■i^. 
 
 LI E) RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVLR.SITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 82.3 
 
 CSSSt 
 
 v.l 
 
 I
 
 TO-DAY IN IRELAND. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 THE CARDERS. .
 
 TO-DAY IN IRELAND, 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 THE CARDERS. 
 
 LONDON: 
 PRINTED FOR CHARLES KNIGHT, 
 
 FALL MALL EAST. 
 1825.
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY S. AND R. BENTLEY, DORSET STREET.
 
 
 THE CARDERS 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The village of Rathfinnan was' situated in 
 one of the most central spots of Ireland, upon 
 the arm of a lake, formed by the waters of the 
 Shannon. As this lake communicated with the 
 metropolis by a magnificent though bankrupt 
 canal, and with the ocean by the monarch of 
 Irish rivers, it might be expected that the 
 lands and villages upon its borders would pos- 
 sess somewhat more wealth and importance than 
 others placejl in a more secluded part of the 
 country. But there is some secret either in 
 Irish character or in Irish fate, which baffles 
 alike the calculations of either economist or 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
 46584^
 
 Z THE CARDERS. 
 
 politician. The towns in question were not one 
 jot more wealthy than if they had been isolated 
 in a bog: and the beautiful sheet of water, 
 which, according to the expression of the inha- 
 bitants, " lay at their door,'^ seemed only to 
 inspire them with a love of filth, proportional 
 to the facility of getting rid of it. Nay, the 
 lake seemed to add less by its commercial open- 
 ings to their industry, than to increase their 
 idleness and improvidence by the daily god- 
 send of pike and trout which it promised 
 
 In spite of its inhabitants, Rathfinnan was a 
 beautiful spot. It was elevated some thirty or 
 forty feet above the surface of the lake, yet in 
 the hollow of the craggy coast, which arose on 
 either side to considerably greater heights. 
 Through this hollow a turbulent stream, which 
 from the little harbour it formed, as well as from 
 its other conveniences, seemed the chief attrac- 
 tion to the founder of the place, precipitated 
 itself into the lake: and what with its violence, 
 the gravelly soil, and the tampering of the in- 
 habitants in attempting to make dams and 
 pools, the stream had at length arrived at
 
 THE CARDERS. 3 
 
 almost sawing, as it were, the village in two. 
 This chasm, yearly growing more immense, was 
 remedied by many a bridge, to wit, two princi- 
 pal ones, a whole and a half one ; the former 
 the effect of a much needed presentment, the 
 latter the work of some Turloch or Brian, whose 
 end had by many centuries preceded that of 
 his arches. The subsidiary modes of crossing 
 the stream, such as could be afforded by old 
 planks and trunks of trees, were numerous, 
 forming a fruitful subject of terror to the mo- 
 thers, and of neglect to the fathers of the little 
 community. 
 
 Once upon a time the village could have 
 boasted a good public-house, where the boys 
 (un-Irished, bachelors) of Rathfinnan were ac- 
 customed to hold their revels, and whence 
 they used to separate with little ill-will and few 
 broken heads. The wise magistrates of the 
 country, however, thought proper one quarter- 
 sessions to deny Timothy Oulaghan, the land- 
 lord of the shebeen, the renewal of his license, 
 shutting his mouth by informing him, that " he 
 himself was a sworn man, and his house a 
 B 2
 
 4 THE CARDERS. 
 
 receptacle for carders." Tim " rasoned with their 
 honours," but his eloquence was thrown away 
 upon the quorum ; and the sign of the Goose 
 with the Golden Bill was, in consequence, dis- 
 mantled, to the consternation of all the throats in 
 Rathfinnan. Thenceforward the retail trade of 
 the village was carried on solely by an old wi- 
 dow at the foot of the hill, whose slender stock 
 allowed her to lay in her beer but by the jar, 
 and her whiskey by the bottle. The serious 
 consequence of which was, that the good folk of 
 Rathfinnan, who of old were used to return 
 from the Saturday's market of , a consi- 
 derable town, about seven or eight miles distant, 
 to spend their money, and drink their sup at 
 home with their friends in comfort, were found, 
 since the proscription of Tim Oulaghan, to loi- 
 ter and stay in the same market, not only till 
 night, but oft till morn. In vain did their 
 dames, like Tam o'Shanter's, knit their brows, 
 and extort promises of speedier return and more 
 domestic habits. "A body might die of thirst 
 in Rathfinnan, and nothing to quench it after."' 
 And as a preventative against so dreadful a fate,
 
 THE CARDERS. 5 
 
 a store of whiskey sufficient for the week was 
 
 laid in at on the market e'en. 
 
 But late hours, sullen wives, lost days and 
 money, were not the only results that followed. 
 The market-town I speak of— Athlone let us 
 say, for I am as tired of the blank as the author 
 of St.Ronan's Well; protesting, however, against 
 being supposed to draw any save imaginary pic- 
 tures, topographical and general truth being the 
 only reahty I seek to preserve. This being 
 premised, Athlone, as all the world should 
 know, is one of the principal towns in Ireland, 
 strongly fortified at least on one side, and, except 
 the metropolis, containing perhaps the strongest 
 garrison of a numerously garrisoned kingdom. 
 These servants and defenders of the govern- 
 ment, numerous as they might be, were not 
 more than in proportion to its enemies, who, 
 under divers titles, such as ribbonmen, whiteboys, 
 carders, had formed a committee in the town, 
 and were most active in spreading disaffection 
 amongst the peasantry, and preparing materials 
 for a serious revolt. From time to time emis- 
 saries arrived from the north and from the
 
 6 THE CARDBUS. 
 
 south, with faces full of important tidings, com. j 
 municated however but by mysterious winks: ] 
 perhaps ribbons of divers colours were pro- | 
 duced, aid from over sea announced, and a let- 
 ter of gibberish drawn up by some cleric, who 
 had of old studied at St. Omer, was handed 
 about as the very autograph of Bonaparte, at 
 least of his head secretary. \ 
 
 Notwithstanding the gravity and influence of | 
 the said committee, it is certain that the Rath- 
 finnanites were little infected with any of their j 
 principles, until after the destruction of Tim \ 
 Oulaghan'^s public-house. Since then, however, : 
 the community had been so quickly and widely | 
 inoculated with disaffection, that the only two ! 
 grown protestants of the village were sworn , 
 
 constables — a military subaltern with half ' 
 a company was quartered in the village, and 
 Major Hempenshaugh, the police magistrate 
 entrusted with the surveillance of the district, 
 kept a close eye upon Rathfinnan, and often I 
 
 patrolled at midnight through its haunts. 
 
 If the country, in which the scene of this 
 narrative is placed, was disaffected, it certainly ]
 
 THE CAKDERS. / 
 
 could not be attributed to the universally plead- 
 ed cause of Irish misfortune, that scapegoat of 
 Irish sin — a non-resident gentry. No part of 
 England, similarly situated, could have been 
 more closely inhabited by men of property. 
 Not only were the " gentlemen of the country" 
 resident on their paternal acres, but crowds of 
 settlers had been attracted by the vicinity of 
 the lake and the beauty of its borders, to pur- 
 chase and to build. There was Major M^Al- 
 pine, who had served many bloodless campaigns 
 before the war in the old green horse, a Scotch- 
 man of high descent, who had contrived to 
 marry an heiress of eleven years old in her fa- 
 ther's dairy, and lived upon his thus acquired 
 property in high state, governing it with a 
 Scotch steward, and tilling it with Scotch 
 ploughs. There was Mr. Hanlon, commonly 
 called Rum Hanlon, a fortunate contractor 
 from the West Indies, who had made his for- 
 tune by receiving the price of old ruiji from 
 his Majesty's treasure for the new which he 
 dealt out to his Majesty's troops. There was 
 but why burden our introduction with a
 
 8 THE CARDERS- 
 
 description of the settlers, while the dramatis 
 persona consist of the old inhabitants of the 
 country ? 
 
 At one end of the village stood the angle of 
 a domain wall, o''er which luxuriant boughs of 
 sycamore and oak stretched forth upon the 
 road, forming a delightful spot of shelter from 
 sun as well as wind, which was not overlooked 
 by the loungers of the village. Well polished 
 was that wall by the leaning backs of idlers, 
 who assembled there every fine Sunday after 
 mass. Of a week-day it was filled with fewer 
 and younger occupants, enjoying a game at 
 marbles, or pitch and toss. Before it ran the 
 river, crossed by the old ruined arch, reared, 
 like a leaping horse in mid career ; while step- 
 ping-stones, round which the water fiercely gur- 
 gled, afforded a less convenient and moister 
 mode of crossing the stream. As this was the 
 road to the church as well as to the chapel of 
 the parish, the aforesaid plan of rendezvous 
 might have been selected by the idle Rathfin- 
 nanites for other reasons than its shelter or its 
 shade. And on the great holiday of the week.
 
 THE CARDERS. \) 
 
 the group there collected formed a kind of 
 gauntlet for the gentry of the county in returning 
 from their devotions, in passing which the po- 
 pular families met with silently doffed hats and 
 huzzaing children ; while those who had for any 
 reason become odious, might read in the silence, 
 the murmurs, or the scouring looks of the assem- 
 blage, symptoms of dislike not to be slighted in 
 a country where violence seldom fails to follow 
 hatred. 
 
 The trees and domain enclosed by this con- 
 venient wall, belonged to Mr. or, as he was 
 often styled. Captain Plunket, he holding that 
 military rank in the Yeomanry Corps of 
 Rathfinnan. His commission, at the best of 
 times a sinecure, had become a nonentity since 
 the late symptoms, it being judged imprudent to 
 trust such an assembly of Catholics with mus- 
 kets. It was even deemed unsafe to have such 
 a quantity of arms lodged even in Plunk ets- 
 town-house ; so that the arms of the Rathfinnan 
 corps had been committed, at least reported to 
 have been committed, to the safer keeping of 
 Athlone Castle, to the further discontent and 
 B 5
 
 10 THE CARDERS. 
 
 disaffection of the yeomanry, who regretted 
 their red Sunday coats and their shilling of a 
 field-day. These precautions, however, origi- 
 nated in the active gentlemen of the country, 
 not in Mr. Plunket, who, good easy man, would 
 never have dreamed nor imagined the pits and 
 plots that surrounded him, if the bodings and 
 private informations poured forth at the Magis- 
 trates and Grand Jury dinners did not inflame his 
 terrors and his zeal regularly twice a year. In the 
 interval between these periods, he was remarked 
 to become sceptical as to the existence of latent 
 rebellion, and shook his head at times, when Cu- 
 rate Crostwhaite, the active Magistrate, poured 
 forth denunciations against the Papists, and pro- 
 phecies of a speedy massacre of the Protestants. 
 In truth, Mr. Plunket cared little for these party 
 quarrels : he had spent six months of his youth 
 in a regiment of dragoons, and had there acquired 
 a taste for military life, which he evinced by en- 
 tertaining every week a greater or^ fewer num- 
 ber of the officers of the Athlone garrison with 
 the good things of his estate, and with superero- 
 gatory claret, for which his timber fell yearly
 
 THE CAHDERS. 11 
 
 beneath the woodman''s axe, to be converted into 
 notes for the wine-raerchant. The fair acres of 
 Plunketstown might have taken the same road 
 with their growth, had not the parchment bonds 
 of an entail secured them to the heir male. 
 
 The father of Mr. Plunket, like many of the 
 grandsires, but few of the sires of the present 
 generation, had been a man of taste and travel. 
 The present mansion was of his building, and 
 almost every tree on the estate was of his 
 planting. No Druid oak stood near to spread 
 an air of age and grandeur o'er the dwelhng : 
 still there were not wanting younger and gayer 
 groves of late plantation, where the evergreens 
 and nevergreens of the forest tribe were indus- 
 triously mingled and consorted. The dark- 
 green spruce fir, the paler Scotch, and graceftil 
 larch, were in summer contrasted with the fresher 
 verdure of the beech, in autumn and winter with 
 its crisp brown leaves, and with the scarlet 
 branches of the peg-wood tree. Plunketstown 
 hill, which rose behind the mansion, and screened 
 it commodiously from a vast extent of bog which 
 stretched for miles behind, was covered with one
 
 12 THE CARDERS. 
 
 of these groves of many colours, which in autumn 
 wore the appearance of a hill-harlequin tricked 
 out for Carnival. At its foot stood the mansion, 
 at some distance from the lake, of which never- 
 theless it commanded a view, and to the brink 
 of which its ample lawn extended. It was a 
 solid square building of dark granite, richly 
 ornamented, of almost perpendicular roof, and 
 chimneys of enormous size. It exactly resembled 
 one of the extreme wings, or pavilions, as they 
 are called, of the Tuileries, the height of roof 
 and chimney not perhaps so exaggerated ; and 
 had Plunketstown been ornamented with the 
 jalousies of the Pavilion de Flore, the garret 
 windows peeping out of the slates, the filthy 
 funnel-holes, and the conductors, the model had 
 been exact. A huge flight of steps, descending, 
 like a waterfall, from a central point in the front 
 towards the lawn, was an indispensable appendix; 
 whilst a deep fosse, running quite around the 
 house, attempted to attain the security of the 
 ancient Castle, without infringing upon the 
 commodiousness of the modern dweUing. 
 
 The prospect commanded by the mansion did
 
 THK CAHDERS. 13 
 
 honour to the selector of the site. It extended 
 over both inner and outer lake, their islands and 
 borders fraught with country seats : nay, the tele- 
 scope that kept its perpetual stand in Plunkets- 
 town parlour, had the fame of enabling one to 
 see clearly the clothes drying on the Connaught 
 shore, a distance of full eleven miles. The 
 office of the said telescope, moreover, was seldom 
 a sinecure : to the idle visitors of the house it 
 well supplied the place of almanack and army 
 hst ; and not a bark could cross the lake at certaia 
 times, whose freight and errand did not afford 
 conjectures to the society of Plunketstown. 
 
 There was one gentleman, the inhabitant of a 
 neighbouring island, who held this telescope in 
 peculiar detestation. He could not roast a 
 potatoe, he used to exclaim, without being re~ 
 connoitred : if too Httle smoke issued from his 
 chimney, he was accused of starving his family ;. 
 if too much, he kept a private still, afid manu- 
 factured potheen. Mr. Travers, the gentleman, 
 in question, often expostulated witL his conti- 
 nental friend : — " Damn it, Plunfret, a good 
 fellow and a man of sense like you, to keep
 
 14 THE CARDERS. 
 
 feasting and inviting those swallows of a season 
 here to-day and there to-morrow ! Your claret, 
 by G — 5 might as well be spilt in Lough Ree as 
 in their throats. Couldn't you keep hounds, 
 man, and horses, like any real country gentleman? 
 and then carouse with your brother sportsmen 
 from a keg of right old whiskey ? Damn them 
 and their watery claret ; tea dyed with indigo 
 were a better beverage ; and I '11 swear, the 
 drinkers thereof have more tittle-tattle, lies, 
 scandal, and trifling, than a conclave of old maids 
 over their congo." 
 
 The utterer of this anti-military expostulation 
 had been himself a soldier. He had been in the 
 disastrous campaigns of America, and of Hol- 
 lani, whilst the star of British glory was under 
 ^n e^hpse, and had there acquired that partial, 
 thou^ generally hidden distaste for the military 
 life, wHich too often damped the confidence of 
 !lhe British officer from Fontenoy to Aboukir, 
 And at the very moment when that star re-ap- 
 peared to shine in all its splendour, in Egypt, 
 Lieutenant Travers received a gun-shot wound 
 that settled his future accounts with the Gazette:
 
 THE CARDERS. 15 
 
 SO that with his half-pay, increased by the addi- 
 tion of a pension of the old modicum, (not the 
 handsome hundreds which the lucrative wounds 
 of the Peninsula have since produced,) he retired, 
 accompanied by an only daughter, to his native 
 county. The disabled officer at first invited to 
 Plunketstown, became the solace of Mr. Plunket's 
 heavy evenings, and might have taken up his 
 abode there for a perpetuity, had he not scorned 
 dependence, and dreaded the title of a led- 
 Captain. In the end, Mr. Plunket contrived to 
 satisfy the old officer's scruples, and secure a 
 companion for himself, by giving Mr. Travers 
 an easy lease of the isle of Inchfearris. What 
 was the exact rent paid for the isle and tenement 
 thereon was found difficult to discover ; but it 
 became soon manifest, that they were held on some 
 feudal tenure, which obhged the island tenant, as 
 soon as he perceived a fire lighted upon the Rath- 
 head, to muster all his powers of hunger and 
 thirst, and proceed in his barge to the support 
 of his landlord's table.
 
 16 
 
 THE CARDERS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The bonds of intimacy between Mr. Plunket 
 and his friend Travers were drawn much closer 
 by similarity of fate. They were both widowers, 
 each with an only daughter, the weaker sex of 
 their offspring being felt as a misfortune equally 
 by the poor friend and the rich one : by Travers, 
 when he mused, were he withdrawn from the 
 world, what would become of his poor Honoria ,? 
 and by Mr. Plunket, when at every fresh dun he 
 painted to his imagination the delightful, but 
 now forbidden, prospect of levying fines and 
 silencing those cursed creditors. 
 
 Fine times, we may suppose, the young ladies 
 had of it— uncontrolled"b J the eye of a mother, 
 no task prescribed, no stroll interrupted, no ro- 
 mantic volume forbidden. And notwithstanding
 
 THE CARDERS. 17 
 
 that each parent would now and then, in an 
 hour of sage reflection, soothe his splenetic 
 mood by a lecture of mixed expostulation and 
 pathetic on the evils of mi spent time and lost 
 education, the young ladies used at last to calcu- 
 late on the return of those periodical fits of ad- 
 vice, and endure them with proper penitence of 
 feature. For the volatile Lucy this was no easy 
 matter; and her over-acted demureness on such 
 occasions would have awakened the suspicions of 
 any other than her own easy parent, who, for all 
 his lectures, deemed that the sylphid form and 
 lovely features of Lucy Plunket, accompanied 
 with a fortune of fifteen thousand pounds, re- 
 quired little extraneous garnishing of accom- 
 plishment. With unchanged aspect would Ho- 
 noria listen on similar occasions ; and if the air 
 of attention worn by her was insincere, it was 
 not that she disputed the truth of the maxims 
 laid down, but that she could not, for the life of 
 her, discover any consequence drawn from them, 
 or any line of study or employment proposed, 
 by her worthy parent. 
 
 The personal appearance, as well as the tern-
 
 18 THE CARDERS. 
 
 per of the maidens, answered happily to the 
 situation in hfe which fortune had as yet mark- 
 ed out for each. The tall and graceful person 
 of Lucy, joined with features interesting and 
 noble, but which, perhaps, might not be called 
 beautiful, formed still sufficient attractions for 
 the maiden of Plunketstown. Fair locks, and a 
 fairer complexion, easily turned to the sanguine 
 by modesty or exercise, gave ample scope for 
 metaphor to the village-poet or the rural toast- 
 giver ; whilst her laughing eyes of light hazel, 
 although they put to fault the said poet by for- 
 bidding him the obvious epithets of black-eyed 
 or blue-eyed, won not the less with their indefi- 
 nite colour. These sylphid charms of Lucy were 
 seen to advantage when her arms clung, as they 
 were wont, around the more robust form of her 
 friend. Honoria was dark, that deep brunette, 
 which Britain seldom boasts, but which the Irish 
 possess as one of the many tokens of their Mile- 
 sian origin. She was of that style of beauty, 
 indeed, most prevalent in the sister-kingdom : 
 dark and low, her countenance, though beautiful, 
 tending more to the round than the oval, and
 
 THE CARDERS. 19 
 
 her figure well-formed, save that it wanted that 
 feminine diminutiveness of the hands and feet, 
 which were a much more valuable relic than 
 colour for the ladies of Erin to have preserved 
 of their Spanish ancestry. 
 
