to 
 the lot of the proprietor, and the remainder 
 were transacted by a few particular friends. 
 
 That these, and other similar habits, should 
 have exposed the Irish to the charge of bar- 
 barism, was but just ; but we must confess that 
 their virtues (few as they might be) were not 
 taken into account by their English neighbours 
 when they formed an estimate of the national 
 character. In the black catalogue of Pat's 
 failings, his peculiarities were construed into 
 crimes ; and while the ebullitions of ill-directed 
 courage were termed savage — while popular 
 disapprobation w^as tortured to rebellion, and 
 no name was considered sufficiently harsh, by 
 which the vassal island should be designated — 
 England forgot to look at herself, and, while 
 6he affected to despise the vices of the sister 
 kingdom, she had within herself more of the 
 barbarism she had denounced, without that 
 shade of chivalry which shed a lustre even on
 
 o'hara. 231 
 
 the crimes for Avliich she could find neither pity 
 nor pardon. While every duel, riot, and rob- 
 bery, occurring in Ireland, were journalized 
 with faithful accuracy and coj^ious colouring — 
 as a set-off, we will presume, the next column 
 was devoted to the more gratifying description 
 of a bruising match, whose detail is given by 
 the English editor with a satisfaction which in- 
 dicates how gratifying the subject must be to 
 the enlightened people who jDeruse his columns. 
 Every round is critically remarked — each blow 
 correctly examined — nor is this brutality con- 
 fined to the mercenary wretches of the Fives 
 Court — we are now and then treated with a 
 *' mill extraordinary" between a fancy swell 
 and a big-boned Blacksmith. The kiddy alights 
 from his tandem, gives the ribbons to his friend, 
 doffs his lily shalloic and upyer toggery, and 
 shows his cambric in a jiffy. Then follows a 
 gratifying instance of tlie superiority of science 
 over strength ; each round becomes more ex- 
 hilarating — Blackie^ though a thorough-bred 
 glutton, gets unmercifully nobbed — the siveWs 
 hits are delightfully described as the battle 
 proceeds. Blackie, in the course of compli-
 
 232 o'hara. 
 
 ments, receives a favour between his nosegay- 
 smeller and potato-trap, which sends down his 
 throat the ivory part of his dinner set. A right- 
 hand facer from the amateur's bunch of fives 
 hermetically seals his organ of vision, and thus 
 politely saves him the trouble of looking through 
 two eyes at once, till at last a tie-up in the 
 victualling office completes the job — the swell 
 slips on his Poodle benjamin, and rolls off in 
 his rattler, amid the applauses of a delighted 
 populace ; while the knight of the anvil, less 
 fortunate, modestly leaves the ground upon a 
 shutter. This is civilization ! 
 
 It has been observed by some persons, who 
 had intimately studied the situation of the 
 country one hundred years ago, that the mor- 
 tal arbitrament to which many of the disputes 
 of the Irish were referred, were not without 
 some advantage to meet the misfortunes inse- 
 parable from this summary decision of quar- 
 rels. Parts of the kingdom were very thinly 
 attended. The remoter land proprietors lived 
 in a state of feudal potency, and arrogated much 
 of the same authority over the properties, and 
 frequently the lives of their tenantry, which
 
 0*HARA.. 233 
 
 the rights of vassalage had given their fore- 
 fathers three hundred years before. These 
 personages, from the retired life in which they 
 were brought up, had little intercourse with 
 the world, and resolved all their thoughts 
 and actions to a standard founded on the cus- 
 toms of their ancestors, and not a little on 
 their sole will and discretion. If one of those 
 Chieftains happened to be of savage or violent 
 dispositions, nothing but the fear of a fellow- 
 potentate would prevent him from resorting 
 frequently to oppression and cruelty, and the 
 injured had no refuge but in the protection of 
 some rival Chief — this was rarely denied to the 
 suppliant ; and, as the oppressor knew that a 
 call would be made upon him, which the honour 
 of Ireland rendered it impossible for him to 
 refuse, he frequently stopped short in his career 
 of tyranny. If he chose, however, to perse- 
 vere at all risks, he was generally removed 
 from the scene of life, a victim to his own bad 
 passions and misconduct. As the country be- 
 came more open and civilized, these causes of 
 complaint, in a great measure, disappeared. 
 The laws became usefully and generally opera*
 
 234 o'haua. 
 
 tive, and causes of aggravated oppression were 
 seldom heard of. 
 