 In character the friends were as contrasted as 
 in person, though perhaps as much from cir- 
 cumstances as disposition. The vivacity and 
 run-away spirits of Lucy burst forth unchecked 
 upon all occasions ; her sorrow was as impetu- 
 ous as her joy, — all her feelings, in short, ran 
 headlong, as she herself was wont to do in her 
 rude sports and gambols. In society she was 
 even more vivacious, and she abashed numberless 
 rural beaux by receiving their venturesome com- 
 pliments with unblushing face and repartee. 
 Her high spirits even gained her the character 
 of satirical among the simple personages of the 
 country side; so that she was seldom ap- 
 proached in the crowded drawing-room of Plun- 
 ketstown, or in neighbouring assemblies, but by 
 veteran jokers, clean-cropped, powdered old 
 bachelors, who, by the aid of Joe Miller and 
 some forty years hard joking, contrived to keep
 
 20 THE CARDERS. 
 
 up the ball of repartee with the ready Lucy. 
 On such occasions Honoria sate silent by her 
 side, smiling from time to time unenviously at 
 her merry friend, and wondering how so much 
 readiness and self-possession could be found 
 united with that shght form and really timorous 
 spirit. But Lucy had been accustomed from 
 her earliest youth to female society ; she had not 
 been very long deprived of a mother's company ^ 
 and care, and the maiden aunt who now sup- 
 plied that parent's place, not only allowed her to 
 mingle in society, but taught her how to feel at 
 ease in its circles. With poor Honoria it was 
 otherwise. Like most girls, whose misfortune it 
 has been to be brought up by male relations, her 
 manners and habits of thought wore a masculine 
 air, little calculated to conciliate or procure the 
 good will and word of society for one who un- 
 luckily stood in need of it. The penniless 
 daughter of the island lieutenant stood in need 
 of power to command attention, instead of at- 
 tracting it : in short, Honoria found reason to 
 be dissatisfied with society ; she showed it in 
 revenge her dark and sullen side, and, like
 
 THE CAIIDERS. 21 
 
 many rough though truly amiable personages 
 of all our acquaintance, she disdained " to turn 
 forth the silver lining "" of her character, except 
 on hours of private friendship and affection. 
 
 In these Honoria, in spite of the world's 
 contrary opinion, had the advantage over her 
 friend, derived perhaps from a few years' se- 
 niority, perhaps from her graver character, 
 or from having seen, though perhaps less of 
 society, more of the world. It is astonishing 
 what superiority a greater extent of mere loco- 
 motion gives to one person over another; the 
 greatest moral impossibility in the world, per- 
 haps, is complete equality even between two 
 persons, — experience ever teaching us, that when 
 two beings come together, no matter what the 
 equality of their talents, studies, and resources, 
 one never fails to put an intellectual yoke upon 
 the other ; and so nicely are we mortals ba- 
 lanced, that the slightest advantage v/eighs 
 down the scale on either side. The universal 
 gradation of intellects would form too fine a 
 disquisition for the pages of novel ; ahd I only 
 add that the claims of this kind, which hold up
 
 22 THE CARDERS. 
 
 their heads and are allowed in society, like many 
 a tall bully unresisted abroad, sink into sub- 
 servience at home; and the talents that rule 
 the motley crowd of a mixed company, are 
 seldom those uppermost in the private hours 
 of single, at least of dual friendship, of close 
 consultation, or even of amusement. The 
 joke or the remark, that passes muster 
 amidst the many worse ones of a well-flanked 
 table, seem but very sorry in a tete-a-tete, and 
 the sum of the sense expended in casual and 
 successful observations to Mister This and Miss 
 That, would not support the character of the 
 utterer through ten minutes of a rational dia- 
 logue. This must account for the unlikely truth, 
 that the dull Honoria, from the moment that 
 she drew the arm of the gay Lucy beneath hers, 
 contrived to lead the subject and impose the 
 tone of their intercourse, substituting her own 
 masculine though enthusiastic habits of think- 
 ing and judging, for the quick and flighty views 
 of her friend. 
 
 Notwithstanding this superiority, Honoria, in 
 the eyes of all the country connoisseurs, fell
 
 THE CARDERS. 23 
 
 far short of Lucy : she was not, hke the latter, 
 " highly accomplished," which hacknied super- 
 lative poor Lucy had earned by a nominal ap- 
 plication of several hours a day, for six or seven 
 years, to the piano — strumming a country-dance, 
 and mispronouncing a few sentences of dialogue- 
 French, being in that latitude the acme of fe- 
 male education. Even the ready possession of 
 this store was fast vanishing from Lucy since 
 her mother's death ; Miss Rebecca, or rather 
 aunt Bee, as she was more familiarly called, di- 
 viding her whole attention between the medicine 
 chest and the Bible society, instead of observing 
 the studies of her niece. Indeed aunt Bee was 
 as busy an elderly maiden as ever sought to 
 employ the lost days of her virginity in well- 
 doing: her mornings were devoted to healing 
 and curing the sick and wounded of the coun- 
 try, who swallowed her medicines mth faith in 
 them, and gratitude to her, exactly in propor- 
 tion to their intensity of nauseousness. Then 
 the noons of the ancient maiden were employed 
 in writing circulars and suppUcating for sub- 
 scriptions, announcing days of meeting, and
 
 24 THE CARDERS. , 
 
 showing equal anxiety for the souls of the rich, , 
 as she had displayed all the morn for the bodies '> 
 of the poor. \ 
 
 From her our young ladies met with little 
 interruption ; and although a novel could not be | 
 flagrantly perused before her eyes, yet the 
 bowers and seats of Plunketstown were so nu- | 
 merous, and the recesses of its groves so secret, ^ 
 that they often sympathized with distressed i 
 heroines through four, nay seven long volumes, 
 without discovery. The novels of Fielding and i 
 of Smollet, purloined from the study, gave them i 
 some odd and not unjust ideas of life ; and the \ 
 licentiousness of these classic writers, although 
 it might excite a titter or a blush, was not such 
 as to leave any pernicious impression on their \ 
 young minds. Chaster pens, indeed, are often 1 
 more likely to produce this effect. Richardson i 
 excited all the emulation of their young egotism, i 
 nor did a yawn from them once bedim the 
 smooth page of Clarissa. Mrs. Radcliffe, in a I 
 country like theirs, actually filled with the i 
 fiercest desperadoes, as well as with no small \ 
 quantity of wraiths, benshees, fairies, and hob- \
 
 THE CARDERS. 25 
 
 goblins, was far too terrific to be agreeable. 
 Still she was read, and her works had the effect 
 of magnifying much, in the young ladies' eyes, 
 the Captain Rocks, or, as they styled themselves, 
 the Captain Carders of the neighbourhood, 
 whose name and exploits were beheld in a light 
 far otherwise than romantic by the county ma- 
 gistrates. 
 
 Inchfearris was a favourite retreat for the 
 young ladies from the male parties at Plunkets- 
 town. As they trod its scanty lawn, and slowly 
 paced its pebbly shore, thoughts of Calypso, 
 the island goddess, would steal upon the musing 
 Lucy. The lake was an ocean all-sufficient for 
 her young imagination ; she did not scruple, 
 though she might not avow it, to sink Honoria 
 into an attendant nymph ; and if a lucky swain, 
 at the moment, could but run his fishing-boat 
 aground upon the island, he would, no doubt, 
 have been metamorphosed in a twinkling into 
 the favoured son of Ulysses. Perhaps a young 
 gentleman, to whom I shall afterwards intro- 
 duce my readers, had done so upon a time ; for 
 the objects of Lucy's vision were no longer 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 THE CARDERS. 
 
 ideal. They had of late, somehow or other, 
 come to assume a feverish kind of consistency : 
 the figure and features of her visionary person- 
 ages began to be more uniform, and to preserve 
 their identity more. She was no longer in sus- 
 pense, whether she should prefer a dark or a 
 fair, a black-eyed or a blue-eyed hero ; and her 
 predilection for certain professions was strangely 
 and suddenly reversed. From all this, she her- 
 self allowed that she was altered, although the 
 signs were scarce perceivable to any, and the 
 full cause divined not even by poor Lucy so 
 deeply as they were by her friend Honoria.
 
 THE CARDERS. 27 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 No matter upon what day of what year the 
 crackhng invitation had blazed upon the Rath- 
 head ; others more legible had been despatched 
 in divers directions ; at least, so it appeared to the 
 old and idle of Rathfinnan, when, the hour verging 
 towards five, the quiet of the village was dis- 
 turbed by passing vehicles. Curs sprang agilely 
 over the demi-doors of each cabin, to bay at the 
 happy folk that were hurrying to a good 
 dinner ; brats innumerable strove to follow the 
 example of their four-footed companions, and 
 were scarce prevented by their smoke-dried mo- 
 thers, who fully satisfied their own curiosity in 
 the act of restraining that of their off'spring. 
 Gigs of all descriptions rolled along,, from the 
 light tilbury of the military stranger to the 
 c2
 
 28 THE CARDEES. 
 
 lumbering and headless cabriole that bore somcr 
 squire of low degree. Jaunting-cars followed^ 
 fraught with damsels ccHfed with petticoats, in 
 lieu of bonnets, to screen their trimmed locks 
 from the wind ; and carts brought up the rear, 
 furnished with best bed and best quilt, to se- 
 cure, as well as could be in the absence of 
 springs, the recumbent family from the jolts and 
 ruggedness of the road. 
 
 At a rapid pace the steeds bore their several 
 vehicles adown the descent of the village, past 
 the remarks, blessings, and supphcations of the 
 inhabitants. But in the ascent there was no 
 escape. Forth issued a posse of dames with 
 their hands over their eyes, to allow them to 
 scan each passenger more distinctly. The idle 
 male looked sullenly, without stirring, on the 
 strange red coat ; the children, though they ran 
 in their rags to gaze, disdained to beg, and one 
 or two little girls hid the stockings they were 
 learning to knit, with true Irish instinct, ashamed 
 of labour. The gentleman in the spacious gig was 
 assailed by a thousand questions ; the jaunting- 
 car ladies bowed ever and anon to courtesies drop-
 
 THE CAEDERS. 29 
 
 ped at them by their \^llage protegees ; whilst 
 those in the low cart lost patience at the irre- 
 verence with which the httle ragamuffins thought 
 they might approach so humble a vehicle. As 
 the gate of the domain closed upon these, more 
 of the bidden made their appearance, in the 
 shape of two horsemen, whose appearance seemed 
 to excite strong and unusual sensations amongst 
 the gazing throng. As to the children, they 
 disappeared as instantly as chickens from the 
 hovering hawk ; the very matrons to whom they 
 flew for refuge themselves retiring from these 
 comers of evil omen. 
 
 One, who was no other than ^fajor Hempen- 
 shaugh himself, the pohce-magistrate of the dis- 
 trict, and captain-general of the peekrs, was 
 a tall, able, jolly-looking personage, with little 
 of the policeman about him, save the rotundity 
 and rubicundity which his income thence drawn 
 afforded him. There was nothing in the least 
 sinister or fearful in his looks, notwithstanding 
 the awe that he seemed to produce, evincing 
 that it must have been more by the fame of his 
 deeds, than by his looks, that he inspired such
 
 30 
 
 THK CARDERS. 
 
 terror. The ugly trade of thief and traitor 
 catching was nowise written in his countenance ; 
 for physiognomy, fond as it is of betraying 
 mean pursuits, is more generally ennobled by 
 habits, considered of duty, however ignominious. 
 What was wanting, however, of the stern and 
 the sinister in the countenance of Major Hem- 
 penshaugh, was fully discoverable in that of the 
 companion that rode by his side, mounted upon 
 a garran as sorry as that of the Major was 
 stout and well-conditioned. The rider was lean 
 as his steed, and was only prevented by his 
 insignificant stature from answering the descrip- 
 tion of Don Quixote. His dress of rusty black, 
 and long boots ungarnished by a top, bespoke 
 the man, what scarce could have been guessed, 
 a cleric, whilst the pockets of his scanty spencer, 
 weighed down as they half displayed a pair of 
 moderate-sized pistols, seemed incongruous ap- 
 pendages to a minister of peace. 
 
 Such, nevertheless, professed himself the Re- 
 verend Abraham Crostwhaite, the curate of a 
 neighbouring parish, named Cappagh, ill-peopled, 
 it should seem, with orthodox Christians ; for
 
 THE CARDERS. 31 
 
 Mr. Crostwhaite having for the three first Sun- 
 days gone through the service, addressing hi^5 
 dearly-beloved brother, the clerk alone, shut 
 up the church till better times, and cashiered 
 the poor clerk as an useless expense to the pa- 
 rish. Why the clergyman should not have fol- 
 lowed his utterer of responses, few could tell : 
 but, as the present rector could not conveniently 
 reside in his parish, being, to tell the truth, 
 comfortably immured within the walls of the 
 King's Bench, Westminster, a most involuntary 
 absentee, he was obliged to pay a curate for the 
 purpose of satisfying the bishop's scruples, and 
 occupying the ruined glebe. But the active 
 spirit of Abraham Crostwhaite disdained a sine- 
 cure : if he could not be useful in one way, he 
 was resolved to be so in another ; so after getting 
 drunk once or twice, and showing other equally 
 Orange principles before a great man of the 
 country, the reverend gentleman was forthwith 
 indulged with a commission of the peace for the 
 county. If occupation was his object in thus 
 superinducing a civil dignity over his clerical, 
 he certainly attained it to his heart's content.
 
 32 THE CARDERS. 
 
 No less than a dozen self-constituted infonners 
 contrived to introduce themselves to him, each 
 with accounts of oaths, plots, and meditated 
 massacres, that made Mr. Crostwhaite's hair 
 stand on end ; and the eloquence of the lying 
 rogues so wrought upon the magistrate, that his 
 terrors duped him into a belief of all he heard, 
 by the half too much, as our proverb-learned 
 readers know. So far he was no hypocrite ; 
 and he firmly believed that the noble families 
 of the F.'s and the E.'s had actually staked 
 their fate and fortunes in exciting country raga- 
 muffins to burn haggards and torture wretches. 
 Fired with whiskey punch and a few pages of 
 Musgrave, many an eve would Mr. Crostwhaite 
 sally forth upon his garran, armed at all points, 
 summon, by virtue of his commission, the un- 
 willing soldiery to accompany him, and make 
 his Majesty's forces patrol bogs and bivouac in 
 a roofless barn, without committing any further 
 exploit on the march than challenging, perhaps, 
 a stray pig, or vainly sacking a cow-house for 
 concealed arras.
 
 THE CARDERS. 33 
 
 Such were the cavahers from whom the 
 Rathfimianites drew back in dismay. Timothy 
 Oulaghan was leaning, as they passed, against 
 the portal of his dismantled change-house. 
 " Long life to your honours !'' said Timothy, 
 with a reverential bow, which, however suspect- 
 ed by those to whom it was addressed, could not 
 be challenged by them as in the least ironical. 
 
 *' There 's a pastor for ye, you black sheep," 
 said Timothy, sotto voce, to his neighbour, the 
 schoolmaster of the village. 
 
 " Auh !"" pronounced a V Ltalicmie, with a 
 strong guttural aspirate for its termination, 
 may give an idea of the non-syllabic response. 
 ** Musha, then,*' continued the ejaculator, after 
 a pause, " can you tell a body what the man 
 wants, that he does be patrouhng about, wid 
 his pop-guns at his side, as if a proper man, 
 Tim, hke you and I, would think more of 'em 
 tlian of an ould cabbage-stock." 
 
 " Ah, by my s— ! 'tisn't for nothing the cat 
 winks: it's after a bishoprick the scaldcrow's a 
 lookin." 
 
 c 5
 
 34 THE CARDERS. 
 
 " Arrah, then ! maybe the ould one ud give 
 him a crook," said the pedagogue. 
 
 " Mightn't we help him to 't ourselves, Master 
 0''Rourke,'" said the ci-devant landlord, drawing 
 close to the colloquist. 
 
 " Hould your whisht, man, the bloody seven- 
 teen beant come yet."" And so the benevolent 
 intentions of Timothy towards the Curate of 
 Cappagh were left in abeyance for the time. 
 " Howsomdever," concluded the worthy, " I'll 
 jist send a bit gossoon across the country to tell 
 'em the rooks are gatherin on the lake." 
 
 Meantime the Major and the Curate had 
 ascended Plunketstown staircase, and joined 
 the rest of the company in that dropping fire of 
 languid observation that generally precedes the 
 call to dinner. It came, was done justice to, 
 and departed; the ladies disappearing, as by 
 prescription, soon after the viands, and leaving 
 the gentlemen to politics and — no, not to 
 punch, for, as I mentioned before, the timber of 
 Plunketstown supplied a costher liquor. There 
 were many, however, who, through humility or 
 taste, preferred the " native," and many more
 
 THE CARDERS. 35 
 
 that preferred, but through vanity drank it 
 not. But leaving the hquor to its silent opera- 
 tion, let us only contemplate its well-known 
 effect on the conversation of the party. 
 
 " Excellent claret this ; not so good as mine 
 though,"" observed between his sips my Lord 
 Castletown Belville, a noble just fresh from the 
 Gazette, the ci^evant Mr. Wilkin s, whose long 
 and new title was so puzzling to his friends, that 
 they more generally compromised the difference 
 between his mobility and nobility, and talked 
 of him as Lord Wilkins; — but this was a sad 
 offence. 
 
 '' Glad you like it— 'tis Sneyd's,'' said the 
 host. 
 
 *' It certainly has not the age of Castletown 
 Belville's," observed a dry wag of a military 
 physician. " The cellars of the Castle, I think, 
 Plunket, are better adapted for keeping wine 
 long than yours." 
 
 " They 're cooler, I dare say,'' said Mr. 
 Plunket, turning off the jest, the satire of 
 which the dull Lord had not perceived. 
 
 " That 's true, my Lord," continued the un-
 
 36 THE CARDERS. 
 
 remitting Doctor; " I hear there's a schism, a 
 crack in your new castle — a house divided — " 
 
 "A crack! Doctor, what do you mean? I 
 can assure you, not only the walls are as sound, 
 but even the cement, a little green or so, to be 
 sure, but — " 
 
 " Nay, nothing so serious as that, my Lord 
 
 W ,— Castletown B. I should say — but that 
 
 one half of your abode is declared in a state of 
 insurrection." 
 
 " Ha ! is it of that you speak ? Egad, there 
 is some truth in it, for the stream "" 
 
 " By Jove, that's capital.'' 
 
 " The stream that divides the baronies runs 
 beneath the Castle, and so by my very good 
 friend the Secretary's act " 
 
 " Her Ladyship's bed-room is declared in a 
 state of insurrection, full of lawless and disor- 
 derly persons ; while your Lordship's study, if 
 I mistake not, in the unproclaimed district, is 
 inhabited by loyal and well-afFected subjects. 
 Well, Major," continued the Doctor, turning to 
 Hempenshaugh, " I wish you joy of the new ter- 
 ritory added to your former realms ; I hope the 
 Peelers will do their duty, and you yours, in
 
 THE CARDERS. 37 
 
 restoring quiet to the peer''s disturbed abode. 
 A fine thing to be a great man, and be able to 
 get an act of Parliament to settle domestic in- 
 surrections — Eh, Plunket ?" 
 
 " When my worthy friend the Secretary," 
 continued his Lordship, with whom that per- 
 sonage seemed the centre of all association, 
 " was down with me last week cock-shooting — 
 the Secretary, you know, is an off-hand man, 
 none of your reserve, your diplomacy, your 
 representation about him — says he to me, 
 Castletown B. — no, by the by, my patent 
 wasn't out then, but no matter— this country, 
 said the Secretary, is in a damned dangerous 
 state." 
 
 *' The Devil he did,'' quoth the Doctor, whilst 
 the iVIajor snorted at the palpable mare's nest, 
 and Crostwhaite, like a member of the French 
 Chamber, s'agitait sur son banc with anxiety to 
 hear the denouement of the important disclosure. 
 But the Peer was huffed at the interruption, and 
 the Doctor succeeded in his artifice, which was 
 to save the conversation from becoming at once 
 bitter and orange, ere his stock of jokes and good 
 .humour were exhausted. Having ousted the
 
 38 THE CARDERS. 
 
 Peer of his lead, the Doctor and his miHtary 
 friends drew on the tapis all the scandal of the 
 country, the marriages, flirtations, vanities, and 
 indiscretions of the town and vicinage. The 
 whys and wherefores of this need explanation ; 
 it is as follows. The officers of the garrison 
 finding time hang heavy on their hands, and the 
 bridge not being wide and convenient enough to 
 allow them the prescriptive amusement of spit- 
 ting over it, had joined with some veteran wags 
 amongst the Aborigines, and erected themselves 
 into a club, ycleped the Embellishers, for the pro- 
 pagation of lies, fun, and mischief; and that with 
 the most laudable of ends and effects — for the 
 country, from having been, as it was before, set 
 everlastingly by the ears with tell-tale reports and 
 scandals, became, soon after the establishment of 
 the Embellishers, so comfortably incredulous, that 
 all belief, retention, and consequently all retail of 
 hearsays was utterly banished from the country. 
 Words were a cried-down coin, and not a soul 
 would give them currency. Never was falsehood 
 so completely vanquished, extinguished as by 
 itself. Private piques vanished, deprived of the
 
 THE CARDERS. 39 
 
 whispering atmosphere that supported them ; 
 and as for actions for defamation, never was such 
 a solecism heard of more in the fraternal society 
 of Athlone. 
 
 At the time I depict, however, the EmbeUish- 
 ers were yet but in progress ; their scheme had 
 not been breathed on, and the rage, fun, envy, 
 friendship, laughter, in short, all the passions and 
 sentiments they produced, and as quickly de- 
 stroyed, were interminable. So that in less than 
 an hour, half the landed proprietors of the 
 country were on their last legs — a joke too true 
 to be dwelt on — husbands were false, wives frail, 
 heirs supposititious, and the three great heiresses 
 of the county married to the brewer, the baker, 
 and the candlestick-maker of the burgh. Which 
 being done, the emissary Embelhshers retired to 
 instil into the ears of the fair ladies of the party 
 an improved and revised copy of the news already 
 announced in the parlour. 
 
 No sooner d^d these innocent men of war and 
 their facetious iEsculapius forsake the bottle, 
 than the Divan closed together — the Major ap- 
 proaching the Peer, and Mr. Crostwhaite, as he
 
 40 THE CARUEES. 
 
 drew his chair towards his host, screwing his 
 mouth up to a proper expression of intentness 
 and consciousness of horror. Poor Travers made 
 off, as soon as he observed the wicked looks of 
 the party. 
 
 •' What could have put it into your head, 
 Plunket," said my Lord, "to ask a troop of 
 merry men on such a night as this ?" 
 
 "It was my advising," said the Major ; " the 
 lads would suspect something wrong, if we of 
 the quorum met all alone." 
 
 "But come, my good friends, 'tis at least time 
 to let me into the secret. What trap are you 
 laying now? and why did I receive so many hints 
 from ye all to give a dinner-party on this parti- 
 cular day .f^*" 
 
 " Then you must know," quoth the Major, 
 " that the monthly meeting and midnight drill 
 of the boys has been fixed for to-night, the nine- 
 teenth ; so that to leave the coast to themselves, 
 and lull them into something overt^ here we are, 
 Sir, dining with your quiet self, no Amalekite 
 against them ; and the deuce is in them if they 
 have the least suspicion."
 
 THE CARDERS. 41 
 
 " Poor devils !" said Plunket, " what can they 
 be drilling for ? If you would but let them alone, 
 they 'd be quiet enough." 
 
 The Major smiled at this customary com- 
 mencement of his host, who always began with 
 a doubt, to be but the more furious when con- 
 vinced for the hundredth time. 
 
 "Zounds! Plunket," said the Peer, "hear 
 reason, listen to plain facts." 
 
 " Hear my information," said the Curate. 
 " No, no, to save further trouble, I '11 believe 
 all, and what then .?" 
 
 " Why, that we have ordered the Peelers and 
 a company of foot to meet us near the Grange 
 at midnight, and then we proceed upon our 
 
 quest ; by , if we meet the lads in the white 
 
 shirts, we *11 pepper 'em." 
 
 " Better begin by searching the Grange-house 
 itself," said the Curate ; " it contains the biggest 
 old thief of a United Man that 's ever been afoot 
 since ninety-eight." 
 
 "Come, come, Mr. Crostwhaite," said Mr. 
 Plunket, ''leave my neighbour Dillon of the 
 Grange alone: he has a keel too deep to launch
 
 42 THE CARDERS. 
 
 among these shallows. He has quite enough to 
 do to feed his seventeen children, poor fellow, 
 without bringing my friend the Major here upon 
 his back.*^ 
 
 " He 's a bloody Papist, and a sworn man," 
 reiterated the curate ; " and if you were but to 
 know my information." 
 
 " My blessing 's on your information, Sir," 
 said the host : " did not your information send 
 you to Mullingar on a fooPs errand, when De- 
 lany was murdered here in the midst of us ? an4 
 didn't it put you on a trip to Connaught, when 
 your own bit of a haggard was burned.?"" 
 
 " It's but too true; burned it was, and a 
 great loss to me,'* 
 
 " Well, come, honour bright and shining, 
 Crostwhaite," said Plunket,winking to the Peer, 
 as he thus half seriously, half jocosely adjured 
 the clergyman, " was not the valuation at which 
 the county paid you, worth ten times the little 
 cluster of sticks you had at Cappagh ?"* 
 
 " No, I declare, on the word of an honest 
 man.'" 
 
 *' Well, 'tis no matter, I must have mis-
 
 THE CARDERS. 43 
 
 taken : — but, my reverend friend, leave Dillon 
 of the Grange alone. You'll be but locking 
 up the poor man, as you did before, in Mullin- 
 gar gaol, away from his family, and the grand 
 jury will let him loose without a word, to the 
 disgrace of the county, Mr. Crostwhaite ; for I 
 tell you, the papers pick up every inch's length 
 of injustice you commit, to the prejudice of us 
 loyal and quiet magistrates, as if we were setting 
 the country by the ears just for the pleasure of 
 having to quiet it, — ^like Tom Bannister, when 
 he commenced surgeon in Dublin. His delight 
 used to be, to come behind a fellow in the 
 street, knock him senseless with a chuck be- 
 neath the ear, and then who so anxious as 
 Tom ? — ' Poor fellow, bring him in gently, 
 where 's my lancet.?*' — he had the poor fellow, 
 as he called him, bled before he could look 
 about him, and for the deuce else was the 
 knock given but for the sake of the bleed- 
 ing." 
 
 The warmth of speaking had thus brought 
 the squire near enough to the truth to make 
 the Peer and the Curate wince ; whilst the un-
 
 44 THE CARDEES. 
 
 moved Major was rather amused by the impa^ 
 tient play of muscle in the countenances of his 
 noble and reverend friends. 
 
 " Well, Plunket," said the Peer, '' we are 
 no such fools as to have any design now upon 
 old Dillon ; but you would do well to remem- 
 ber that he's a Papist, and moreover, that 
 his son 's one." 
 
 " Who i is it poor Arthur that dined here 
 to-day ?'' 
 " Ay, he." 
 
 " As bold and as knowing an imp as ever 
 crossed himself," said Mr. Crostwhaite. 
 
 " Egad, he's a noble young sportsman," 
 said the host ; " and I don't know who would 
 tumble a hare, or knock down a brace of cocks 
 for me, at an hour's warning, when Arthur 
 Dillon ''s away.'*' 
 
 " Hath the youngster a licence ?" demanded 
 the inveterate Curate. 
 
 " Licence enough on this domain : I should 
 like to see the man that would call it in ques- 
 tion." 
 
 " Ay, but Marsy Dahon is riding his black
 
 THE CARDERS. 45^ 
 
 steed, like another Earl King, through the 
 country, fining to the right and left every child 
 that dares to fire a pop-gun." 
 
 " That 's his trade, and he 's welcome. And 
 if he catches poor Arthur, I '11 pay the fine will- 
 ingly, that 's all." 
 
 Finding the Dillons, whom he loved not, pro- 
 tected by the fostering predilections of his host, 
 Crostwhaite drew in, and showed, for the pre- 
 sent, no further signs of hostility towards the 
 family of the Grange. The Peer and Major, 
 reverting at once to the object of the evening, 
 proposed and discussed along with their rever- 
 end coadjutor the plan of operations against the 
 Carders, smoothing Mr. Plunket into acquies- 
 cence, and even at last determining him to ac- 
 company them upon their loyal errand.
 
 46 THE CARDERS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Ere the sage magistrates were thus engaged 
 in deep debate, and even before the jests, that 
 preceded their serious sitting, were completely 
 exhausted, Arthur Dillon, the young subject 
 of the above conversation, had joined the young 
 ladies of the party, and had engaged them to 
 pass the evening under his guidance in a boat- 
 ing trip upon the lake. As aunt Bee would 
 certainly have expostulated, if not totally pre- 
 vented such a step, she was not consulted in 
 the affair ; and the party proceeded to the little 
 beach beneath the Rathhead, where the boats of 
 Plunketstown lay moored in their quiet cove. 
 
 Leaving them to proceed on this pleasant 
 party, it were well, methinks, if in the mean 
 while my readers were introduced to the family
 
 THE CARDERS. 47 
 
 of the Grange. The Dillons, who were the old 
 ori^nal landed proprietors of the better part of 
 the county, and Avhose nobility is still extant in 
 the person of an enlightened and distinguished 
 indi\ddual, had, like most Irish families, fallen 
 grievously from the high estate of their ancient 
 pride. Poorer and poorer still for centuries 
 had grown each succeeding generation, and still, 
 in despite of Malthus, the increase of the fa- 
 mily was in proportion to the decrease of their 
 wealth. The county was literally overrun with 
 the name : many who bore it, tilling at ten-pence 
 a-day the land which their forefathers had pos- 
 sessed. Other branches of the family, however, 
 preserved a more respectable rank — at least, a 
 more respectable and comfortable home ; for as 
 to rank, or even place in society, it is forbidden, 
 in those central and Anghfied quarters of Ire- 
 land, to Catholics even of the greatest affluence. 
 Of old it was customary for the tall cadets of 
 the family to seek employment in foreign ser- 
 vice, and many, in all European services, but 
 especially in the Austrian and French, had risen 
 to honour and command. In the commence-
 
 48 THE CARDERS. 
 
 ment of the French Revolution, Theobald Dil- 
 lon, the uncle of the present possessor of the 
 Grange, commanded the French troops op- 
 posed to the entry of Cobourg into France. 
 His troops, then far different from what they 
 afterwards proved, fled at the first sight of the 
 enemy. General Dillon strove to rally them in 
 vain ; and he was massacred by his coward sol- 
 diers in revenge for his being the only man 
 amongst them possessed of courage. Who, after 
 this, the first mihtary feat of the French Revo- 
 lution — who can depend upon national spirit or 
 courage .'' These very troops were afterwards, 
 most hkely, the heroes of Jemappe, of Marengo, 
 and Austerlitz. In the Austrian service the 
 Dillons fought and rose with their compatriots, 
 the Nugents and the Lacies; and fought the 
 Protestant Russians with the greater gout for 
 being of the same persuasion with the oppres- 
 sors, whom they had fled from at home. 
 
 I cannot boast antiquarian knowledge of the 
 country sufficient to say whether the Grange 
 was, or was not, the hereditorial possession of 
 the Dillons. At least, if it were, it retained no
 
 THE CARDERS. 49 
 
 sign of having belonged in the olden time to 
 that powerful family, who must have left stand- 
 ing, even to these days, in spite of time and 
 warfare, some relics of their eternal masonry. 
 The present house stood a couple of miles to 
 the rear of Plunketstown, on the borders, in- 
 deed within the precincts of an extensive bog, 
 in which, not very securely rooted, a few me- 
 lancholy birch-trees and ragged firs were pre- 
 tending to shelter and flank the mansion with a 
 customary grove of honour. The naked gable 
 was still unhidden by all this forestry, nor were 
 the secrets of the farm-yard behind utterly con- 
 cealed from whoever trod the avenue that mean- 
 dered through the little swampy lawn. Win- 
 dows seemed once to have adorned the edifice, 
 but war, usque ad tenehraSy had been declared 
 against the taxman : stonework had superseded 
 glass, or at least lurked behind the panes 
 vainly blackened, since the youngsters had dis- 
 covered the cheat, and half destroyed them with 
 their missiles. A tall, narrow, uniform hall- 
 door, with its bespattered weather-board, finished 
 the suspicious look of the mansion, which, dull 
 
 VOL. T. D
 
 50 THE CARDERS. 
 
 as it appeared, was within eternally enlivened 
 by the throats of nearly a score of children, 
 never at rest, unless when asleep, or devouring 
 their huge meal of stirabout or potatoes. Poor 
 Luke Dillon himself, the father of this host, and 
 his fertile spouse, were, as ye may well suppose, 
 a pair of such worn nonentities as people even 
 of spirit become, when weighed down by such a 
 hank of offspring strung around their necks. In 
 his youth, when the orators of the Irish Par- 
 liament kept alive the old national spirit of jea- 
 lousy towards England, now in despite of 
 yearly tumults fast decaying, and utterly so 
 amongst the better class, Luke had other 
 hopes — of getting back, perhaps, some of the 
 old acres. But the flame of rebellion in 
 ninety-eight, was greatly kept under, in this 
 part of the country, by the vicinity of a 
 strongly-garrisoned and fortified town ; so that 
 aU Mr. Luke Dillon thought prudent to give 
 to the cause were his hopes : even for this he 
 did not escape frequent imprisonment and jeo- 
 pardy from the over-loyal. Since the year 
 Three, however, when the troubles of Emmet
 
 THE CARDERS. 51 
 
 put the Orangemen for a while on the qui vive, 
 he had remained, until lately, unmolested, ex- 
 cept by the gradual advance of poverty, an 
 enemy which the annual increase of his domes- 
 tic forces was nowise calculated to overcome. 
 
 The eldest of this rising family was Arthur, 
 a fine ingenuous youth, and (being my hero, 
 his personal appearance becomes important) with 
 those prominent Roman features, rare in the 
 bogs of Ireland, though frequently an adjunct 
 of his name. Indeed a modern Latin might 
 not be a httle disappointed at hearing the Erse, 
 or the brogue issue, in l^eu of his own dialect, 
 from a true Dillon mouth. The wild impetu- 
 osity and quick feeling that distinguishes his 
 country, were Arthur's ; but in him the one was 
 chastened, and the other refined, by habits of 
 study, which might not have been his natural 
 bent, had not chance pointed such to him as the 
 means of subsistence, and necessity compelled the 
 prosecution of it. Amongst the many wants of 
 education so much complained of in Ireland, 
 the ignorance of the Latin tongue cannot be 
 accounted ; and young Dillon certainly picked 
 d2
 
 52 THE CARDERS. 
 
 up sufficient of it in a hedge-school of the 
 neighbourhood to enable him, with a good deal 
 of assiduity on his own part, to enter himself a 
 student of Trinity College, Dublin. In that 
 excellent University, at once so charitable and 
 severe, the only fault of which, as an institu- 
 tion, perhaps is the fatal facilities that it offers 
 to young ambition to step from the lower into 
 the higher classes of society, thereby creating 
 starving gentlemen of what might and ought 
 to have been, industrious poor, Arthur soon 
 learned, not only to support himself, but at 
 length, to eke out his parents' pittance with his 
 little savings. Poor Arthur, the happiest of 
 youths was he, when, his threadbare coat con- 
 cealed beneath his gown of honourable tatters, 
 he hurried off, in academic slippers, to deposit 
 in the post-office his first five-pound remittance 
 to the Grange. Not but that the sweets of well- 
 doing were embittered by feeUngs of wounded 
 pride. He earned his subsistence by teaching, 
 a profession on which, however proned by the 
 writer, and proved honourable by the philoso- 
 pher, there is nevertheless imprinted a stigma.
 
 THE CARDERS. 53 
 
 but the deeper felt, because no reason can be 
 assigned why it should be so. But this painful 
 consciousness of degradation, necessarily upper- 
 most in the society of his fellows, totally sunk 
 from view in the happy moments of study and 
 of solitude. He was just at the age when clas- 
 sic studies have their full effect of enchantment 
 on the mind, which they saturate with poetical 
 imagery, and offer to its rising feelings a conge- 
 nial tongue and a ready utterance, which they 
 scarce as yet can find for themselves. It is then 
 that youth is truly a poet, happier in its fancies, 
 nay happier in its hacknied conceit, and cou- 
 plet coined anew, though old as Methusalem, 
 than when, in all the maturity of fame, the 
 bard works hardly for his mingled meed of 
 bread and laurels. 
 
 But the necessity of supporting his character 
 as a scholar, and the rigid attention required by 
 the very severe scientific course of the Univer- 
 sity, luckily distracted Arthur from carrying too 
 far his devotion to the muse. And although he 
 vowed to recal her in manhood and leisure-time, 
 he subsequently found the Nine no birds to be
 
 54 THE CARDERS. 
 
 let loose and whistled back again at will. Still, 
 however, their early visitation infused life and 
 elasticity into his spirits, which might otherwise 
 have grown bedimmed by closeness of applica- 
 tion; and the habits of poetic imagination, 
 which he indulged in, however passing and 
 premature, still continued to guide his asso- 
 ciation through graver subjects of thought. 
 Hope too, sanguine Hope, that companion of 
 the poetic temperament, cheered his struggle 
 through poverty and degradation ; and although 
 these early distresses, like morning shadows, fell 
 far upon the path before him, still the distance 
 was lit up to his view in all the promise of gor- 
 geous sunshine. 
 
 He had just taken the opportunity of the long 
 autumn vacation to revisit his parents. A few 
 years of study had not extinguished in him the 
 love and skill for sporting, for which he had 
 been remarked when a boy. His proficiency in 
 these matters introduced him anew to Plunkets- 
 town, where he had often been, when a child, 
 the playmate of Lucy. Sundry expostulations, 
 such as that of the present evening, of Mr.
 
 THE CARDERS. 55 
 
 Plunket*s true-blue friends, against his cherish- 
 ing so near him a viper of the accursed creed, 
 had no effect but that of awakening a further 
 feehng of friendship in that gentleman's breast 
 towards the young Paria ; on whom, however, 
 he as much looked down as did his friends, not 
 doubting that the youth was quite aware of his 
 grade, nor deigning to suppose that his familia- 
 rity with Lucy would ever interfere to thwart 
 a parent's views \vith respect to her. 
 