 There were other injuries, however, which 
 custom continued to refer to personal decision. 
 An Irish gentleman rarely troubled a court of 
 law with libel or defamation ; he took justice 
 into his own hands, and if that atonement which 
 the code of honour authorised him to exact, was 
 refused by the offending party, his character 
 suffered so much in general estimation, that any 
 thing short of excessive vengeance was fully satis- 
 fied by his degradation. Grievances of another 
 kind, also, were referred to this sort of decision ; 
 — any slight offered towards a lady set all her 
 relations in a blaze ; and if a gentleman trifled 
 with female affections, no special jury was em- 
 panelled, no florid advocate was employed, no 
 pecuniary damages were awarded : a father, a 
 brother, or a cousin to the remotest degree, 
 was ever ready to do battle in the cause, and 
 the delinquent paid with his best blood the 
 forfeit of his indiscretion. We are, however, 
 getting into the refinement of our English mas- 
 ters ; and, if the gentleman unties his purse- 
 strings handsomely, his pistols may occasionally
 
 o'hara. 235 
 
 be dispensed with. But to return to my 
 story. 
 
 It was late next morning when the family 
 at Castle Carra assembled at the breakfast- 
 table. Major O'Hara was reading the news- 
 papers, when his son and the ladies entered to- 
 gether. After the usual inquiries of the morn- 
 ing, the Major handed a letter to Henry, and 
 at the same time mentioned generally its con- 
 tents. The sudden death of Sir Philip Blood, 
 Member for the County of , was announ- 
 ced ; and O'Hara observed, that in expectation 
 of that event taking place, which had been 
 long expected, from the late Member's delicate 
 state of health, a large and respectable body 
 of the Freeholders had communicated their 
 wishes of putting him in nomination for their 
 representation. He remarked, that were his 
 own feelings to direct him, he should at once 
 decline the intended honour, but he conceived 
 himself called upon to assert the independence 
 of the county, by acceding to their wishes, and 
 offering himself as a candidate. Preliminary 
 measures had been already arranged, and he 
 should go off to Newbridge, to meet a Com-
 
 236 
 
 O HARA, 
 
 mittee of the Electors, and (he continued with 
 a smile) as a canvass would occupy him for 
 some days, he must confide the seneschalship of 
 his castle, and the defence of the fair dames 
 who honoured it with their presence, to the 
 heir-apparent. In a short time after, he or- 
 dered his horses, and took leave of his guests. 
 
 Lady Sarah was charmed with the idea of an 
 election, with its balls and bustle — it would be 
 quite delightful ; and to prepare dresses of 
 party-colours for herself and her fair daughter 
 would occupy the intermediate time. Henry 
 was now unavoidably the constant companion 
 of Emily, and in riding and walking, the week 
 of O'Hara's absence was consumed. Of his 
 successful canvass, he frequently acquainted his 
 son ; and on the morning of his expected re- 
 turn, Henry rode into Newbridge to meet him, 
 the ladies announcing their intention of follow- 
 ing in the course of the day. 
 
 He had jiearly reached the town when a young 
 gentleman of the neighbourhood overtook him. 
 
 ** Oh ! Thornton, good morning. Well, 
 what have you been doing since we met at the 
 Melange?"
 
 o'hara. 237 
 
 *' Oh! curse the mummery of that crazy 
 Cordwainer. I was sick for two days, by 
 making Nugent and Scanlan drunk, hoping 
 they would either fight themselves, break a 
 mirror, splinter a vase, burn Miss Carney's 
 MS. or Mrs. Glossin'swig, or do some notable 
 mischief, but, confound them, they did not an- 
 swer my expectations. And pray, gallant sir, 
 what have you been doing? Turned sonnet- 
 teer, to eulogise an eyebrow. Come, we'll 
 have you a contributor to the next Melange. 
 '* Stanzas on seeing Stella with a sprig of sweet 
 briar ;" " Sonnet to her slipper," or some ama- 
 tory morceau. Are you gone, man? Is it all 
 over with you ? Are you, as we say in Ireland, 
 kilt out and out ?"" 
 
 *' I see, William, you are still the same 
 hearty, careless fellow ; but as we must make 
 inquiries, how comes on your affair with Miss 
 Nup-ent?" 
 
 " Pho! I will answer you in one word just 
 as well as could be wished, all pour passer 
 le terns ; but as I am a liberal lover, if the 
 dear creature could slay a Dragoon or Bom- 
 badier, I would hand her to the altar in per*
 
 ;23S o'hara. 
 
 son, and say Amen wlien tlie Parson wished 
 them prosperity. But what will the sober 
 Citizens of Newbridge say, seeing orange and 
 pink riding ' party par pale ?' " 
 
 *' Pshaw! Hang politics, you and I are not 
 likely to quarrel about such trifles." 
 
 *' No — though I shall give a plumper against 
 the Major, in favour of a fellow I dislike ; but 
 then he's on the right side of the question. 
 Zounds ! * Be there bears i' the town,' or what 
 the deuce is all this kick-up about ? Forward." 
 And he spurred his liorse on, accompanied by 
 his jDink companion. 
 
 At the moment of their entering Newbridge, 
 a tin horn was sounded at the bottom of the 
 street, by the driver of a hackney chaise, which 
 a pair of feeble horses was endeavouring to 
 drag up the steep hill which led to the Loftus 
 Arms. The carriage was remarkable by a 
 flag flying from either window; on its nearer 
 approach the banners were more distinctly re- 
 vealed, and proved to be a couple of old worn- 
 out pocket handkerchiefs, extended on sallow 
 rods. 
 
 ** It is Armstrong and his blackguard com-
 
 o'hara. 239 
 
 panion," said Thornton ; '* ride up the street 
 till we see them alight. By my hand, I'm half 
 ashamed of my party. The fact is, my dear 
 O'Hara, all the fighting men are on your side, 
 Irvins, M'Donnells, and Moutrays ; and Lord 
 Loftus, M'CuUogh, Nugent, and company, 
 not feeling inclined to trust their valuable lives 
 to the chance of a pistol shot, have wisely 
 agreed to fight by proxy, and- these precious 
 scoundrels are engaged for one hundred pounds 
 a piece, and their grub, for the election. But 
 come along — there, the mob groan them and 
 their tattered Barcelonas— and now out come 
 the gemmen." 
 
 The chaise-door was opened, and the obse- 
 quious waiter was desired, with a tremendous 
 execration, to *' Hould the step steady." 
 
 " Your Honour's welcome, Mr. Armstrong." 
 
 '* How are you, blast ye?" replied the traveller. 
 
 "It's mad Archy, as his friends, the mob, 
 call him," said Thornton ; "■ and, for Heavens 
 sake, look at his luggage."^ 
 
 The person dignified by the title of mad 
 Archy, was a stout, well set, middle-sized man, 
 of forty, with small, gi'ey, ferret eyes, and
 
 240 o'hara. 
 
 sandy hair; several scars across Kls countenance 
 did not improve it, and a large nose was ren- 
 dered more remarkable by the deep cut which 
 bisected the bridge of that invaluable organ. 
 His hands were occupied by a blackthorn stick 
 and a case of pocket-pistols, and his whole lug- 
 gage was under his arm, comprised within the 
 inclosure of a purple cravat. After mad Archy 
 had given his affectionate regards to the waiter, 
 he paused, waiting for his companion in arms, 
 who presently descended. This worthy was 
 the opposite of his friend— a tall, thin, meagre 
 wretch, with powdered hair, long cue, and 
 silver spectacles. In point of property, he 
 was nearly on a par, and as limited in chattels 
 as his friend Archibald. A diminutive valise 
 was consigned to the custody of the waiter, 
 while himself took charge of a mahogany case, 
 in which the gentleman's pistols (the tools of 
 his trade) were deposited. 
 
 " What a pair,'' said Thornton, as they en- 
 tered the Inn; " but you do not know them, 
 Henry, nor their occupation. The first is an 
 Attorney, but his practice is more at cockpits 
 than courts of law ; every horse-race within
 
 0*HARA. 241 
 
 many miles of him is carefully attended : as he 
 is a man of desperate and brutal habits, and 
 reckoned the best mob-leader in the north, they 
 have brought him here to command the ban- 
 ditti, which are ever the umpires of the quali- 
 fications for the fit representation of an Irish 
 County. He is also here for the purpose of 
 seconding his friend, v^^ho, in the event of his 
 pistols being required, would otherwise stand 
 a bad chance of obtaining any other person to 
 accompany him to the ground. The man is, 
 it is believed, subject to occasional derange* 
 ment ; and bad as he is, the other ruffian is ten 
 times worse. He is Captain Felton, alias 
 ' Fire-away Phil ;' he tried several regiments, 
 but through bad taste, none of them could 
 agree with him, and he was obliged to retire on 
 half-pay to save his commission. He has killed 
 two or three certainly, and has fought duels 
 without number ; you will see he will com- 
 mence the business by insulting some gentle- 
 man of your party, of whom our leaders are 
 afraid ; and, if he be unfortunate enough to go 
 out with this savage, the chances of his death 
 are pretty certain. But here is your carriage 
 Vol. I. R
 
 242 o'hara. 
 
 coming in, and that lovely creature in full pink. 
 Damme, I'll slip the orange cockade out of my 
 hat, raise the pink, and turn renegado, if she 
 will only give me one smile of the thousands 
 which are bestowed on a nameless Cavalier. 
 Come, to your duty, man, — I must be off, — 
 Orange for ever !" and away Thornton bolted. 
 The Castle Carra carriage was soon hailed 
 by the pink party, of which the town was al- 
 most entirely composed ; and a very different 
 reception attended their entry from that of the 
 last vehicle ; the huzzas of the mob, the beauty 
 of the females in the carriage, the curvetting 
 of the handsome bays, which, startled by the 
 cheering of the populace, were tossing tjbeir 
 pink rosettes about, brought young and old to 
 the doors. Henry''s cheek flushed with con- 
 scious pride, as he heard his oAvn name coupled 
 by the crowd with that of Emily De Cliffoixi : 
 never had she looked so lovely, and never was 
 party colour seen to more advantage. On the 
 carriage reaching the inn, beibre the door of 
 which the hack which conveyed mad Andy and 
 the gallant Captain stood, with its tawdry rags 
 yet daBgling from the windows, the <' canaille'*
 