 How far he was right in this, remains still to 
 be seen. Certes, in company, when the gay 
 Lucy laughed with all, she laughed not with 
 him ; seldom was he her neighbour at the 
 board, her partner in the dance. Their fami- 
 liarity, for what reason soever, never passed the 
 threshold, and the Arthur and Lucy of the lawn 
 and grove were speedily metamorphosed into 
 the Mr. Dillon and Miss Plunket of the draw- 
 ing-room. There, indeed, Honoria seemed the 
 chosen friend of Arthur. Two female friends 
 being together, young Love has a thousand 
 shields and lurking-places, which a solitary dis- 
 sembler could never take advantage of; and
 
 56 THE CARDERS. 
 
 without the aid of Honoria's presence in this 
 case, it is probable that the mutual distance 
 affected between the young folk, might have 
 afforded suspicions even to the unsuspecting 
 eye of a male parent. He suspected not, and 
 still it was so. Arthur Dillon was all that a 
 visionary hero could be moulded from ; he was 
 " of such stuff as dreams are made of"* — his 
 countenance formed to haunt the imagination, 
 his character of alternate gentleness and fierce- 
 ness, humility and pride, produced by the con- 
 trast between his temper and fortune, was that 
 which takes the female heart ; even his poverty, 
 like the light vapours of a moonlight night, did 
 but shed a nobler halo around his bright and 
 ancient name. In short, Arthur and Lucy 
 sighed for each other, though they spoke not ; 
 and were extremely and anxiously busied morn 
 and night, poor youth and maiden, in conceal- 
 ing their attachment from each other and from 
 every one else. Day after day continued a se- 
 ries of dissembling, that might have done ho- 
 nour to a diplomatist. Strange, that our first, 
 our noblest, and most disinterested passion
 
 THE CAEDKilS. 57 
 
 should be to us a school of deceit ; but such is 
 our nature ; dissimulation must spring up with 
 passion, as the leaves do with the flowers, to 
 conceal and cherish it, — our noblest and our 
 meanest sentiments are born together — 
 
 *' Even innocence itself hath many a wile. 
 And will not dare to trust itself with truth. 
 And love is taught hypocrisy from youth." 
 
 Thus did the young people pass their time 
 in a painful delirium of hope and distrust, all 
 which was most manifest in the countenance and 
 demeanour of Arthur, when unchecked by a 
 stranger eye ; Lucy even in more solitary mo- 
 ments, covering her feelings with a boisterous 
 gaiety, that checked many a rising declaration, 
 and thuew fearful bodings of her light-hearted- 
 ness into the breast of her lover. Honoria 
 looked on at all this, like the genius of friend- 
 ship, with a placid smile, observing from the firm 
 footing of shore, the uncertain stream down 
 which her dearest friends were hurried. This 
 is no very pleasant task for a female — to watcl^, 
 herself unmoved, the good or evil fortune of 
 d5
 
 68 THE CARDERS. 
 
 another's wooing, but to Honoria it was occu- 
 pation, it was pleasure. Chacun a son tour: 
 all ladies are endowed with second sight in these 
 matters, and have pretty sure presentiments, 
 though in one case not always credited, of what 
 their future state will be, whether of single or 
 of double blessedness. 
 
 " A fearful man, that Mr. Crostwhaite,"" said 
 Honoria, as she sate with the rest of the party 
 in the barge's stern, as it clove its way around 
 the lake, coasting the romantic shore. 
 
 " A horrid scarecrow,'' said Lucy. 
 
 " I never knew a person, Lucy, whom you 
 could not jest with, or make fun of, except 
 Crostwhaite." 
 
 " I declare, I know not how it is, but his 
 very presence inspires me with a mysterious 
 horror. I can fancy him nothing but the Grand 
 Inquisitor we read of: — his hideous down look, 
 every feature quivering as if it were in dread of 
 its neighbour, his eyes shunning his eyebrows, 
 his nose twitching under the deadly influence of 
 these, and his black hps foaming at the corner 
 with perpetual agitation. Do you remember
 
 THE CARDERS. 59 
 
 those tales of diablerie we read together? 
 Well, Crostwhaite dined with us, whilst I was 
 yet impressed with their laws and horrors. So 
 I led him to speak on holy subjects, and really 
 was amazed that, as certain sacred names fell 
 from his mouth, his demoniac form did not dis- 
 appear in a clap of thunder with a cloven foot 
 appended to it. Oh, dear Nora, don't talk of 
 the man. — Give me the Major, with his bluff' 
 countenance, or Lord Wilkins, with his spic and 
 span new title — any thing's sufferable after him. 
 If ever there was a villain of romance, he's 
 one." 
 
 " I hope not in our Httle romance, Lucy,'' 
 whispered Honoria. 
 
 A pinch was the only answer to this quere, 
 and, as young ladies generally know how to give 
 severe ones, it produced a playful squabble, 
 until Arthur, who envied more fingers than one, 
 was obliged to put a stop to it, by declaring, 
 that he could not steer, if they did not trim the 
 barge more steadily. 
 
 " Whe'then, talking o' steerinV' said the 
 bargeman, " I think your honour had better be
 
 60 THE CARDERS. 
 
 steerin' her home, for the weather's growing 
 big, and the sky looking woundily wicked." 
 
 It was even as he said. The sky grew sud- 
 denly overcast, and although it neither rained, 
 nor blew a breath, yet darkness had taken half an 
 hour's stride extraordinary in advance. Arthur 
 took the bargeman's word, and put up the helm ; 
 the turn, with the flapping of the sails ere fairly 
 set, and the black reflection of the incumbent 
 cloud in the water, causing a sudden and cor- 
 responding change in the gaiety of the ladies. 
 
 Now for the life of me, good reader, I can 
 scarcely refrain from letting the winds loose, 
 and pouring down the rains of heaven upon the 
 hapless party, in continuance of pathos, running 
 the barge upon a shoal, drowning the more in- 
 significant part of the crew, and saving the rest 
 of the dramatis personae but through the prowess 
 and thewes of the hero. But alas ! I am tied 
 down by the unromantic dryness of truth, my 
 chief incidents and characters being not hewn 
 from the quarry of imagination, but simply 
 picked up from the broad road of life. And 
 sorry am I to avow, in this commencement of
 
 THE CARDERS. 61 
 
 my tale, that of my matchless and devoted he- 
 roines, neither owed the preservation of their 
 lives to the perilous exertions of their swains. 
 
 Thus much premised, I have but to conduct 
 the barge safely to harbour, where it arrived, 
 its crew not having experienced any further 
 cause of consternation.
 
 62 THE CARDERS. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The guests began to disperse towards their 
 respective homes about the hour of eleven. The 
 major and the curate were supposed to remain for 
 the night at the house; and Arthur, who had 
 hngered till the very last departure, took his 
 leave at length, to return home. The mass of 
 clouds, which had gathered in the evening, still 
 hung over the night, and made it pitch-dark. 
 Even to trust oneself to the road, without a lan- 
 tern, or the sagacious guiding of a horse, seemed 
 perilous ; but the roadway from Plunketstown 
 to the Grange made more than a mile of cir- 
 cuit : and Arthur, with the boldness of youth, 
 preferred the footpath, which, dark as it is, 
 thought he, I ought to know by this time pretty 
 well. So rejecting further expostulations from
 
 THE CARDERS. 
 
 63 
 
 fear, and grasping his black-thorn tightly, he 
 struck into the wood, which has been already 
 described as occupying tine descent of a hill to the 
 rear of Plunketstown, and screening that mansion 
 from the bog. At first he paced on right merrily 
 and surely, as the path was high and dry, his foot- 
 fall on the earth or gravel directing him which 
 side to steer. But as his way grew more distant 
 from the mansion, where the hand of care was 
 not so assiduous, fallen trunks and straggling 
 boughs frequently impeded his course: the path 
 itself, too, grew swampy, as he neared the mo- 
 rass ; and he began to regret ha\ing exchanged 
 the secure length of the carriage-road for this 
 troublesome short-cut, ere he had by any means 
 arrived at the perilous part of it. 
 
 Having emerged from the wood, his further 
 way stretched around a lake, such as are gene- 
 rally found in the lowest level of the Irish bog. 
 A narrow road, bounded on one side by a lake, 
 and on the other by deep and intersecting turf- 
 trenches, was nowise one to have chosen upon a 
 night hke the present. But the lake and its 
 Irishes were too well stored with pike and flap-
 
 64 THE CARDERS. 
 
 pers, not to be familiar to every youngster of the 
 country ; and Arthur trod boldly on, feeling his 
 way through heath and mould, and turning 
 aside more than once from the steep bog-hole, 
 till the ripple of the waters, and the slight noise 
 of their swell and fall among the reeds, con- 
 vinced him that he was upon the brink of the 
 lake. Thence around the beaten path was more 
 easily discerned, and left the youth at leisure 
 to lift up his eyes around, which necessary at- 
 tention to every step he took had before pre- 
 vented. Night's curtains were indeed drawn 
 close; not a ray of starlight penetrated 
 through their gloomy folds : the least glim- 
 mer of an ignis fatuus was perceivable, and a 
 less experienced eye than Arthur's would have 
 followed many a one over moss and moor in 
 vain search of hospitality. A sudden gleam 
 upon a distant eminence, however, could pro- 
 ceed from no vapour of the lower grounds. It 
 was but momentary. It gleamed again, and 
 died ; and then reluming, burnt high and fierce 
 for a minute, and relapsed again to darkness, 
 like the quick-spent flame of ^ furze-fire. It
 
 THE CARDERS. 65 
 
 was nothing very singular, till from another emi- 
 nence was seen to rise a corresponding gleam : 
 it flamed like to the first, became spent, and a 
 nearer took up the signal, as evidently such it 
 was. Thoughts of the midnight bands, the 
 Carders, as they were called in this part of the 
 country, now first started to the youth's mind. 
 Of old, in his father's house, he had heard their 
 disturbances alluded to with caution and mystery, 
 and the subject, if hinted at, was never enlarged 
 on ; but from the journals, which he had been 
 accustomed to peruse casually in the metropolis, 
 he had gathered what he thought a deeper 
 insight into these secret practices and conspira- 
 cies ; and he began to consider with some inte- 
 rest those bandits and their hidden chiefs, who, 
 whatever different titles they might assume — 
 Captain Carder in one county. Captain Rock in 
 another, whilst elsewhere they exercised their 
 wild authority under the strange nom de guerre 
 of Moll Doyle, were still, he was convinced, 
 leagued to the destruction of the English go- 
 vernment, and the re-establishment of Ireland 
 once more under her five kings.
 
 66 THE CARDERS. 
 
 In what light he looked upon such an attempt, 
 I cannot take upon me exactly to determine. 
 Treason certainly is a tempting crime to the 
 members of an oppressed church, and of an 
 ancient and fallen family. But for some reason 
 or other, there is no country in Europe, except 
 perhaps modern England, where rebellion is more 
 vulgar or less blended with romance, than in 
 Ireland. This is strange, for the country pos- 
 sesses eminently in its national character, history, 
 and grandeur, all the requisites for ennobling 
 such a crime. Misfortune, to be sure, defeated 
 every attempt of the kind, and thus shore it of 
 the glory of success ; but, in spite of the adage, 
 the fallen cause hath in its nature more claims 
 to the sympathy of the purely romantic, than the 
 successful should ever have, with all its array of 
 right and principle. But in Ireland such rea- 
 soning holds not good. The blood spilt in 
 Ninety-Eight was lost not only to any political, 
 but even to any romantic end. Base and unhe- 
 roic cruelty marked all ranks of the rebels; and 
 even the men of birth and intellect, that stirred 
 the wretched peasantry to fury, were bitten more
 
 THE CARDERS. 67 
 
 with the mean rabidity of French revolutioniz- 
 ing, than actuated by any pure or noble motives of 
 patriotism. None ventured to the field, or added 
 by one feat of arms or heroism to the glory of 
 their cause. The days of the survivors were 
 saved by flight or chicane, — the fate of the more 
 unfortunate captive, defended by process and 
 pleading, by the lenity of that law which they 
 had conspired to overturn. None died like 
 Catiline ; they preferred the deaths of his more 
 coward associates in the Mamertine prison to the 
 bold death of the Roman conspirator. 
 
 No wonder then that Arthur Dillon, with all 
 his name and recollections, drew back his sym- 
 pathy from such a cause, however noble the 
 blood or powerful the rank of those who, he 
 might suppose, were its clandestine supporters. 
 Young, and in these matters consequently igno- 
 rant, he could by no means weigh principle 
 against principle, and measure against measure ; 
 but the wilfulness, vulgarity, and stupidity of 
 the open partisans of Cathohcism and Irish inde- 
 pendence disgusted him, young as he was. Nor 
 could he even feel any admiration for the talents
 
 68 THE CARDERS. 
 
 of the legal Atlas of his persuasion, as that loud 
 orator poured forth his ferocious laments, and 
 uttered, parparenthese, most maudlin love to his 
 " darling countrymen." 
 
 Some such recapitulation of his crude political 
 opinions passed through Arthur's mind, as he 
 kept upon his benighted path. He had gained 
 the extremity of the lake, where it received the 
 united waters of divers bog-drains. A bridge 
 composed of two trunks of trees, overlaid with 
 boughs and scraws, or sods, served, he well knew, 
 for the passage of turf-carts over the stream. 
 On this he cautiously proceeded, and groped his 
 way almost on all fours over the trembling bridge, 
 lest a false step might immerse him in the black 
 pool beneath. Having conquered this difficulty, 
 he felt more at ease, the Grange being but a 
 short distance ojfF. As he lightly trod the heath 
 in the direction of home, a noise from the road, 
 which was not far distant, reached his ear. It 
 seemed the uniform tramp of infantry, broken 
 now and then by the ring of a horse's hoof, as it 
 chanced to light on the flint-stones of the road. 
 Neither were these warlike tokens any occurrence
 
 THE CARDERS. 69 
 
 SO very strange and unusual as to excite his 
 alarm : he merely let his breath, which in listen- 
 ing he had held, escape with somewhat of a sigh, 
 and, blessing his stars that he had nothing 
 meddled in these matters, continued his course. 
 Innocent, however, as he knew himself, he still 
 advanced silently and with a cautious step: a 
 ditch, which it was necessary for him to cross, 
 lay before him ; he advanced to it, laid his hand 
 on the top to aid his vaulting up, but instead of 
 the green sod he intended to grasp, appalling to 
 say, it was upon a stout sinewy shoulder that 
 the palm of Arthur fell. 
 
 The party so struck, whose every power of 
 courage and vigilance was bent towards another 
 quarter, was stunned by the unexpected contact, 
 and fired his musquet in dismay. 
 
 " Holy Mother ! we 're ruined,*** cried the 
 vidette of the Rock party, on hearing the report 
 of his own piece. He sprang in an instant from 
 the ditch, and retreated with all the speed of his 
 legs rearwards. I know not what panic or 
 hurried impulse made Arthur follow and even 
 hold by the fugitive, till of the dozen shots fired
 
 70 THE CARDERS. 
 
 by the military in the direction of that whicn 
 alarmed them, one struck the heel of Arthur 
 Dillon, and brought him to the ground. He 
 still, however, grasped the runaway, who, after 
 his surprise, deeming him no doubt one of the 
 party, stretched forth a friendly arm, as he 
 thought, to our hero, and contrived to drag him 
 along with speed unabated over heath and moss 
 and dike, till they arrived at the bridge. Here 
 they were joined by two more of the party, who, 
 helping to support the wounded man over the 
 bridge, uplifted the huge trunks that supported 
 it, and heaved them down into the stream. 
 With this effectual barrier between them and 
 the soldiery, who were heard advancing, and 
 now and then firing a dropping shot, they re- 
 treated further. 
 
 " An who the puck be ye, lad .f*" and " where 
 are ye hurt, man ?"" assailed Arthur, as soon as 
 they had gotten into a place of comparative 
 safety ; for the soldiers, suspecting that the shot 
 was fired, as often was the case, to decoy them, 
 soon gave up the pursuit, and continued their 
 march.
 
 THE CARDERS. 71 
 
 " For God's sake lay me down to rest a mo- 
 ment here,'** cried the wounded youth. 
 
 " By the powers !" cried Timothy, for the 
 sentinel was no other, " if it bean't young 
 Dillon, of the Grange." 
 
 " Arrah ! good luck to you, Timothy," quoth 
 another ; " a pretty market you 've brought 
 your pigs to." 
 
 " And sure, how should I be knowing what 
 he was? Didn't he tap me on the shoulder, 
 just as I was taking a slap at that hathen 
 priest," said Timothy, unwilling to allow that 
 he fired from fright. 
 
 " Pretty starlight ye had for 't,'* responded 
 the other ; *' but what are we to do with the 
 young chap ? Is he up, Tim ?"" 
 
 "Arrah ! how should he, the chicken? but 
 he 's of the right breed, Ned — no son of Crom- 
 well's." 
 
 " Tim Oulaghan," cried Arthur, " bring me 
 home, or I shall die in this bog." 
 
 ** Maybe it 's to the Grange you **d be going, 
 and us to be carrying you, and the Peelers
 
 72 THE CARDERS. 
 
 about it. But, whisht. Master Arthur, we'll 
 take care o** you, never fear." 
 
 So saying) he left Arthur a moment extend- 
 ed upon the heath, whilst he withdrew a space 
 oflp with his companions, seemingly for consulta- 
 tion. His point, however, was one of more dif- 
 ficulty to be carried than he seemed to reckon 
 upon, and his voice was heard more loud and 
 vehement from the occasional dissent of his col- 
 leagues. " I wouldn't do it for the kingdom of 
 Connaught," said one, turning off. *' Then 
 I '11 do it, — would you have me lave him here 
 to die, and he our own ? — better be hanged ten 
 times over, than forsake a frind." 
 
 Timothy then raised the youth upon his 
 shoulders without any aid from his companions, 
 one of whom, receiving the musquet from him, 
 remained behind, most likely to watch the move- 
 ments of the enemy; the other accompanied 
 Timothy, keeping, however, as much aloof from 
 him and his burthen, as was possible to one 
 journeying in the same direction. Thus they 
 proceeded across the morass in a direction con- 
 trary to the Grange, with silence and speed.
 
 THE CARDERS. 73 
 
 and soon exchanged the rushy swamp and the 
 heath, for the dry and arable soil of the higher 
 grounds. 
 
 Faint as Arthur was, he still perceived, from 
 the frequent challenges, and the crowd of en- 
 quirers that at last gathered round, little satis- 
 fied with Timothy's communicativeness, that he 
 must be approaching a midnight rendezvous of 
 the insurgents ; but, too weak to expostulate, 
 and too much in pain to contemplate the hazard 
 attending his present situation, he silently aban- 
 doned himself to the guidance of Timothy. 
 This stout landlord, in the mean time, hurried 
 up the hill with his burden, paying little atten- 
 tion to idle queries, and seemed to make for 
 Ardcross Castle, as a ruin was called, which 
 rose upon the top of the eminence. Like almost 
 every place of antiquity and strength in Ireland, 
 it had been battered and shaken by Cromwell, 
 whose ubiquity in destroying Irish castles is 
 astonishing : its having suffered from that yet 
 dreaded persecutor of the Catholic race, had 
 created a superstitious respect for Ardcross 
 amongst the peasantry. Traditional hate still 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 THE CARDERS. 
 
 keeps the name of Cromwell in abhorrence 
 amongst them ; nay, his memory is even more 
 odious than that of William the Third, who was 
 but the second Avatar, Cromwell being the first, 
 of the Protestant spirit. From this the ruined 
 Ardcross was accounted, as it were, consecrated 
 as a place of plotting against the Orange enemy. 
 The Irish, if epicures in nought else, are pecu> 
 liarly so in revenge; and to make the commands 
 of murder and destruction issue from those 
 shattered precincts which had suffered so much 
 from them, added gout and piquancy to pro- 
 spects of vengeance. 
 