 o'hara. 243 
 
 in a second tattered them to shreds, and saluted 
 the worthy proprietors, who were quietly dis- 
 cussing brandy and water at an open window, 
 with a shower of dead cats and ofial, which 
 rendered a rapid retreat unavoidable. None 
 lamented their discomfiture ; and two English 
 bagmen, whom this respectable couple had un- 
 ceremoniously kicked out of the room, and 
 tossed their pattern-books and portmanteaus 
 down stairs after them, looked on with a satis- 
 faction that would have fully compensated for 
 any thing short of the loss of their Bourdeauy, 
 which these ruthless intruders were despatching 
 with perfect complacency, before the regards 
 of the " Bourgeois" obliged them to retire. 
 
 H 2
 
 244 0*HARii. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Pretty rebel ! wliere's the jest 
 Of wearing Orange in thy breast ? 
 When that bosom doth disclose 
 The whiteness of the Rebel-rose. 
 
 Impromptu. 
 
 In the afternoon Henry was leaving New- 
 bridge, and in passing the shop of the chief 
 milliner, stopped to admire the prudence of the 
 " Marchandede Modes," for with due conside- 
 ration she had gratified the Republicans by 
 adorning one window with pink ; while its 
 neighbour, with proper attention to the Aris- 
 tocracy, was bedizened with flashy orange. 
 Miss Moreen was determined to keep up a run- 
 ning fire with both parties; and although a 
 pious Methodist, and consequently one of the 
 children of light, she proved in all matters ap- 
 pertaining to the mammon of unrighteousness, 
 that she was no fool in her generation. O'Hara
 
 O HARA 
 
 245 
 
 was riding from the repository of fashion, when 
 hearing his name pronounced, he perceived in 
 the Milliner's drawing-room window his fair 
 friend, Lady Constantia Loftus. ** Come up, 
 pink knight,'' said her ladyship. *' Miss Mo- 
 reen will allow you to enter her forbidden pre- 
 cincts ; and here, among silks and satins, relate 
 your adventures since your departure, which 
 happened some period, I believe, during the 
 last century." 
 
 Henry despatched his horse to the Inn, and 
 Miss Moreen, on hearing her fair customer's 
 invitation, was already simpering at the door 
 to conduct the pink gallant to that important 
 apartment where those tempting articles, stated 
 to be " direct from London and Dublin," were 
 exhibiting to captivating advantage. 
 
 " Moreen, may I trouble you to send to the 
 inn, and desire my servants not to bring the 
 carriage for half an hour." 
 
 ** An hour, if you please," said Miss Mo- 
 reen. '' Old friends, like your Ladyship and 
 Mr. O'Hara, must have much to speak of, and 
 you need not be afraid of interruption, for 
 none but particular friends are admitted h<?rc/'
 
 246 o'hara. 
 
 ** What a considerate creature It is," said 
 Lady Constantia, with much archness, as th^ 
 pious Milliner retired. ** And now, good Sir, 
 — Pshaw! Henry, we are too old for kissing. 
 Heigh ho! how time flies — you are twenty- 
 two, and that impertinent Debrett makes me 
 nineteen in his Peerage, And now that I have 
 an opportunity to scold, was it kind to put me 
 off with one formal visit, and that^ too when 
 surrounded with Goths and Vandals, which 
 prevented me fi*om asking a single question?'* 
 
 * ' Why, my dear Lady Constantia, you have 
 been but a few days at home, and assuredly I 
 did not let a moment pass when I heard of your 
 return, until I rode to Loftus-Hall ; and you 
 know Lord Loftus, and Monteville, and my 
 father, are at present more opposed than ever; 
 and cold looks and cold greeting would not be 
 agreeable, where in earlier, and I fear, hap' 
 pier days, (Lady Constantia sighed deeply,) I 
 passed many a sunny hour." 
 
 ** Nay, Henry, don't talk of old times as if 
 those days were never to return. But what a 
 long tour you have made ; and, mercy on me, 
 how you are grown. For Heaven's sake don't
 
 o'hara. 247 
 
 listen to the women, or they will certainly turn 
 your brain with flattery. But what have you 
 been doing ? Where have you wandered ? 
 Were you learning the art of love, or the art 
 of war ? Or probably, as is the case with most 
 of your worthy countrymen, practising both 
 trades, as the opposite apothecary adds to his 
 name surgeon and man-mid — ? But, Lord bless 
 me, what was I reading ?" and she threw down 
 her glass, and blushed, 
 
 '' Well, dear Constance, you shall hear my 
 travels at the first ball we meet ; but, now I 
 want to ask you some questions about certain 
 matters that rumour carried even to parts be- 
 yond the four seas of Britain. Was it true 
 that the High Sheriff— ?" 
 