 There were other and better recommenda- 
 tions, however, for selecting Ardcross as a 
 place of rendezvous, than its associations. It 
 was guarded on one side by an extensive bog, 
 almost impervious indeed by night ; at least no 
 enemy could pass it, without the assemblage 
 having full warning of their approach ; whilsit, 
 if attacked from the other side, there was the 
 same morass over which to secure a retreat, 
 rendering pursuit as impossible from one quar- 
 ter, as approach was from the other. The sub-
 
 THE CARDERS. 75 
 
 terranean cavern, too, famed as an ancient haunt 
 of the rapparees, and especially of a romantic 
 horse-stealer in their heroic annals, afforded an 
 ample place of meeting, concealing in its depths 
 the light and noise necessary to such meetings 
 from Orange spies and Peelers. It is not to be 
 supposed but that those conveniences struck the 
 captains of the police as well as the captains of 
 the Carders, considering its aptness for the use 
 to which it was really put : Major Hempen- 
 shaugh had often paid it a midnight visit, but it 
 had been evacuated in such good time, through 
 a concealed passage that left no vestiges of 
 tramp or footstep, that the suspicions of the 
 Major were never confirmed. 
 
 Thither then was Timothy Oulaghan bearing 
 our hero : at first moved by compassion to bring 
 him to the nearest place where aid might be ad- 
 ministered to his wound; but other motives, as he 
 passed along, occurred to the politic head of the 
 landlord, — the accession of gentle blood to his 
 party, to which he had every reason to suppose 
 young Dillon inclined. He was, moreover, a 
 personage of weight amongst his brethren of 
 E 2
 
 76 THE CARDERS. | 
 
 the Card, and reckoned that what with his being- ; 
 the introducer, what with the name and blood , 
 of the youth, he might venture to bring Arthur 
 at once into the midst of the midnight conclave. | 
 He thought it best, however, to prepare for this ' 
 bold step ; so pausing within a few paces of the 
 ruin, he deposited Arthur on the grass, with 
 the intention of himself stepping forward to 
 make his intentions known to his brethren, ere i 
 he actually put them in execution. Perceiving I 
 the lifeless state in which his burden fell to the i 
 ground, Timothy spoke, but received no an- i 
 swer. The youth was lifeless, perhaps dying or i 
 dead, thought Timothy, as he internally waved ! 
 all prelude, and snatching up Arthur, bore him ! 
 hastily into the ruin, and stumbling througli j 
 stones and nettles, dropped suddenly down the 
 precipitous passages of the cavern, and in an 
 instant stood amidst the gang. 
 
 A ferocious yell of exultation, though some- 
 what kept under by prudence, greeted Timothy, j 
 as he seemingly bore in a lifeless body. His 
 face was marked with blood, which his hands
 
 THE CAEDZES. 77 
 
 most likely had gathered from Arthur's foot, 
 and conveyed thither. All these symptoms 
 assured the gang, at the first glance, that their 
 comrade was bearing in the corpse of some 
 hated enemy, on whom he had just been wreak. 
 ing vengeance. A wounded neutral, hke Ar- 
 thur, was considered by no means so welcome 
 as a dead enemy : and when the mistake was 
 corrected, on perceiving Timothy call the atten- 
 tion of a leech to the lifeless youth he bore, 
 divers members of the assemblage began to 
 shew marks of disappointment and disappro- 
 bation. 
 
 '•' It 's trason," cried one, *' and against Card- 
 ers* rules to bring in any one, whosomdever he 
 be, till twice tried, * with oaths and blood,* as 
 the rules say.*" 
 
 " To with you and your rules,** rephed 
 
 Timothy, " isn't this a Dillon — Luke Dillon's 
 son, murdert with an orange ball .-"* 
 
 " And what 's Luke Dillon t* us ? What for 
 he be a Roman — ^is he a man to put a rusty 
 musquet on his shoulder of a night like this, to
 
 78 THE CARDEES. 
 
 join wid honest men ? But we've our own re- 
 medy, boys — dead dogs tell no tales." . 
 
 Here the speaker was interrupted by a i 
 brawny hand from behind, that seized him by 
 
 the breast and twisted him round, with this ac- : 
 companiment — " Whisht, or I '11 mow the legs 
 
 from under you wid my scythe." ■ 
 
 Nothing terrified at the fierce threat, the ori- i 
 ginal speaker drew instantly from behind him 
 
 a huge brass-mounted pistol ; but instead of ; 
 
 presenting it in the way that any other than an j 
 
 Irish brigand would have done, he seized it by ] 
 
 the muzzle, and made a blow at his interlocu- | 
 
 tor, exclaiming, ^ 
 
 " Only I wouldn't take a gunpowder advan- 
 tage of a frind, I 'd blow your brains out with i 
 the snout, lad, instead of smashing your face ; 
 genteelly wi' the butt-end." ] 
 
 His aim, however, fell short of his opponent^ j 
 
 who had drawn back, in order to allow his ter- I 
 
 rific weapon play; and the scriptural illustration, \ 
 that '* flesh is grass," might have been verified 
 without metaphor, if the thick-set schoolmaster, 
 who seemed to bear the highest rank amidst the*
 
 THE CARDERS. 79 
 
 party, had not speedily interfered, knocking the 
 pistol from the hand of one, and suspending by 
 his expostulations the scythe in the hands of the 
 other. 
 
 " There, boys, be quiet. Ye may fight your 
 feud out at the patron of Aughnacloy next 
 week coming on, without sneaking before a jus- 
 tice about it ; but here we 're met for business, 
 not amusement, so drop it, I say, and up with 
 your scythes and pistols. And as to you, Mr. 
 Timothy, ye have broken Carders' rules, and 
 must pay a cropper from the keg to every 
 man Jack of us all. — A fair fine, isn't it, lads, 
 for the maker of the row to be the payer of 
 the peace?"" 
 
 General approbation followed this agreeable 
 decision of the peace-making principal. 
 
 *' Ye shall have it, and welcome," said Timo- 
 thy, as he vanished from the cavern in search of 
 the liquor. For in spite of the loss of his 
 licence, the landlord had not all abandoned his 
 vocation. He returned speedily with a bladder 
 full of the " crater,'' as he called his liquor, and 
 filling out for each man a demi-glass or cropper
 
 80 THE CARDERS. 
 
 (a measure invented in the then dearness of corn 
 and whiskey) soon restored to the party its na- 
 tural amiability. 
 
 Meantime the rustic chirurgeon, though bet- 
 ter acquainted with the treatment of quadru- 
 peds than of bipeds, contrived to bind up the 
 wounded heel of Arthur, who lay extended 
 upon a heap of outer garments in a corner of 
 the cavern. On recovering from his faint, Ar- 
 thur was not a little amazed at his situation : 
 the laugh of Lucy and the polite colloquy of 
 Plunketstown drawing-room lingered as if they 
 had but just ceased to sound in his ear. The 
 present scene appeared a dream; — was he awake ? 
 The cavern he was familiar with, and had often 
 explored ; but now the lurid twilight and its bois- 
 terous occupants strangely altered its appear- 
 ance. Those faces, too, with every one of which 
 he was familiar, as the obsequious, tranquil, 
 hard-working peasants around, were metamor- 
 phosed by the hght, by spirits, and by passion, 
 into demoniac-looking brigands ; and those who 
 in the morning had saluted him slavishly, were 
 but now in fierce debate upon his life or death.
 
 THE CARDERS, 81 
 
 The pain of his wound was a touchstone that 
 proved the reality of the scene ; and the youth, 
 yet in doubt how he should extricate himself 
 from the wild company, continued still to feign 
 the insensibihty from which he had for some 
 time recovered, whilst he privately scanned the 
 appearance, and watched the actions of the 
 
 *' Come, boys,'^ said the schoolmaster, a 
 rigure as gigantic and as truculent as his hterary 
 prototype, Johnson, — and, moreover, although 
 the hedge was his lecture-room, as great a hn- 
 guist almost as the renowned lexicographer, 
 — " we will resume the business in which we 
 were interrupted by Lieutenant Timotheus ven- 
 der. Fhng a coat over the youngster there 
 that 's dead or dying ; and if he hve, we have 
 no rio:ht to fear his father^'s son. Where, was 
 I?'' said he, extending and shaking his arms, 
 as if the oration which he was about to recom- 
 mence was a physical exertion. 
 
 " You was aboord the Liverpool vessel, Cap- 
 tain,'"* said one of his admirers. 
 
 •• Ay, by my soul was I, and a sick birth 
 E 5
 
 82 THE CARDERS. 
 
 I had of it: — d 'scure to me for thinking of 
 
 going to the heretic land. — but no matter. There 
 I went, me and the pigs thegether. They got 
 sould, and I went working about the country 
 to divine, d'ye see, and examine into the root 
 of the matter. And what did I see, and what 
 do ye all see, boys, that go the same road, but 
 that our tyrants are fat with our blood ? There 
 they are, feeding on their bacon and beer ten 
 times a-day, hooting at us poor devils as we 
 crawl along ; and for why are we poor, but 
 becase they have the governin** of us, the spal- 
 peens, that cam here but yesterday, and shoul- 
 dered us out of our palaces and our colleges ; 
 gave us polishmen instead of our kings, and 
 dragooning ministers, like Mister Crostwhaite 
 yonder, instead of our own ould priests and 
 bishops, the likes of whom wasn't to be had 
 far or near for larning or miracle. But to bar 
 talkin' of holy church, and the heretics that 
 trample on it ; it 's worser, as Father Mich says, 
 nor whiskey to bring in at meetings ; for it only 
 heats us, makes us murder the Grangers afore 
 their time, and gets us hanged to no purpose. — 
 Time enough when Seventeen comes round.
 
 THE CARDERS. 83 
 
 But till then, boys, we must live; and if we 
 don''t give them gentlemen-farmers a lesson, 
 they '11 take every acre in the country over our 
 heads, and turn us to the broad road. There 's 
 Mullen has taken Dunshaughlin at nigh four 
 pound an acre ; and what poor man can afford 
 to pay that ? Shall we teach the rascal ?" 
 
 " Send him a notice,'* cried one. 
 
 *' He has got one long ago," continued the 
 schoolmaster, " and he snapped his fingers at 
 it ; let 's see will he snap them at a nine-inch 
 card." 
 
 *' Lefs clapper-claw him the night,'' proposed 
 a fellow, — " this very night." 
 
 " Agreed," quoth another. 
 
 " That 's right, my hearties,'' said the peda- 
 gogue ; " shall we volunteer, or cast lots ?" 
 
 " Ye 'd better send some of the gossoons to 
 scratch the old fellow's back,*' said Timothy ; 
 " there '11 be a thing or two here to talk of 
 for you and I." 
 
 " I 've a grudge against duld Mullen," cried 
 a young ruffian, springing up ; '^ give me four 
 or five lads wi' me, and we'll do the business." 
 
 " Here then," said the schoolmaster, pro-
 
 84 THE CARDERS. 
 
 ducing an old flax-card, of which the broken 
 teeth had been replaced by nails, still clotty 
 with blood from the back of some recent victim; 
 " here is your commission." 
 
 " Who 's for the match with me ?" cried the 
 depute ; and as more offered their services than 
 were considered safe or necessary, a sufficient 
 number were selected, in addition to the ori- 
 ginal volunteer, who immediately set forth from 
 the cavern upon the mission of inflicting the 
 punishment of carding upon the back of the 
 obnoxious lessee. 
 
 Lieutenant, or Landlord Timothy, having 
 thus got rid of a few violent spirits of the 
 party, proceeded to open to the schoolmaster 
 his views respecting Arthur Dillon. He argued 
 that the youth could not have slept, nor re- 
 mained in a swoon all this time, and that safety, 
 as well as policy, commanded them to offer him 
 the alternative of death, or swearing. A torch 
 passed across Arthur's visage, as he lay, soon 
 convinced them of his watchfulness, and him 
 of the absurdity of further dissembling. The 
 debate respecting his fate had not escaped him.
 
 THE CARDERS. 85 
 
 and, without waiting to satisfy his mind very 
 fully on the merits of the cause, he, as Timothy 
 well conjectured, resolved to allow himself to 
 be sworn, in preference to bringing upon him- 
 self certain destruction by useless heroism. It 
 would be easy, he thought, to keep their secret, 
 and go no farther in joining their desperate 
 plans. In fine, the youth smiled assent to the 
 grim demands of the insurgents ; allowed the 
 well-worn mass-book to be placed in his hands, 
 and swore 3: strange, metaphorical, rigmarole 
 oath, which, in the midst of all its nonsense, 
 had horrors enough to curdle the young blood 
 of the swearer. 
 
 Having completely succeeded in his project 
 so far, Timothy did not press, for the present, 
 any further probation on our hero. How to 
 bring him home to the Grange, without suspi- 
 cion, was the next object of consideration ; and 
 it was resolved, that he should be borne back, 
 by two of the gang, to the pass of the bridge, 
 while Timothy himself set forward in advance, 
 to reconnoitre the Grange and its neighbourhood. 
 So that, after a few hours'* painful and perilous
 
 86 THE CARDERS. 
 
 sojourn in the cavern of Ardcross, Arthur once 
 more proceeded in the direction of home. Thi- 
 ther he was borne straight, as soon as Timothy 
 brought tidings of the Peelers being clear out 
 of the way. " Master Arthur had sprained his 
 ankle in crossing the bog from Plunketstown;" 
 such was the story of his bearers, as they brought 
 him amongst the aroused family of the Grange, 
 and left him exhausted on his own pallet.
 
 THE CARDERS. 87 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Meantime, his lordship, the major, and 
 curate, with the squire of Plunketstown, of 
 whom they had made a momentary disciple, had 
 joined, in the neighbourhood of the Grange, a 
 body of mounted Peelers, and the better part of 
 a company of foot, led by a reluctant subaltern, 
 who had rather, at the time, have been fighting 
 Soult or Massena,at any bodily risk, than engaged 
 in the unpleasant task of still or carder-hunting. 
 Nor were the soldiers themselves in better hu- 
 mour, to see themselves marching by the side 
 of policemen ; the Enghsh veterans cursed the 
 country and the service, that thus degraded 
 them into constables, and placed them under 
 the command of the civil magistrate. Still 
 they trudged in obedience along. The magis-
 
 88 THE CARDERS. 
 
 trates being informed of the shot that had been 
 fired upon the troops, luckily without effect, like 
 them deemed it a decoy, and determined not to 
 swerve from their original point of destination, 
 which they had been informed was the principal 
 drilling-ground of the Westmeath white-boys. 
 This was fully ten miles distant, whilst the true 
 rendezvous they sought, at the very time dis- 
 turbed by the apparition of Arthur, was scarce 
 a mile to their left, and on the very borders 
 of Pluiiketstown Park. 
 
 A most tiresome march, through wretched 
 roads and darkness, brought them at an advanced 
 hour of the night to the appointed plain. But 
 not a white shirt or glittering pike was visible ; 
 no army was forthcoming ; and in spite of every 
 inclination to be credulous, there was not the 
 wherewithal — not a breeze that could be mis- 
 taken for the motions of an enemy, nor a glimmer 
 that might be fancied into such an appearance. 
 The result of the expedition seemed likely to 
 prove no more than an uncomfortable bivouac. 
 It was resolved, however, to wait out the night; 
 and the party dividing itself, each under a sepa-
 
 THE CAKDERS. 89 
 
 rate commander, lay in wait for the coming 
 of the Carders' army. These gentry were 
 drilling and busy, as it happened, elsewhere ; so 
 that, after an hour or two, the patience of all 
 became completely worn out. The lieutenant 
 whistled under his breath his contempt and 
 dislike of such idle campaigning ; Plunket cursed 
 the curate and all his informers ; even the gra- 
 vity of his lordship was disturbed ; and none but 
 Hempenshaugh himself seemed proof against the 
 disappointment of not shooting a brace of white- 
 boys : — it was felt, in fact, as an extremely bad 
 night"'s sport. 
 
 In the midst of this tacit mvitiny, the curate 
 perceived the necessity of some stirring feat to 
 retrieve his character as the mover of so vain a 
 quest. Approaching the peer, he proposed that 
 the party should visit the neighbouring village, 
 where it was likely that a strict search would 
 discover arms, or papers, or suspected persons, 
 which might sound important in the Athlone 
 gazette, and justify this calling out of the mi- 
 litary. This was hailed as a happy thought by 
 all, and in consequence the several parties, sally-
 
 90 THE CARDERS. 
 
 ing forth from their respective places of ambush, 
 marched in the direction of Dunshaughhn, ma- 
 gistrates and Peelers in equal ill-humour, and 
 well inchned to repay themselves by the sack of 
 the unsuspecting village for the disappointments 
 of the night. 
 
 The tedious twilight began to re-appear as 
 they approached the village, which seemed yet 
 wrapt in the silence of night, — each sod-roofed 
 hovel as wretched and as still as the green 
 pool that slumbered in the same livery before 
 it. As the Peelers stood dubious which of 
 these wretched tenements they should first in- 
 vade, their ears were stricken by the sound of 
 groans proceeding from some little distance off, 
 the half-despairing, half-angry complaints of 
 agony unaided. They seemed to issue from a 
 farm-house, of appearance rather above the 
 village hovels, and but a field's distance from 
 them. Yesterday a small but comfortable hag- 
 gard had stood in its rear, of which now there 
 remained no sign except a light smoke that arose 
 from its ashes. The horsemen spurred over 
 ditch and field towards the house, the footmen
 
 THE CARDERS. 91 
 
 scampered after, all ejaculating and exclaiming, 
 as each discovered some new mark of devas- 
 tation, some further vestige of the Carders' 
 gang, that could not long have quitted this scene 
 of their vengeance. Poor Mullen, for the suf- 
 ferer was no other than the obnoxious lessee, 
 proscribed by the captain schoolmaster in the 
 preceding night's conclave, was discovered 
 naked and dreadfully lacerated, bound hand 
 and foot to his own bed-post, and from weak- 
 ness and loss of blood so unable to support 
 himself, that he hung suspended from the 
 cords that fastened up his wrists. His wife lay 
 bound upon her bed, the witness of her hus- 
 band's sufferings ; while their little children ran 
 about in fright and helplessness, increasing the 
 distress they were unable to remedy. It was a 
 sight sufficient to warrant all the legislative 
 acts of Mr. Peel ; nay, even the rigid execution 
 of them by his myrmidons. 
 
 These soon released Mullen from his bonds, 
 but in vain demanded of him if he could re- 
 cognize his abusers, or give any clue to their 
 apprehension. In truth, the unfortunate man
 
 92 THE CARDERS. 
 
 feared to acknowledge any acquaintance he 
 might have gathered of the features of his per- 
 secutors; — "Sorrow a one of them could he 
 tell from among a hundred." And if it were 
 not for the sanguinary proof which his person 
 bore of his being odious to the insurgents, the 
 magistrates would have almost suspected, from 
 his lack of zeal, that he participated in their 
 sentiments. It is indeed an universal trait of 
 the Irish, that they can never bring themselves 
 to confide in the law, nor to place any reliance 
 upon it for protection : they prefer even to forego 
 the vengeance dear to every man that suffers, 
 rather than undertake it with the aid of so feeble 
 a support. Mullen, in short, knew nothing of 
 his executioners, nor could he be brought to utter 
 even a conjecture as to who might owe him 
 spite. The ruffians had taken no money, al- 
 though his pockets contained a few notes ; and 
 as to arms, he had none for them to take. On 
 this subject the poor man reproached the four 
 members of the quorum with more acerbity 
 than even he did the Carders. "Ye neither 
 defend us,*' said he, "nor ajlow us to defend
 
 THE CAEDEES. 93 
 
 ourselves, so that the only safety left is to get 
 sworn, and go about Carding with the rest."" 
 And this, to confess the truth, was the resolve 
 that the lacerated Mullen came to in his own 
 mind, to fling up his lease, and submit to the 
 orders of the Carders, who, by night at least, 
 were the real masters of the country. 
 