 ** Oh ! name him not ; it was dotage, I pre- 
 sume. But, whv ask me ?'* 
 
 " Because in that case I should have forbid- 
 den the banns, even although necessitated to 
 take charge of you for life." 
 
 " The gratitude I feel for the distinguished 
 honour conferred on me, as I overheard my 
 father say to the tallow-chandler at the cor- 
 ner, whom he was cajoling for bis] * vote aucj
 
 248 
 
 O KARA, 
 
 interest/ as the candle-maker termed it ; but 
 indeed, Henry, I do think you would not 
 have allowed your old playmate to be sacri- 
 ficed to a brute ; and between ourselves, my 
 father and brother have been rather sulky 
 since ; but my mamma had too much pity or 
 too much pride to join in the conspiracy, and, 
 thanks to my aunt's twenty thousand pounds, I 
 was enabled to assert my independence, and 
 reject that upstart." 
 
 Miss Moreen was perfectly right in her Ck\- 
 culation ; a long hour elapsed, and neither of 
 the parties remembered the carriage. The 
 coachman thought that the milliner Is maid 
 would be despatched again when he was 
 wanted, and therefore, although attached to 
 orangeism and aristocracy, in proof of his 
 liberality, settled himself in the ale-house with 
 a couple of pink footmen to talk politics, drink 
 beer, and, if possible, convince them of the 
 error of their opinions. The town clock at 
 last startled the occupants of Miss Moreen"'s 
 sofa. *' Henry, give me your arm to the inn, 
 and, as it would be treason, if my sire or his 
 con met me without the badge of party, here I
 
 o'lIARA. 240 
 
 shall affix my colours," — and she pinned an 
 orange rosette in her bonnet. ** And as we 
 shall be frequently in town during the ensuing 
 contest, wheijever an hour hangs heavily, re- 
 collect Moreen's drawing-room ; and believe 
 me, Harry, that whatever alteration political 
 discordancy may create between the name of 
 Loftus and O'Hara, the feelings of our younger 
 days (at least I shall answer for my own) will 
 never be forgotten." 
 
 They had now reached the street, and the 
 pink cavalier, with the fair Aristocrat hanging 
 on his arm, left the Milliner of doubtful po- 
 litics, but indubitable piety, to meet the car- 
 riage at the Loftus Arms. 
 
 On turning the corner of the street, the pink 
 and orange pedestrians suddenly confronted 
 Lord Loftus and his party, engaged in can- 
 vassing the citizens of Newbridge. Their un- 
 expected appearance, and the evident amity of 
 the younger branches of the rival houses, asto- 
 nished the whole group. Lord Monteville 
 coloured on seeing his sister and her escort ; 
 however, suppressing his feelings, he came 
 forward and presented his hand, which was
 
 250 o'hara. 
 
 readily accepted. *' Constance, my dear, I 
 really thought you had left Newbridge long 
 ago. Your mamma will think you are lost." 
 
 '* Oh! no, Monteville, I met O'Hara at 
 Moreen's, and have been endeavouring to per- 
 suade him to give you his support." Henry 
 smiled. " And the truth is, he seems the only 
 idler in town, and therefore I have enlisted 
 him ; but I perceive you are wanting in the 
 tin-shop. I'll tell you how to gain him. Look 
 at the blowzy cross-looking orange-woman in 
 the window, and the gawky girl, peering over 
 her mother's shoulder, as if she was afraid you 
 were going to rob the shop. Tell him, good 
 man," (she continued with mock gravity) " that 
 his spouse is amiable and comely — that he has 
 ' a daughter passing fair,' and that you hope 
 from the marked sensibility of his own coun- 
 tenance, that he will assist you with his grave 
 advice as to the best method of putting down 
 the Papists, or paying the debts of the nation." 
 
 *• Go, go, Constance ; you would lose me 
 my election with your nonsense, if I don't keep 
 you in Loftus-Hall." 
 
 ** Then to do that, remove the wheels froni
 
 o'hara. 251 
 
 the carriage and lame the horses ; for, by all 
 that's curious, I must and will attend the elec- 
 tion as I'egularly as the returning officer." 
 
 ** O'Hara, do take her away." 
 
 *' And then for the tinman," cried his hvely 
 sister, as she nodded to Lord Monteville, and 
 proceeded through the canvassers who followed 
 him. Among the number was M'CuUogh; 
 he di*ew himself up, and attempted to look 
 indifferent ; but the haughty bow of Lady 
 Constantia, as she scarcely acknowledged his 
 humble salute, and the proud movement of 
 O'Hara, as he slightly touched his hat, con- 
 veyed that cold contempt which wounds more 
 deeply than the severest language. The orange 
 party were still in the tin-shop, when the pinks 
 appeared in full force at the upper end of the 
 street. 
 
 *' What will become of me now," said Lady 
 Constantia; '* my retreat is cut off — are your 
 friends quiet, Henry ? or will my luckless 
 I'osette occasion my ruin ; but as I see your 
 father in the centre, I trust my life at least 
 will be safe." 
 
 What astonished the ultras aniused the pinks,
 
 252 o'hara. 
 
 and O'Hara, stepping from the crowd, came 
 forward with a smile — '* Well, who has suc- 
 ceeded ? Which is the proselyte ? Or, like the 
 priest and parson, have you become mutual 
 converts V 
 
 *' Why I have shaken Henry undoubtedly, 
 but truly I must strike at higher game ; shall 
 I try my influence on you ?" 
 
 ** No, dear Constance, I am too old an 
 offender ; whatever chance a lovely girl has 
 with kindred youth, she has little with gnarled, 
 crabbed age.'' 
 
 ** Come, you shall not give yourself a worse 
 character than you deserve ; I know you are 
 not so bad as you would make me believe, and 
 now to try it.'' 
 
 She plucked a lily from the hat of a passing 
 boy, and shredding a leaf from the stalk, twined 
 it in the bow of ribbon which was attached to 
 the Major's breast. O'Hara smiled, as he 
 pressed the hand of the playful girl. '* There 
 shall it remain, dear Constance, to prove that 
 old affections are not to be disturbed by party — 
 there shall your bright leaf rest, and though its 
 livelier hue may mock its paler rival, yet the
 
 0*HARA. 253 
 
 remembrance of the hand which placed it there 
 shall preserve it inviolate. But am I senti- 
 mentalizing witli a giddy girl, while Monte- 
 ville secures the electors, and gains the * golden 
 opinions' of — " 
 
 ** Tinmen and Tallow-chandlers," said Lady 
 Constantia. 
 
 ** Go, tempter," and he playfully patted 
 her cheek, while she gracefully saluted the 
 pink politicians (who were all respectfully 
 uncovered), and stepped into the carriage. 
 
 *' Adieu, Henry ; I mean to be in town to- 
 morrow — remember Miss Moreen's." 
 
 The election commenced on the following 
 morning ; crowds of country gentlemen came 
 fast in, with their respective flocks of free- 
 holders. The usual formalities were observed — 
 the candidates proposed in one bad speech, and 
 seconded in another, and the polling opened. 
 Five days passed over, and the general history 
 of an Irish election will describe them. Cla- 
 mour and confusion — prevarication and perjury 
 occupied the day ; riot, drunkermess, and dis- 
 order, consumed the night. Old registries 
 were ransacked, and persons who for 3^ear3
 
 254 o'hara. 
 
 before had been reposing peaceably In their 
 graves, good-naturedly got up on the occasion 
 to vote for Lord Monteville. Every artifice 
 was resorted to ; money plentifully used to 
 procure the venal, and threats and promises to 
 induce the better classes. The contest was 
 carried on with unusual bitterness, as the ordi- 
 nary irritability of opposition was heightened by 
 political rancour. From the violence of party, 
 O'Hara was anxious to keep Henry as much at 
 home as possible, while the son, alarmed for his 
 parent's safety, seldom left the town. 
 
 On the sixth day, an attempt was made by 
 the Aristocrats to get a priest personated. 
 The fellow who enacted the Clargy appeared 
 arrayed in a huge bushy wig, and coat of dingy 
 black, and swore without hesitation that he 
 was Father Anthony O 'Toole ; but, unluckily 
 for the reverend representative of the departed 
 friar, his brother happened to be present, and 
 declared that the said Anthony must have been 
 badly used, as they had buried him fifteen years 
 before. This scandalous subornation drew forth 
 strong reprobation from O'Hara, which Cap- 
 tain Felton, who was watching an opportunity,
 
 O KARA. 
 
 256 
 
 contrived to turn to account ; for, in course of 
 an altercation which ensued, he gave a direct 
 lie to tl^ Major, and completed the insult 
 by striking him in the face with an orange. 
 At this time Henry was sitting with Lady 
 Loftus and her daughter at Miss Moreen's, 
 and hearing some noise in the street, learned 
 from a passenger the outrage which had been 
 offered to his father. In vain Lady Loftus im- 
 plored him to be patient. In vain Constantia, 
 with pale cheek and faltering voice, entreated 
 him not to be rash. He bounded down the stairs, 
 and in a minute was mingled with the crowd. 
 
 The Castle Carra tenanjjy were in a ter- 
 rific uproar, threatening death and destruction 
 to Felton and his party ; and having just then 
 found that the object of vengeance had eluded 
 their fury, by escaping through a side-door, 
 their madness was not to be controlled. 
 Henry suspecting that the Captain would re- 
 treat to the Loftus Arms, and remembering 
 that a narrow lane led to the inn-yard, and 
 saved the long detour of the public street, 
 went in pursuit of the ruffian. On emerging 
 from the alley, he perceived him retreating to
 
 256 o'hara. 
 
 the inn, and snatching a whip from a lounging 
 post-boy, he seized him in his powerful grasp 
 and proceeded to exercise him without mercy. 
 Nothing but a sally of his friends from the 
 Loftus Arms, prevented him from rivalling the 
 fate of Marsyas of old, and suffering death 
 from flagellation ; however, before the rescue 
 was effected, a challenge to fight in half an 
 hour was given and accepted. 
 