 This seemed rather an inglorious ending to 
 the loyal expedition, from which the parties had 
 expected so much — to bring out so large a force 
 in order to conduct it tranquilly to a lurking- 
 place, and there repose within a short distance 
 of the scene of a most daring outrage. The 
 thought was unpleasant, and incited them to 
 strain all nerves in order, at least, to discover 
 the perpetrators and bring them to justice, since 
 they were not lucky enough to have prevented 
 the crime. The tenants of the wretched hovels 
 of Dunshaughhn were strictly questioned. But 
 " they knew nothing, had heard nothing, — and 
 what if they had.? — their worships didn't allow 
 them a poker to defend the door with, — it was 
 transportation to Botany, for whoever was 
 caught out of his cabin between sunrise and
 
 94 THE CARDERS. 
 
 sunset, — and who could venture out to save 
 any one at such a risk ?" The magistrates shook 
 their heads at their excuses, however unan- 
 swerable, and wended back their way to their 
 several homes, not too well satisfied with the 
 night's success. 
 
 It was near mid-day when Arthur Dillon 
 awoke from a long and deep sleep, in which the 
 events and personages of the preceding evening 
 had not ceased to occupy his imagination. His 
 father stood by his bed-side, for the old man, 
 when he saw his son borne in, by no very peace- 
 ful characters, in the night, judged, although 
 he shewed no suspicion, that there was some- 
 what more in the matter than a sprained ankle. 
 His eye was fixed on his son, as Arthur's open- 
 ed ; and the youth turned from the inquisitive 
 glance, as if he felt bound to conceal even from 
 a parent all that he had seen or heard. Mr. 
 Dillon was not so satisfied, however, and soon 
 learned from his son the unfortunate adventure 
 of his wound and flight ; but of his visit to the 
 cavern, Arthur was scrupulously silent. 
 
 " How unlucky !" said Mr. Dillon, " and in
 
 THE CARDERS. 95 
 
 such fearful times ! I had better walk up myself 
 to Plunketstown, and relate the accident."*" 
 
 " Not for the world, father, I wouldn't have 
 you do so. Those poor men that bore me home, 
 what would become of them t — To have been 
 out in this proclaimed district would be enough 
 to condemn them. And I, how should I look 
 as an informer, a prosecutor !" 
 
 If not this supposition of Arthur's exactly, 
 at least some thoughts connected with it, made 
 his father instantly abandon his intentions of 
 speaking about the business. 
 
 " Foolish boy!" exclaimed he, "from cir- 
 cumstances half as shght have I seen twenty 
 lives sworn away, and concealment will but 
 magnify the danger tenfold ; — all our care may 
 serve but to hush it for the present, to let it burst 
 forth at some unlucky time to come, as a damn- 
 ing evidence, when it is least expected.'' 
 
 " But, dear father, what can be made of such 
 a trifle ?" 
 
 " Trifles, Arthur ! What could we, poor 
 ground-down race, attempt or be accused of 
 but of trifles ? Is not a word, a song,' a rib-
 
 96 THE CARDERS. 
 
 bon, a green leaf, the plea of accusation fre- 
 quently ?•— for which we, for which I have been 
 imprisoned, deprived of liberty, and nearly of 
 life, Arthur. Don't talk to me of trifles. In 
 some countries such might pass; but here, 
 where every beggar turns Orangeman and ac- 
 tive magistrate to scrape acquaintance with 
 the Secretary, and curry favour at the Castle, 
 can you call running away arm-in-arm with a 
 Carder, and getting shot from a police-mus- 
 quet — call you that a trifle? — Let's see your 
 heel. Can you sit upright ? D' ye think you 
 could bear a journey to Mullingar .?" 
 
 " How, father ! you would not surely send 
 me from home so soon, and I but just come 
 amongst you after a twelvemonth's absence ?" 
 
 '' My poor boy ! but you must go, If you 
 stay you must confess all, more than you have 
 told me, boy, — but no matter. Questions will 
 be asked, and to put them off" will be impossi- 
 ble. Take your choice — go and let this affair 
 be hushed up — or stay and bear the conse- 
 quences of either turning informer, or being
 
 THE CAEDERS. 97 
 
 yourself imprisoned, at the least, till the win- 
 ter assizes.*" 
 
 " Sure Mr. Plunket would " 
 
 " Plunket cannot, will not, stand by you, 
 Arthur. He is a good, but an easy man, — 
 argued into any thing. Besides, are you pre- 
 pared to confess all to him? without which, you 
 cannot fail to fall under his suspicions." 
 
 " But ," and Arthur thought on that 
 
 gentleman's lovely daughter; this was no ar- 
 gument to urge, so nought was left him save 
 acquiescence. 
 
 In despite of all the arguments, except the 
 one he felt himself, which the ingenuity of 
 Arthur could plead against his instantaneous 
 departure, seconded by the entreaties and even 
 the lamentations of his family, Mr. Dillon was 
 inexorable, as indeed in prudence bound ; and 
 by three o'clock a steed stood saddled and 
 bridled at the door of the Grange, attending 
 Arthur, whose little stock of worldly effects, 
 safely packed in no very capacious valise, were 
 already affixed behind the saddle. With tears 
 
 VOL. I. r
 
 98 THE CARDERS. 
 
 of affection, that banished from his mind, for 
 the moment, even the thoughts of Lucy, the 
 youth took leave of his parents, was hfted care- 
 fully into his unwelcome seat astride the pony, 
 and set off slowly down the avenue, nodding 
 adieus to his host of little brethren, who, locked 
 up in their nursery for fear of incommoding 
 their brother, screamed out their farewells and 
 commissions to Atty with sorrowful little hearts. 
 Murtagh, the steward, ploughboy, valet, and 
 factotum of the Grange, accompanied his young 
 master on foot, to bring back the pony, as well 
 as to conceal Arthur's lame foot, and get rid of 
 idle questioners, a kind of pests most frequent 
 in the inquisitive Island of Saints. 
 
 Distressed as were his feelings on thus being 
 obliged to quit his parents so abruptly, I cannot 
 say but that our hero became reconciled to so 
 much of his disaster soon after he had issued 
 from the avenue gate. To leave Lucy without 
 even an adieu, was a necessity harder to digest ; 
 so intolerable did he feel this at intervals, that 
 thoughts of prison, and of worse, he began to 
 think more sufferable, and more than once had
 
 THE CARDERS. 99 
 
 nearly determined to turn his horse towards 
 Plunketstown, confess all, and stay yet some 
 weeks in its attractive neighbourhood. But 
 Murtagh, who had received his instructions, 
 and who, moreover, was an obstinate fellow, 
 and an officer of authority in the household, 
 was hkely to make more than a verbal protest 
 against any such resolution. Mr. Dillon had 
 taken upon himself to visit Plunketstown, and 
 make the excuse of some college business that 
 required Arthur to hurry off to catch the boat 
 at MuUingar, at an hour too early to allow of 
 his paying his respects at Plunketstown ; but 
 Arthur knew how sorry such an excuse would 
 sound in the ears of Lucy. In a letter it was 
 dangerous to convey the true reasons of his ab- 
 senting himself, and less, he guessed, would 
 scarcely satisfy the suspicious doubts of a mis- 
 tress. All these cogitations, which Arthur, with- 
 out doubt, felt assured were buried in the im- 
 penetrable depths of his own bosom, did not, for 
 all that, escape the shrewd eye of Murtagh, who 
 w^as himself, poor fellow, more full of the inte- 
 rests of each member of his master's family than 
 F 2
 
 100 THE CARDERS. 
 
 perhaps Luke Dillon, if it were possible. The 
 road, silently pursued by the youth and his 
 guide, was bounded on one side by the wall of 
 Piunketstown domain, with every stone of which, 
 at least with every ivy-grown space, or majestic 
 tree that overhung it, Arthur was well ac- 
 quainted: even leaving such insignificant, but 
 well-known spots behind increased our hero's 
 pain. At last, as they approached a gate and 
 stile, where commenced one of the numerous 
 footpaths of the domain, Murtagh anticipated 
 his companion''s thoughts by — 
 
 " What think you. Master Arthur, if we cut 
 across the Park ? It isn't much of a round. 
 Poor Corah here, the baste, can climb walls and 
 stiles all as one as a Christian, and I '11 help you 
 after him. We '11 shun the road vonder, and 
 the prating town anent us ; and who knows but 
 we might be after meeting somebody ye wouldn't 
 be sorry to spake a word with .? Och, then, it's 
 she does be walkin' on the high hill yonder, 
 looking down on the ould house in the bog yon- 
 der, and for what I don't know:— by my s — , it 
 isn't for the praspect."
 
 THE CARDERS. 101 
 
 Arthur opened his eyes wide at the discovery 
 which this innuendo implied, with as much 
 amazement as if Murtagh had solved the diffi- 
 culty of the quadrature of the circle. But, not- 
 withstanding his displeasure at being thus fa- 
 thomed, the penetration of the faithful domestic 
 was agreeable as corroborative evidence of his own 
 hopes. Arthur pulled up the pony at the stile 
 in silent obedience to the suggestion of Murtagh, 
 who took but little time to convey the steed and 
 its rider to the inside of the domain inclosure ; 
 whence they again set forward, following a ro- 
 mantic little footpath, that wound through the 
 thick plantations up that side of Plunketstown 
 hill most removed from the mansion. Thick 
 as the grove appeared from the distance, and 
 dark as the gloom was which it flung upon the 
 travellers, still the decay of under-branches, 
 peculiar to fir plantations, allowed them a full 
 view over the country that stretched beneath 
 them. To a stranger, the dark bog, enclosing 
 a lake as dark from the clouds that were re- 
 flected in it, had possessed little of the pictu- 
 resque or the attractive ; but the eyes of Arthur
 
 102 THE CARDERS. 
 
 were thither directed with more than usual earn- 
 estness. The castle of Ardcross, too, alike visi- 
 ble upon its rising knoll, seemed to draw an 
 equal share of his attention. 
 
 •' The ould castle and you seem a bit ac- 
 quainted, Master." 
 
 " Many a long hour have we waited there, 
 Murtagh, watching the return of the wild geese 
 over the pass." 
 
 " Sure enough and troth — but he that goes 
 lookin' after wild geese the black night, may 
 chance to be brought home a lame duck."" 
 
 And Murtagh showed some score of yellow 
 grinders, as he grinned at his own knowingness 
 and wit. 
 
 " Why, what do you mean, Murtagh .?" 
 
 " Mane ? why, T mane ye 're a bigger fool 
 than ever your father was afore ye, to offer your 
 gentle neck to the rope for stack-burners and 
 back-scrapers. It isn't for the likes o' you. 
 Master Arthur, that hadn't an uncle or an aunt, 
 rest their souls, that weren't ginerals at the 
 laste in foreign parts — it isn't for the likes o' you, 
 I say, to be among their scythes and pitchforks.
 
 THE CARDERS. 103 
 
 Od ! if 1 knew the trapper — the beggarly ras- 
 cals, that can't wait the big time of ould Pas- 
 tourin, instead of kicking up their heels to no 
 end at all at all, and bringin' down the polish 
 and magisters, and those CromweU's sons of 
 red-coats upon the country, afore it could in- 
 ginder a dacent insurriction, or a comfortable 
 massacreeing of the heretic villains/' 
 
 " Silence, Murtagh ! — hold your tongue on 
 this point, or, by the word of Arthur Dillon, 
 thou shalt never serve him whilst he Hves."' 
 
 '' And for why shouldn't I be silent, if your 
 father's son wishes it ? Arrah then, it 's Mur- 
 tagh Fallon that can be deep as Lough Darrig. 
 I wish I could say as much for the Ardcross 
 people : there isn't three of 'em that one won't 
 blab." 
 
 Arthur waved his hand to stop the tongue of 
 his companion. 
 
 " Well, ye might communicate with worse 
 nor me. All I say is — I 've three prongs of a 
 fork for the heart of the informer." 
 
 A long silence followed this attached and des- 
 perate resolve of Murtagh, which his young
 
 104 THE CARDERS. 
 
 companion did not pretend to understand, far 
 less did he venture to comment upon it. Mas- 
 ter and man proceeded on a space, each wrapt 
 in his own thoughts, the eye of Arthur not idle 
 in endeavouring to catch a glimpse of female 
 drapery through the scanty underwood. There 
 was one place, on approaching which Arthur's 
 heart beat quicker, knowing it to be the aptest 
 haunt of Lucy. It was where the hill, instead of 
 the gradual inclination with which it descended 
 on all other sides, fell abruptly down a pre- 
 cipice, the front of which the hand of art had 
 rudely shaped into a cavern. The thick shade 
 of trees had been cleared from the circle round, 
 which lay in its deep verdure, never ruffled by 
 a breath. Choice shrubs bloomed here, and 
 their perfume, undissipated, formed a peculiar 
 atmosphere for the inclosed space. Under 
 Lucy's orders, a vista had with much trouble 
 been lately opened in one direction through the 
 intervening grove: from this little paradise it 
 opened a view towards the very unpicturesque 
 skirts of the bog, not much improved by the 
 Grange and its surrounding tenements. Still
 
 THE CARDERS. 105 
 
 Lucy was positive in having her plan carried 
 into execution, in despite of all the numberless 
 exclamations against her caprice and want of 
 taste. 
 
 As this was not far out of their way, Arthur 
 found no difficulty in persuading Murtagh to 
 let him turn thither the steps of his steed. 
 He peered over its little gate, and there, to the 
 fulfilment of all his hopes, was Lucy, pacing 
 contemplatively in her calm retreat, and seem- 
 ing to sympathize by presentiment in the mis- 
 fortune of her lover. She was aroused by his 
 voice. 
 
 " Oh, Arthur, who should have thought of 
 seeing you. Honoria's gone home, and my 
 aunt is to join me here. But come in, young 
 gentleman ; hov>r grave your studies have made 
 you : I remember the time you would have 
 leaped contemptuously over the grotto's tiny 
 fence." 
 
 " My leaping and dancing days are over 
 for a while, Miss Lucy. I come to bid you 
 good b'ye."" 
 
 F 5
 
 106 THE CARDERS, 
 
 " Good b ye ! — why — how — what has happen- 
 ed, Arthur? Good God ! what ails your foot ?"' 
 
 *' A sprain, Lucy, but you must not men- 
 tion it.'' 
 
 " A sprain ! and yet going away ; and why 
 must not I mention it ? Come in, Arthur ; 
 you 're wild, you 're mad. What has happened 
 your young master, Murtagh ?" 
 
 " Sorrow a halfperth, Miss, only a bit of a 
 sprain" ; an' it 's mighty onlucky, being as how 
 he 's obligated to go up to Dubhn the night.'' 
 
 " This night ?" said Lucy, the tear starting 
 to her eye ; " I thought as much, yet, strange, 
 I couldn't tell why : — tell me, Arthur, — come in 
 and tell me ; my aunt will not be here this half 
 hour." 
 
 *' I have no time to dismount, Lucy, but I '11 
 tell you all." Here Murtagh interrupted with 
 such gestures and grimaces, that Lucy thought 
 positively, that whatever the master might be, 
 the man was unquestionably mad. 
 
 '' Begone !" said the youth, " can I not 
 govern my own actions ?" Arthur shd from 
 the pony as he spoke, ahghting on his sound
 
 THE CARDERS. 107 
 
 foot ; and pushing open the gate, by its help 
 and Lucy's he supported himself towards a 
 green ledge of bank, where, seating himself 
 beyond the interference of IMurtagh, he related 
 to the wondering Lucy all that he had previ- 
 ously confessed to his parent. 
 
 " Oh, Heavens ! Arthur, what may come of 
 this, and in such a country ! Father has been 
 out all night after these fearful men, and has 
 returned in such ill-humour, that I fled hither 
 to avoid him. Poor Mr. iVIullen, too, of Dun- 
 shaughlin, is said to have been murdered last 
 night.'* 
 
 " Murdered !'' exclaimed Arthur, " then I'll 
 bear the rascals' secret no longer. Lucy, con- 
 duct me to your father." 
 
 *' Be asy, young gentleman, and don't make 
 bad worse," cried Murtagh ; " Mullen's only 
 scratched ; and if you don't want to be like 
 him, or worse, you 'd better come away, or 
 speak lower while you stay." 
 
 *^ 'Tis better too," said Lucy, " although we 
 do part, Arthur, for a time ; for my aunt men- 
 tioned the Grange at breakfast, and my father
 
 108 THE CARDERS. 
 
 flew into a dreadful fury against, against 
 
 people of your persuasion, Arthur."" 
 
 " Ah ! Lucy, I know too well the stain that 
 is upon me. The religion that my father glo- 
 ried in, degrades me even below the simple rank 
 of gentleman. Yesterday the glances of your 
 father''s friends told me but too plainly I was 
 an intruder, even as a guest. Dare I aspire to 
 more, Lucy ? — what must I expect ?" 
 
 Lucy attempted to mutter something, but 
 was silent. 
 
 " Yet were that no matter, if "'twere all: little 
 would I mind the scorn they cast upon my 
 mode of worship. But they have stronger, 
 truer reasons. I am y)oor, an humble drudge, 
 that almost works for bread, and yet I have 
 
 presumed "" And he pressed his lips upon 
 
 the young lady's hand in bitter agitation, whilst 
 his pride was scarce able to restrain the boyish 
 tears that struggled to gush forth. 
 
 " Arthur, don^t unman yourself. Consider 
 you are about to leave your old playfellow, and 
 should not leave her sad." 
 
 " Yes ; but, Lucy, hear me a moment."
 
 THE CARDERS. 109 
 
 ** No, Arthur, not a moment. 'Tis useless 
 now the scene you seek. No, — no; — I'll give 
 you nothing, promise nothing. We '11 meet 
 again in happier times, when we are older, 
 steadier. How can you talk so, with such a 
 sturdy confidant as Murtagh there, devouring 
 us with ears and eyes ? For all your beard, you 
 see, I am the manlier being." 
 
 " The most unfeeling, you should say.'** 
 *^ Thank you, good Sir ; but I '11 make thee a 
 good return for thy graceless compliment — I 
 have a heart, and thou may'st hope — to see me 
 
 again, you know Tut ! hair, I can assure 
 
 you, is a more unlucky gift than knife or 
 scissors. Nay, nonsense. Put thy game leg 
 athwart thy pony, go away, and be a good 
 boy. Lucy Plunket will not forget her friend. 
 You write, Arthur, you know how and whi» 
 .ther —Fare well."
 
 110 THE CARDERS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The zealous Murtagh soon placed our hero 
 once more upon his little steed, and conducted 
 him by the speediest and most secluded path 
 beyond the precincts of Plunketstown domain. 
 There still lay before them fourteen or fifteen 
 long miles of road, the most part of which, 
 as the evening was already far advanced, they 
 were under the necessity of making in the 
 dark. But this had been foreseen and pur- 
 posely arranged so, lest the wounded foot of 
 Arthur might attract the attention of some 
 inquisitive beings, which it would not fail to 
 do in traversing such a distance in full day- 
 light. The overcast evening threatened an 
 early night; and from the summit of the 
 heights, which Irish roads, somehow or other,
 
 THE CAUDERS. Ill 
 
 always love to take, huge piles of clouds 
 rose to westward, based upon the distant 
 lake, their thickening gloom bearing witness 
 to the sunset which their masses concealed. 
 A few descending steps of the pony shut out 
 this distant view, and circumscribed the scene 
 around the travellers to a narrow space of most 
 uninteresting country ; a bog, a few cabins, 
 and the half-cultivated higher grounds, ill 
 inclosed with ragged hedges. The road could 
 be seen on for miles from each summit, and it 
 was consoling to them to remark none upon it 
 except a few stragglers, whom it would be easy 
 to pass without exciting suspicion. 
 
 Night fell at last, and beneath its all-con- 
 venient cloak, our hero and his guide journeyed 
 on in safety ; the former ill at ease from fatigue 
 and the pain of his foot, not to mention the 
 difficulty with which he parried the curiosity 
 and insinuations of Murtagh, who deemed, in- 
 deed justly, that his anxiety gave him a right 
 to be inquisitive. Without greater inconve- 
 nience than these, Arthur Dillon arrived at 
 Mullingar before midnight, where, instead of
 
 il2 THE CARDEES. 
 
 entering the town, and betaking himself to the 
 repose he so much required, he alighted at the 
 canal head, and at once dismissing Murtagh, 
 he entered the packet-boat that was about to 
 start at midnight for DubHn. And thither in 
 a few minutes did the barge speed forth, borne 
 not exactly by wind and tide, but by the more 
 unpoetical means of a couple of lean horses, 
 that dragged along the ark-like vessel. 
 
 Whilst Arthur was thus endeavouring to 
 escape from suspicion, and about the very time 
 that he and Murtagh had already achieved in 
 friendly darkness the half of their journey, the 
 curate of Cappagh was seated disconsolately 
 enough in his glebe parlour. A few sods of turf 
 that blazed upon the hearth, more for company's 
 sake than for cold, showed the damp-stained 
 walls of the apartment, and its windows, ren- 
 dered impervious to hostile shot by ponde- 
 rous musquet-proof shutters, barricaded with 
 fearful precaution. A whiskey-cruet stood of 
 course upon the table, which its owner was 
 daily in the habit of draining to the limits of 
 Irish sobriety — i. e. tipsification, and certainly
 
 THK CARDERS. 113 
 
 no farther ; and a few seemingly well-used vo- 
 lumes lay scattered around the liquid stimulus 
 that shed so much interest on their dry pages. 
 Musgrave was there, and Macnally*s Justice, 
 the volume of the Acts of Parliament con- 
 taining those of Mr. Peel, with Walmsey's, 
 alias Pastorini's, Prophecies, which, from retri- 
 butive vengeance, were made to support a 
 blunderbuss loaded to the muzzle, and orna- 
 mented with a spring bayonet, the never-failing 
 couch and bed-fellow of the curate by night. 
 The Prophecies of Pastorini, or rather the 
 Exposition of the Revelations by a foreign 
 ecclesiastic of the name of Wahnsey, foretold, 
 our readers should know, speedy destruction 
 to the Protestant religion and its followers; 
 but with an ambiguity as to time so very con- 
 venient, that its failure at any fixed period was 
 no imputation against its future credibihty, 
 another and more distant period being then as 
 manifestly meant by it, — with this necessary 
 caveat, that the year of Protestant extinction 
 should be one of odd number. This work of 
 Pastorini's had been privately printed in Ire-
 
 114 THE CARDERS. 
 
 land, and copies disseminated through the 
 country ; still they were held so close from 
 the higher orders, that the Secretary of State 
 strove a long time in vain to get a sight of one. 
 After a month of midnight searching and 
 patrolling, Mr. Crostwhaite at length procured 
 one, which he forwarded to Lord Castletown 
 Belville, who forwarded it to the Castle, and 
 thence to Bishop This and Archbishop That, 
 assuming to himself all the time the credit of 
 having obtained it— not the only instance, indeed, 
 in which the peer intercepted the merit of his 
 cat's paw, the curate, whom he regularly des- 
 patched upon all troublesome errands ; whence 
 be it recorded, that the Curate is still a curate, 
 whilst the Baron Castletown Belville has been 
 since viscounted on the strength of his active 
 loyalty. 
 
 Mr. Crostwhaite watched the embers of his 
 fire, and seemed lost in meditation ; certainly 
 not, like most of his brethren, on his next 
 Sunday's sermon; when a noise against the 
 window startled him ;— -it was the sound of 
 shot or gravel thrown against the panes.
 
 THE CARDERS. 115 
 
 Crostwhaite knew it as a friendly signal, but 
 lest such should have been discovered, and 
 made use of by an enemy, he seized his arms 
 and hurried up-stairs to reconnoitre in safety 
 the challenger below. Having thus satisfied 
 himself of his man by an interchange of words, 
 he descended, secured the door of his kitchen 
 against any interruption on the part of the old 
 crone, his only domestic, and then cautiously 
 unbarring his hall-door, admitted a visitor, who 
 in his stocking feet, brogue in hand, stepped 
 silently into the haU, and was soon as silently 
 conducted into the sanctorium of the curate. 
 
 A sod or two were soon flung on the hearth, 
 a glass of whiskey filled out for the new comer, 
 and his habits of reverence so far overcome, 
 that he was persuaded to seat himself on the 
 corner of a chair. 
 
 " Now, Blaney,^' said the Curate, all anxiety, 
 as he drew close to the peasant that sate before 
 him, "' what 's your news ?" 
 
 " Mullen's carded, sure." 
 
 " Indeed ! was it with this you trudged over 
 to Cappagh, as if you must not have heard that
 
 116 THE CARDERS. 
 
 I was at Dunshaughlin myself, and cut the 
 cords from the poor man's wrists ?" 
 
 " Troth, an' I didn't know your honour's 
 reverence was there. But howsomdever I just 
 come to axe, if there was a reward out, for if 
 there be, I know a lad would like it, and as 
 he 's goin' to the Mericas it wouldn't be much 
 matter,** 
 
 ^'Come, my good fellow, none of this pal- 
 tering : one of the boys, as you call them, 
 psached before, in Delany's business, — got more 
 than half the money, — and not a word did he 
 swear that he did not afterwards explain away 
 before the judges. Could you not come for- 
 ward yourself, do the gang's business, and let 
 the gallows clear the country of 'em ? You 
 know your fortune would be made by the 
 act." 
 
 " Arrah, what could I swear to, your rever- 
 ence, yet a bit, but a little gathering, and discoor- 
 sing, and the writing an odd scratch of a par- 
 clamation, or a Captain Carder's letter, may be ? 
 How could I come at any of the gentlefolk ? an' 
 if I didn't, your worship knows that if a body
 
 THE CARDERS. 117 
 
 swore mountains, he wouldn't be getting after 
 all but a beggarly polishman's place in swap 
 for his character, his soul, and^ tin to one, his 
 hfe to boot." 
 
 " True, true, Blaney, something have, some- 
 thing do," said the Curate. 
 
 Here was a pause, which at length the clown 
 broke, as he thought he had discovered the con- 
 ditions which might lead to his being hand- 
 somely rewarded. 
 
 " If there was a dacent murder, your worship, 
 I 'm thinking it might be worth a body'^s while 
 to come forward." 
 
 '* A decent murder !" repeated Mr. Crost- 
 whaite with a smile ; " fie, fie, Blaney ! But 
 you are nevertheless very right in supposing 
 that the time for coming forward to advantage 
 would be after some shocking act of the kind, 
 that would stir up at once people's fears for 
 themselves, and their gratitude towards their 
 defenders: for this reason, T think you had 
 better lie by ; — taking up and prosecuting now, 
 could at best end but in a few transportations. 
 Besides, Mullen 's as rank a Papist as any of ye,
 
 118 THE CARDERS. ^ 
 
 and deserves it. But hark'e, sirrah, a pretty 
 
 way ye directed us last night."" i 
 
 J 
 
 " It was all your own faults for not coming , 
 
 earlier : we were manoeuvring till we were tired, 
 
 and then the lads marched to Dunshaughlin to 
 
 their business.'' 
 
 " There was a shot fired at us from Ardcross \ 
 
 i 
 
 bog : —do you know that I half suspect that you | 
 
 he. Mister Blaney, and that you, with the rest 1 
 
 of the rascals, were harbouring in the walls of 
 
 the old castle there.'' : 
 
 "The ould castle indeed! d'ye think it 'd 
 
 hould the half of us ? — D 1 or save the Car- j 
 
 der's foot was in it these six months, I '11 take \ 
 
 my black oath to your honour." j 
 
 '* Well, Sir, 'tis no matter. His lordship I 
 
 went with us on your information, and was dis- | 
 
 appointed." :"; 
 
 *' His lordship— troth, an' that's a pity," said '■ 
 
 the fellow, as he suddenly smiled, and was about ] 
 
 to speak, till he checked himself. ] 
 
 " What were you going to say, Blaney ?" said ' 
 
 the Curate. ?
 
 THE CARDERS. 119 
 
 " Oh nothing, only — " (and he scratched 
 his headj)—" your reverence, is he a Lord?"" 
 
 " Not a doubt of it, my good fellow : — why 
 do you ask ?"" 
 
 " Becase it's so sudden ; and I didn't think 
 they could christen an ould gentleman all ovet 
 again, and into such a mighty long name." 
 
 " That they can,'^ said the Curate, smiling, 
 " and re-christen you over again too, my good 
 fellow, if you behave yourself. "''* 
 
 The idea of being christened a Peer of the 
 realm tickled the imagination of the simple 
 rogue, who, as he considered the requisites for 
 nobility, deemed his own stout thews better 
 pleas for such, than aught that could be offer- 
 ed for the diminutive person of Castletown 
 Belville. 
 
 " In troth, then," said Blaney contemptu- 
 ously, " he 's a donny little man to be a 
 lord !" 
 
 With all his deep and dark cogitations, Mr. 
 Crostwhaite could not help laughing at his com- 
 panion's remark, who felt himself licensed, by
 
 120 THE CARDERS. 
 
 the laugh he had produced, to help himself to 
 another glass from the cruise. 
 
 " Then might I be after axing you, Mr. 
 Crostwhaite,'' continued the insinuating infor- 
 mer, " if ye thought of spaking to his lord- 
 ship, as you promised, about the bit 'rear of 
 rint that we was owing since last Lady Day 
 come twelvemonth ?" 
 
 " Yes, I mentioned it to him." 
 
 " Troth then it ""s mighty quare that the 
 agent was threatening us this very day to 
 drive, if we didn't out with the money — an 
 impossible thing, your reverence knows, these 
 mortial hard times.*" 
 
 '' Mighty quere, truly. Mister Blaney, that 
 an agent should press for rent due a full year 
 and a half." 
 
 '' Ay, but when a body sells his kith and 
 kin, as I do, to your honour and the magis- 
 trates, who ever heard of his being axed for 
 rint ?'' 
 
 " And pray, what tidings have you brought 
 us ever, worth your rent ? I can tell you, our 
 last night's bootless ride has angered his lord-
 
 THE CARDERS. 
 
 J2l 
 
 ship against you ; and you must down with the 
 rent, or — its value, Blane}^, — you understand 
 me." 
 
 " Ye want it in blood then ?*' answered the 
 informer; " didn't you while ago bid me 
 lie by ?" 
 
 " Yes, and bid you still. It is not blood we 
 look for yet at your hands, but a hint ; some 
 sound and solid fact, an emissary's or a leader's 
 name, that we may watch him, and know how 
 to trust you."*' 
 
 " Could your reverence, think you, give me, 
 in your own handwriting, a promise that I 
 wouldn't be bothered for the rint ?"" 
 
 " I could." 
 
 " Then if your honour will, I '11 out plump 
 with a pretty thing — one that '11 glad your 
 heart;' 
 
 " Glad my heart ! — what do you mean ?" 
 
 " I mane the name of a gintleman born and 
 bred, and sworn with us — that 's what it is." 
 
 " Who is he, first ?" 
 
 " No, no, by my s , I '11 be quit with the 
 
 rint, afore I blab a syllable." 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 THE CARDERS. 
 
 " Well, then, you shall have it, — but if you 
 deceive me — — '* 
 
 Blaney stood, brogues in hand, ready to de- 
 part, — " Who is he ?" repeated the Curate. 
 
 " It's young Dillon of the Grange/' quoth 
 the too veracious informer; " he 's a sworn man, 
 as true as I am ; and by the cross of that," con- 
 tinued he, kissing his two forefingers, " I '11 
 spake not another word the night." 
 
 Crostwhaite in vain endeavoured to detain his 
 informant, the latter was peremptory to depart, 
 and the curate, almost indeed satisfied with the 
 mere name he had heard, proceeded to unbar 
 the door once more, which this time, for further 
 security, was the postern, and gave egress to the 
 as satisfied Blaney. This being done, he re- 
 turned to his apartment, which he paced for a 
 considerable time with an air of triumph, — the 
 mind of the magistrate overflowing with delight 
 at thus entrapping a youth of birth and respect- 
 ability, and of the hated sect, amongst those 
 midnight ruffians, the extent and importance of 
 whose disaffection it was his itch and interest to
 
 THE CARDERS. 123 
 
 exaggerate. The Dillons, too, he honoured with 
 his especial hatred, as a family he had been un- 
 just to in his magisterial capacity, seemingly 
 without a cause : yet I cannot say it was the 
 black delight of vengeance that most pleased 
 and excited him. For, after all, the passion 
 that was the prime motive of all this exertion 
 and seeming ferocity, was little more than 
 vanity, — the desire of passing for a partisan 
 and supporter of government. Nay, vanity 
 had more influence than even interest, in thus 
 urging him to forget his sacerdotal character 
 and assume those magisterial functions, that 
 render unamiable even the man who has al- 
 ways made them his pecuhar profession. But 
 the reverend gentleman had evidently been 
 born for some more active life than the 
 church ; the facility of getting into^ which, 
 and the bounty, in fact, which the Irish uni- 
 versity holds out to the poor scholar to follow 
 ecclesiastical studies and profession, forces into 
 the church a crowd of ambitious aspirants, 
 generally unfit and averse in disposition to the 
 g2
 
 124 THE CARDERS. 
 
 pacific character they take upon them, and 
 against which their hfe and habits, when cir- 
 cumstances allow, but too often militate. 
 
 Through the night, the curate's sleep was 
 more perturbed and dehcious than usual, and 
 he rose from it eager to mount his Rosinante, 
 and forthwith proceed to unburden his tidings 
 to the peer. His porridge was not long in dis- 
 appearing from before him ; but a crowd of 
 litigant peasantry, that surrounded his door, 
 and were lying In wait for him at every corner 
 of the house, formed an impediment not so 
 easily removed. There was not one of them, 
 doubtless, that did not hold him and his office 
 in mortal abhorrence ; yet such was the love of 
 law and litigation amongst the peasantry, that 
 here they were in crowds, swearing to the right 
 and left against one another, (each of whom, 
 by the by, could at a moment''s whim have 
 hanged the other,) and courting the decision 
 of a judge, whom they depised and hated. It 
 must have been for the pure love of pleading 
 and argufying that they had forsaken their 
 labour and its earnings; and a bystander, that
 
 THE CARDERS. 125 
 
 had witnessed the quick ingenuity of their 
 arguments, joined with the tedious and ever- 
 lasting tones in which they expressed them, 
 would be led to conclude, that their only object 
 was to perplex and worry the unfortunate ma- 
 gistrate. And in this they, in general, seemed 
 to have complete success ; for the curate's stock 
 of patience was far more exhaustible than their 
 budget of accusation and rejoinder, and sen- 
 tence generally cut short their pleadings with 
 a decision as astounding to both parties, as that 
 of the judge in Knickerbocker's History, who 
 weighs the two account-books, discharges the 
 litigants, and orders the clerk to be answerable 
 for the costs. 
 
 For this day, however, the curate begged 
 leave to put off hearing, and made his ap- 
 pearance ready mounted from the rear of his 
 dwelling, pricking on his steed with difficulty 
 through the press of clamorous pleaders, who 
 with one voice besought the magistrate to hear 
 them " only for a second." But even that 
 minute portion of time was not granted to their 
 entreaties ; and the curate at last, with great
 
 126 THE CAEDEES. 
 
 exertion of heel, effecting a trot, left his per- 
 secutors behind; who, finding their morning 
 sport spoiled, settled amicably togetlier upon 
 another morning to terminate their differences, 
 and then dispersed severally to the facks and 
 ploughs that had lain so long uselessly de- 
 serted. 
 
 It was some distance from Cappagh to the 
 seat of the peer, and mid-day had already 
 burst forth from its veil of clouds, and shed a 
 momentary gleam upon the woods of Belville, 
 when Mr. Crostwhaite was admitted through 
 the newly-erected gateway that graced the 
 entry to the domain. A modern avenue led 
 circuitously through lawn and grove, over fac- 
 titious lake and ornamented bridge, and at 
 length displayed the plaster towers and turrets 
 of Castle Belville, rearing themselves in all the 
 glory of Roman cement, masking the old attic 
 windows of the ancient mansion with its huge 
 old chimneys, now dismantled ; and deservedly 
 ^o, since they had ceased to send forth the 
 voluminous vapours of the once hospitable 
 kitchen. The architecture of the castle was
 
 THE CARDERS. 127 
 
 from the newest mixture of the Grecian and 
 the Gothic; and windows square and modern, 
 that might have graced a mansion in the West 
 of London, stared oddly by the side of a Gothic 
 portal, vaulted and fretted, and that would 
 have served as no unapt entry to a monastery 
 in the days of St. Columb or St. Patrick. 
 
 A man certainly of refined and various taste 
 was his lordship, whose hobbyhorse was this 
 his feudal fortress, strong in mock loop-holes, 
 plaster bartizan and turret, against the hostile 
 clans of Carders and White-boys, that menaced 
 the chief in his castle. So great were either his 
 lordship'*s terrors, or his love for the pictur- 
 esque, that he had obtained permission, through 
 his very good friend the secretary of state, to 
 have a guard stationed in his castle, by which 
 means he was enabled to plant a sentinel on 
 his ramparts ; — an actual live man in red, with 
 a real musquet, instead of the wooden, well- 
 pamted figure of a Highlander, mth appro- 
 priate firelock, which it had been the peer's 
 intention there to erect. In short, a happier 
 man could not be (not excepting my uncle
 
 128 
 
 THE CARDEKS. 
 
 Toby himself) than was the Lord Castletown 
 Belville in his gingerbread castle, his terrors, 
 his soldiers^ and his commission of the peace. 
 There he barricaded himself o' nights, and 
 walked his ramparts like a noble brigand of 
 the Apennines in the brain of Mrs. Radchffe ; 
 thence he issued upon such daring expeditions as 
 we have described, and from thence were dated 
 his important despatches to the viceroy of Ire- 
 land, who affected all deference in return, if 
 not to the peer's activity, at least to his in- 
 fluence, as lord of the only borough in that 
 part of the kingdom. 
 