 An election terminating without a few duels, 
 would then have been anomalous, and country 
 gentlemen, when they left their homes to select 
 their representative, had the precaution to 
 provide themselves with approved weapons. 
 Henry, therefore, had no difficulty in procur- 
 ing pistols and an experienced friend ; and 
 Mr. Moutray promised to call on him at his 
 private lodgings in due time, and conduct him 
 to the ground. 
 
 Robert Moutray was a gentleman of ancient 
 family and small estate, attached to no profes- 
 sion, and residing where his fathers had lived 
 for centuries. He was an honom*able man, and 
 generally respected; and, from a particular 
 fondness for politics and bustle, held a place
 
 0*HARA. 257 
 
 among the county leaders far above what his 
 small fortune would warrant him to look to . He 
 was a zealot in politics ; and, as he entered heart 
 and soul into whatever cause he adopted, from 
 his determined courage and unwearied ardour, 
 joined to a caustic method of expression, he was 
 generally distinguished by the sobriquet of 
 *' Bitter Bob.'' Although past the meridian 
 of life, and the father of a numerous family, 
 his active, political habits were unsubdued by 
 years, and he accepted the invitation with plea- 
 sure, to accompany Henry to the field. 
 
 Short as the intervening time was, young 
 C'Hara wished anxiously for its accomplish- 
 ment ; he hoped the affair would terminate 
 before his father was apprized of his situation, 
 as he could well fancy a parent's sufferings 
 while his child was exposed to danger, and his 
 fate still rested in the balance. He tried to 
 reach his own retired lodgings; but to pass 
 Miss Moreen's without being observed was 
 impossible, as Lady Constantia was leaning 
 from the window, apparently watching for his 
 return. 
 
 Vol. I. S
 
 25S o'haha. 
 
 << I hope, my dear O'Hara, this unpleasant 
 business has been exaggerated ; surely the 
 Major would think too much of rank and cha- 
 racter to notice a hired bully ?" 
 
 ** Oh! fear nothing, Constance, for my 
 father ; I shall take care that he does not come 
 in contact with that bravo," 
 
 '* But how, Henry — not by" — (she became 
 agitated) — *' not by quarrelling yourself?*' and 
 she turned her keen glance upon him. 
 
 " Oh! no," he replied, with a smile; '^ I 
 have only to turn the cudgels of Castle Carra 
 iigainst the doughty Captain." 
 
 '* Would to Heaven he was drummed out of 
 the county; but, indeed, Henry, I was mi- 
 serable about you — I mean your father ; and, 
 as I had a better chance of hearing news here, 
 I declined going with mamma to make a sick 
 visit to the Rector's lady.'* 
 
 The conversation took another turn, and 
 Henry spoke with tolerable ease on indifferent 
 subjects, but frequent reference to his watch, 
 and restless looks to the street, betrayed the 
 anxiety he was so careful to conceal.
 
 o'hara. 250 
 
 ** Nay, O'Hara, tell me not that something 
 momentous is not occupying your thoughts-^ 
 I see it, I remark the altered manner." 
 
 ^* Constance, believe me that I have little 
 wish to leave you ; but, in fact, I have an ap- 
 pointment relative to election arrangements 
 which must force me, although reluctantly, to 
 bid you good bye for this day." 
 
 *' And shall I see you to-morrow ?" and the 
 emphasis she laid on to-morrow, struck Henry 
 to the heart. 
 
 " Oh yes," he replied, with assumed gaiety, 
 " certainly ; and see, there comes my friend," 
 
 " Your friend ! What ! is Bitter Bob en- 
 gaged in this business ? Henry, for God*s sake ! 
 are you involved in any quarrel — tell me truly 
 : — I am interested, deeply interested as I would 
 be for my brother. And Heavens! there is 
 Surgeon D'Arcy with Moutray.'' 
 
 '' Why, Constance, the truth is, Moutray is 
 going* to fight, and I am to be his friend. 
 Adieu, dear Constance, — dear sister, — I will 
 come to you in an hour." 
 
 *' Do — do," she faintly replied, as she sank 
 upon the couch, 
 
 s 9
 
 260 o'hara. 
 
 *' Hark! Moutray calls me;" and leaving 
 the apartment, he mounted his friend's gig. 
 
 As the vehicle started, he looked for a mo- 
 ment to the window — his young friend had 
 risen from the sofa ; he saw her face — it was 
 agitated ; the momentary look could not be 
 mistaken, and O'Hara must have been dull 
 indeed, had he not suspected that Lady Con- 
 stantia loved him. If his thoughts dwelt upon 
 this gentle subject, they were soon interrupted 
 by Moutray's entering on the business they 
 were hastening to transact. He coolly gave 
 him his directions and advice, entering with 
 great sang froid into discussions on distances 
 and signals. In a few minutes the gig stopped, 
 and Moutray remarking they were first upon 
 the ground, quietly unlocked the pistol-case, 
 and produced the necessary apparatus. 
 
 The place where affairs of honour were 
 usually decided was within a short distance of 
 the town. It was a level meadow, surrounded 
 by rising grounds, and afforded ample accom- 
 modation for the hundreds who had flocked to 
 witness the decision of the quarrel with the 
 same composure with which they would have
 
 o'hara. 261 
 
 crowded to a cock-fight. Three or four of 
 O'Hara's friends were waiting for him, and 
 they accompanied him through the spectators, 
 who were all decorated witli the insignia of 
 their respective parties, until they reached the 
 scene of action — it was the centre of the field, 
 and marked by a gentle undulation of the sur- 
 face. Here several lives had been forfeited at 
 the shrine of mistaken honour, and a few stones 
 pointed out the exact spot where one had lately 
 fallen. At this little monument Henry awaited 
 the approach of Felton and his friends : they 
 were not long absent, and the seconds retired 
 a few paces to arrange preliminaries. 
 
 If there be a moment when the duellist feels 
 agitated, it is at this trying time. Amidst the 
 dead silence of the spectators, the stepping of 
 the allotted distance, and all the usual prepara- 
 tions for the affair, were quickly transacted. 
 Henry felt neither trepidation nor dismay, and 
 his antagonist looked on with equal indiffe- 
 rence ; their feelings, however, were very dis- 
 similar — with one, a chivalrous devotion had 
 sent the son to battle for the parent, and sub-
 
 262 o'hara. 
 
 stitute his own person to protect that of his 
 gallant father. The other's, was the cold- 
 blooded hardihood of a practised homicide ; 
 he stood as he had frequently done before, and 
 without a pang of remorse, prepared to hurry 
 his youthful opponent from existence. 
 
 The seconds had assigned the respective situa* 
 tion to each principal, when a buzz among the 
 distant crowd turned the attention of the par- 
 ties to the road, and a horseman was seen ad- 
 vancing rapidly. Some persons having called 
 out ** the Sheriff is coming," the seconds in- 
 stantly placed the pistols in their friends' hands, 
 retired, and gave the signal. Henry fired 
 without hesitation, but Felton deliberated for 
 a few moments. '* Shame — murder," began 
 to be muttered when he discharged his pistol— 
 the ball passed through Henry's hat, and Fel- 
 ton, with a savage oath, muttered something 
 to mad Andy, accounting for the failure of his 
 fire. The weapons were again prepared, when 
 Thornton came up and implored O'Hara to 
 aim steadily, and not let the ruffian take his 
 life. Pel ton's conduct, however, had already
 
 o'haba, 263 
 
 awakened him to a sense of his danger, and he 
 observed him cautiously while awaiting the ex- 
 pected signal. 
 
 The horseman had now approached suffi- 
 ciently near to be distinguished, and one glance 
 told him that it was his father. With a strong 
 exertion he mastered the agitation his presence 
 caused, and coolly prepared for the moment 
 of action. 
 
 Major O'Hara was on the hustings when a 
 rumour reached him that his son had gone out 
 with Felton. With a groan of horror he 
 rushed into the street, and called loudly for his 
 horse. A young gentleman instantly tendered 
 his, and the distracted parent gallopped to the 
 scene of combat. The crowds on the road 
 made way for him ; and, as he reached the high 
 ground that overlooked the field, a discharge 
 of pistols told him that all might now be over ! 
 A man standing on a high wall, called out, that 
 " both were on their legs." He rode madly 
 on, if possible to prevent the fire from being 
 repeated. His appearance, however, precipi- 
 tated what he was so anxious to prevent : — 
 again a murmur of the mob told that the par-
 
 264 o'haka. 
 
 ties were ready — and again there was an awful 
 silence. His further progress was impeded by 
 a gate, and he sprang from his horse to open it 
 — at that instant the pistols were discharged. 
 O'Hara's limbs almost failed him, his eyes 
 grew dim, while a kind of murmuring groan 
 burst from the crowd. " He's down, by G— d !'* 
 cried one of the spectators. He staggered for 
 support against the gate-pier. " Felton's done 
 for!" roared another voice exultingly ; and 
 such had been, indeed, the result. Henry es- 
 caped unhurt, and his savage opponent was 
 stretched upon the field. 
 
 E?fD OF VOL, I. 
 
 LONDON; 
 PRINTED BY W. CLOWES, 
 
 Northureberland-CourU
 
 ^ 
 
 ^'^ 
 
 5/i£i« ^"'^y
 
 *< J. 
 
 3 0112 051363585