 At the aforesaid Gothic portal did the 
 curate unbestride his steed, and gently did he 
 toll the bell ; which was answered, not as it 
 should have been, by a gowned sacristan, but 
 by a powdered domestic, who soon conducted 
 the reverend visitor to his lordship's room. 
 There, as soon as closeted, did he his tale un- 
 fold unto his patron, prefaced, however, by a 
 world of doubt and darkness and suspicion, and 
 the mighty fact itself swollen out with such 
 important accessaries and additions, that Mister
 
 THE CARDERS. 129 
 
 Blaney himself would scarcely have recognized 
 his little grain of information in the lengthy 
 history, of which the curate unburdened his 
 imagination. 
 
 A long consultation followed between the 
 two wise heads, during which they mutually 
 congratulated each other on the great benefit 
 that would accrue to their country and cause, 
 not to mention their own private importance, 
 if they should be so fortunate as to bring to 
 the gallows so spirited and promising a young 
 gentleman as Arthur Dillon. However, no way 
 as yet was open but to watch and wait, to 
 gather all the information possible, and to abide 
 full time for effecting so important a blow, — for 
 the final success of which, the youth and con- 
 sequent imprudence of the victim seemed to 
 offer full surety. The guilt of the son too, 
 once proved, would validate the former suspi- 
 cions against the parent ; for acting on which 
 without more sufficient grounds, had been for 
 some time the great source of accusation 
 against this pair of worthy magistrates. All 
 their modes of conduct, and the good conse- 
 G 5
 
 130 THE CARDERS. 
 
 quences to follow from them, took up consider- 
 able time and heat of discussion ; — the final re- 
 solution being to betray no suspicion of the 
 party marked, or of his family ; and moreover, 
 above all, not to hint any thing relating to such 
 plans or suspicions to Mr. Plunket, who, they 
 had observed from a former argument, had 
 taken the family of the Grange under his pe- 
 cuhar protection. Scarce had this last resolu- 
 tion been uttered, when, according to the vul- 
 gar proverb, the very person mentioned in it 
 was seen, accompanied by his daughter, both 
 on horseback, proceeding up the avenue to the 
 castle. 
 
 They were received in the drawing-room by 
 Lady Castletown Belville, a portly bleue^ of 
 good sense and amiability, puffed up not in the 
 least upon her new title, and formal from cold- 
 ness and habit, not from vanity. She wel- 
 comed Lucy with affection, inquired concerning 
 the health of good Miss Rebecca, and of Lucy's 
 own studies: the imperfect account which the 
 young lady rendered of such, by no means 
 pleasing her. Anon appeared his lordship ; and
 
 THE CARDERS. 131 
 
 as the curate entered after him, the involuntary 
 shudder with which Lucy recoiled did not 
 escape the eye of the lady of the mansion, who 
 herself valued not the reverend gentleman's 
 merits quite so highly as did her lord. She 
 perceived the agitation and low spirits of Lucy, 
 and piqued by curiosity to discover the cause, 
 forthwith engaged her in circuitous manoeuvres 
 of chit chat, in order to arrive indirectly at the 
 cause : the gentlemen in the mean time forming 
 their quidnunc knot. 
 
 " Well, good priest of the quorum,*' said 
 Plunket, addressing Crostwhaite, " have you 
 shriven since another such veracious penitent, 
 as he to whom we owe the other night's cam- 
 paign ? I'faith I shall remember both you and 
 him as long as this rheumatism lasts." 
 
 " Upon my word, Sir,'" said the Curate, " I 
 think I shall follow your example — give up the 
 trade, and let his Majesty look to his own inte- 
 rests without my humble interference." 
 
 " Perhaps it were the wisest, and yet I don't 
 know. For my part, old as I am, and, more- 
 over, old inhabitant of the country, I know not
 
 132 THE CARDERS. 
 
 how to act. There are gentry enough, there 's 
 employment enough for the poor, none want 
 bread, and the few that are prudent are amass- 
 ing money in these times of high price. Surely 
 the prohibition of their being members of par- 
 liament and generals in the army is no oppression 
 sufficient to drive the rascals to acts of violence ? 
 Mildness will do nothing, severity does less ; and 
 if they fix on a victim to murder, it is the most 
 humane amongst us they choose, for the fellows 
 seem to respect none but a ferocious enemy. 
 I'faith I '11 leave the country to itself, and oc- 
 cupy a garret in the Scotch barrack, with our 
 worthy county members, rather than live in this 
 endless turmoil and horror." 
 
 " What ! turn absentee, Plunket, and leave 
 your tenants to the mercy of some rascally 
 agent ?" 
 
 " And, curse 'em, don't they deserve it ? 
 A^hen they make the living amongst them a 
 risk and a purgatory to the gentry, what can 
 they expect, except to be left to the agent that 
 grinds them ; to the policeman and the soldier, 
 that keep them with fetter and bayonet to their
 
 THE CARDERS. 133 
 
 duty ? — If our stay would better their condition, 
 well and good. It is but the tillers of the earth 
 that suffer, and will our going away deprive one 
 of them of employment ? — Not at all ; rather 
 find them more ; for the large quantities of land 
 we now cultivate ourselves would then be let 
 out in small farms, and would support more 
 hands. But by staying here, we spend our 
 money in the country, say the abusers of ab- 
 senteeism ; and to whom does our money go 
 when we are here ? — To the winemerchant, the 
 coachmaker, the horsedealer, the upholsterer, 
 all inhabitants of the metropolis ; whence even 
 our groceries, and every thing that grows not 
 on our estates, come to us. I tell you, Castle- 
 town Belville, our going to the Continent to- 
 morrow would not put one person out of bread 
 here, except a few idle servants ; our city trades- 
 men might suffer, to be sure — but who cares for 
 them r 
 
 " Ay," said the Peer, " all this may be true ; 
 but it is our duty to remain at our post when 
 the very being of the state is in danger, and 
 daily threatened by treason.""
 
 134 THE CARDERS. 
 
 '^ Treason ! my dear lord ; what do such fel- 
 lows understand of treason ? I '11 tell you in 
 one sentence the cause and state of these country 
 troubles. Our peasantry, with their lazy, loit- 
 ering habits, find that so much an acre can only 
 be made of land, and if a more active man can 
 afford, and consequently does offer a higher 
 rent, they card or murder him ; while their 
 priesthood sanctify this vengeance of their sloth 
 by giving a religious pretext, and making them 
 believe it is the cause of Heaven." 
 
 " But, Sir," said the Curate, " can you be- 
 lieve other than that religion is the very root of 
 all this rebellion P*" 
 
 " No, by no means ; I think sloth, national 
 sloth, envious and intolerant of improvement, 
 to have been its original cause : rehgion is but 
 ^the stalking-horse. Why here, in this very 
 country, do they reverence their priests ? do they 
 not mock them ; nay, beat them ? and will you 
 tell me it is religion that drives them on ? Or 
 is it any hatrjed of the English government, or 
 king, of whose name or existence, much less of 
 whose rights or wrongs, they are utterly igno-
 
 THE CARDERS. 135 
 
 rant ? I remember when these troubles began ; 
 they arose simultaneously with, and in opposi- 
 tion to, the spirit of activity and improvement 
 which the great exportation prices produced. 
 This has been the original object of enmity and 
 discontent : it was not we, heretics and gentry, 
 whom they carded or they shot at first, till we 
 provoked them—it was solely the new tenants, 
 that had taken lands at high rents, proportionate 
 to high prices of produce ; and these were long 
 the only obnoxious persons ; till bigotry, as it 
 always does_, immingled itself with awakened 
 passion, and proctors and heretics became then- 
 the hated. Religion undeniably has infused a 
 great part of its spirit in the mass, so lias 
 perhaps republicanism. But these are wrong 
 scents ; and the senator that would emancipate 
 the Catholic Irish, in order to quiet them, would 
 find that he would have the same work of cas- 
 tigation and oppression to continue, in order to 
 keep down the prejudices — the armed sloth, in 
 fact, of the people." 
 
 " I must own," said the Peer, " to entertain 
 a very diflPerent opinion on these points. I do
 
 136 THE CARDERS. 
 
 not think the old famiUes of Ireland have ever 
 ceased from their intrigues: the Jesuits too, 
 established amongst us openly, are no idle be- 
 holders of Catholic oppression."" 
 
 " Poh ! poh !" said Mr. Plunket, " what are 
 the Jesuits ? It is not so much religion as the 
 national character, that agitates our people. It 
 is time that popery should cease to be a bugbear. 
 It is the sound of alarm that frights us from the 
 exercise of calm judgment, and turns our rulers 
 away from entering into the true causes of Irish 
 disaffection. They may emancipate the Catho- 
 lics for amusement, and by the way of liberality, 
 and no political consequence whatever will fol- 
 low from the act. Religion fans the flame 
 of every rebellion, but it must be a very op- 
 pressed sect indeed that will of itself illume the 
 spark." 
 
 " Well, Plunket;' said the Peer, " I wish 
 what you say were true, and the gentlemen of 
 Ireland were convinced of it." 
 
 " I wish to Heaven they were, my lord; they 
 would then keep their feet out of Orange lodges, 
 their hands out of blood, and have time to de- 
 vise (if that indeed is possible) some agricul-
 
 THE CARDERS. 137 
 
 tural laws that would improve the habits of the 
 people, and incline them to imitate the active 
 industry of the English peasant/'' 
 
 "And en attendant,''^ said the Peer, " we 
 may rise up some bright morning with our 
 throats cut, as the mayor of Cork prophesied."" 
 
 " Nothing more likely. But apropos to some- 
 thing pleasanter, my lord ; the day approaches 
 for the partridge- shooting. Shall we beat our 
 stubbles together ? for my young gamekeeper, 
 I find, has been obliged to leave us rather 
 suddenly." 
 
 " Who ? -young Dillon ?" 
 
 " Ay, worthy curate, your eye-sore." 
 
 " No eye-sore of mine, I can assure ye. But 
 his departure has been rather sudden, not un- 
 like a French leave, methinks." 
 
 " Some college business, his father told me." 
 
 " Umph !" said the Curate. 
 
 " Why, what 's in the wind now ?" said Mr. 
 Plunket ; "is he too discovered to be an United 
 Irishman?" 
 
 " Can't say truly ; more unlikely things have 
 happened to gentlemen of his name.'* 
 
 " If he be, all I say is, Arthur is a greater
 
 138 THE CARDERS. 
 
 fool than ever I took him for. However, 
 Crostwhaite, remember our pact about the 
 Grange. Let there be no useless torment, no 
 petty persecution. Hang the poor devils, if 
 you can, with full proofs ; but remember, I '11 
 stand between them and vexation."" 
 
 The curate bit his lip, but opposition had 
 overcome his prudence as well as his resolu- 
 tions of silence. " Your friends, Mr. Plunket,""* 
 said he, " could not do you a greater service, 
 than to unmask the underhand villany of 
 those 'prottges of yours, the Dillons." 
 
 *' Villany ! measure your words, Sir. I know 
 what theirs consist in — poverty and going 
 to mass. My lord, you had better keep this 
 black beagle of yours in better leash." 
 
 " Come, Plunket," said the Peer, " do not 
 talk so of our reverend friend: you know his 
 loyalty and uncompromising principle." 
 
 *' For myself, I care not,'' said Mr. Crost- 
 whaite; " but I have suffered a load of obloquy 
 on this family's account, that '' 
 
 " And what have you to blame, but your 
 own precipitate conduct ? "
 
 THE CARDERS. 139 
 
 " Ah, well ! the hanging of one of them shall 
 do me justice yet, I have no doubt, and that 
 speedily." 
 
 Mr. Plunket was about to reply, when the 
 conversation was at the moment interrupted 
 by a sudden ring of the bell, for which her 
 ladyship had hastily quitted the sofa. The 
 cause was evident in Miss Plunket, who, affected 
 by some sudden indisposition, had turned pale, 
 and fainted away, almost before her ladyship 
 was aware. This incident is nowise so very 
 extraordinary in a tale of this kind, that it 
 should need minute description. The remedies 
 usual in such cases were applied, and suc- 
 ceeded. The same consolations on one side, 
 and excuses on the part of the patient, followed. 
 As to any private conjectures, respecting the 
 cause of this sudden illness, that were made by 
 the parties present, none at least were uttered. 
 And after some time, Mr. Plunket and his 
 daughter concluded their visit at the castle, 
 once more mounted their horses, and took 
 again the road towards their own mansion.
 
 140 THE CARDERS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. I 
 
 The consequence of Arthur Dillon's hasty ] 
 journey to Dublin was a fever, which with his 
 
 wound, both acting on each other, left him for j 
 
 a considerable time confined to his college apart- j 
 
 ment, and even to his bed, in a very pre- \ 
 
 carious state. About the middle of his voyage i 
 
 he had discovered the canal-bank broken, and \ 
 
 its waters let forth upon the adjacent country, ! 
 
 by his riotous companions of the previous | 
 
 night, or their associates, in order to prevent i 
 
 the conveyance of provisions to the metropolis, j 
 and consequent elevation of their price. This 
 had obliged him to proceed to town in a car- 
 riage, the jolting of which he found almost 
 
 intolerably irritating after the easy motion of j 
 
 the boat ; and this change of vehicle was no ] 
 
 slight cause of bringing on the fever. He bore \ 
 
 up, however, until he arrived within the walls j
 
 THE CARDERS. 141 
 
 of the university, and there sunk upon his 
 couch, not to rise from it for many a sad and 
 weary week. 
 
 'Not that he was unhappy: of his wound 
 Arthur made light, as well as of its possible 
 consequences, the thoughts of which alarmed 
 his more sagacious parent. By Lucy he knew 
 himself beloved ; and at the thought, the mighty 
 host of obstacles that intervened, disappeared 
 before the sanguine hopes of youth. His 
 dreams increased his fever more than either 
 the heat of his blood, or the irritability of his 
 wound ; and his whole power of mind was em- 
 ployed, day after day, in conning over his in- 
 terviews with Lucy ; in interpreting her expres- 
 sions, looks, and gestures ; and in eliciting 
 from the memory of her shghtest actions, tri- 
 vial signs of an affection, that was manifest 
 beyond a question to the first glance of common 
 sense. Satisfied of this principal point, his 
 imagination, overlooking minor difficulties, would 
 often set full sail into futurity, depict himself 
 as the husband of his Lucy, prosperous and high, 
 and end by fancying himself on such lofty emi-
 
 142 THE CARDERS. 
 
 nences of bliss and power, as the dreamer in 
 the Arabian tale, when he kicked from his side 
 the crockery that was to fabricate his fortune. 
 From such heights to the extremity of doubt 
 and despair was a customary fall for the spirit 
 of the feverish lover ; and there, perhaps, he 
 worked out for himself no less a delight in con- 
 templating heroically the lowness of his fate, in 
 meditations of self-sacrifice, and resolutions of 
 eternal grief. Above all, the kind and confiding 
 parent of Lucy oftenest started to his thought, 
 to deceive whom he felt was a crime, irrecon- 
 cileable with rectitude, and less so with his 
 dreams of heroism : although at once to yield up 
 love and hope to this honourable motive, was 
 more than he could strain his determination to. 
 Thus was he tossed on fluctuating feelings, agi- 
 tated and anxious; and yet, such is our nature, 
 happier in that state of unceasing restlessness 
 and excitement, than even he could have been 
 made by the completion of his wishes, or by 
 finding himself in the calmest state of pros- 
 perity that the after-life of the fortunate could 
 promise or bestow.
 
 THE CARDERS. 143 
 
 Time at last got the better of his malady : he 
 regained the use of his foot, and betook himself 
 to the usual studies of his standing, which acted 
 more effectually than any drug could have done 
 to settle his mind in the calm state of its natural 
 energy. Though not as yet exactly capable 
 
 " To chase the rolling circle's speed. 
 Or urge the flying ball," 
 
 he still made his appearance at commons, and 
 began to consume his share of the viands with 
 the voracious appetite of returning health. Va- 
 cation had by this time elapsed, the deserted 
 courts of the college again filled with gowned 
 students, and its park became once more gay 
 with academic loungers, striders, with matches 
 of hurling and of argument. On one of these 
 bustling and crowded days that precede exami- 
 nations, Arthur Dillon descended from his rooms. 
 Being a scholar, and having in consequence some 
 subordinate office in the university, he had some 
 necessity of communicating with Doctor Barret, 
 the vice-provost of the university. The old 
 gentleman was not in his mansion, and it being
 
 144 THE CARDERS. 
 
 library hours, Arthur proceeded thither in search 
 of him. As he walked up the library towards 
 the little closet or recess where the doctor gene- 
 rally sate, Arthur heard the very peculiar voice 
 of the old gentleman talking, and talking loudly, 
 a circumstance unusual in so taciturn a character. 
 Seeing that he was engaged, the young scholar 
 approached slowly, and caught enough of the 
 conversation to learn that the vice-provost was 
 engaged in deep debate with some brother book- 
 worm on the comparative antiquity of the He- 
 brew and Erse languages ; the doctor standing 
 up, as well he might, for his beloved Talmud, 
 and his antagonist arguing all as warmly, that 
 the Tower of Babel heard the Celtic as surely as 
 it had heard the tongue of the Jews. This stickler 
 for Celtic antiquity had his back turned to our 
 hero, who could observe little of the arguer, 
 except his stout square shoulders clothed in a 
 black coat, and his head, large enough certainly 
 to contain both Celtic and Hebrew vocabulary, 
 with a brown periwig, both coat and wig bearing 
 signs of having shared their wearer's nightly 
 couch.
 
 THE CARDERS. 145 
 
 **^Whe' then now, Dominie," exclaimed the 
 Doctor, " I wish you wouldn't be bothering 
 me any more. You 've been purapin' me these 
 two hours, and contradicting me, — what spoils 
 my appetite always, do you see me ; and what I 
 couldn't bear when I was dean, let alone vice- 
 provost. What ye axed me for, ye '11 find No. 
 6, such a shelf, volume so and so, hunnereth 
 page. — Eeh ! Dillon Tertius, what do you want, 
 do you see me now ? Ye 've been maimed, 
 Katty tould me, and I was sorry, do you 
 see me now, Dillon Tertius. You got an 
 optime last January," 
 
 "Yes, Sir/' 
 
 " Then hop to me, Dillon Tertius, he ! he ! 
 and what have you got .^ a roul, ahem ! —Give 
 me a pin, Dillon Tertius, and I '11 prick down 
 the absent, d'ye see me now, and fine 'em." 
 
 Shirt, waistcoat, coat, small clothes, every 
 garment did Arthur search for a pin, eyeing 
 during the vain search the greasy cuff of the 
 vice-provost's coat, in which at least fifty of 
 the said httle articles stuck secure. Still the 
 old gentleman took care not to disturb one ; not 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 THE CARDERS. 
 
 that they escaped his notice, his eye as well as 
 Arthur''s was on them, but his soul was set on 
 gaining a pin, and he again demanded, " A pin, 
 Dillon Tertius ?" 
 
 " I have not one, Sir." 
 
 " Then, Dillon Tertius, do you see me now, 
 go to your room and bring one ; and don't think 
 the next time, that the vice-provost of Trinity 
 College is bound to keep you in pins." 
 
 As there was no proving the contrary of this, 
 Arthur was about to retire in search of what the 
 college dignitary so inexorably demanded, when 
 he whom the doctor had addressed as Dominie, 
 pulled at once the grand desideratum from his 
 shirt collar, and handed it to his learned anta- 
 gonist. 
 
 Whilst the doctor was examining the roll, and 
 pricking down the names which he marked out 
 for fine and punishment, Arthur and the Domi- 
 nie first scanned and soon recognized each other; 
 the latter knowing his young acquaintance with 
 little loss of time, whilst Arthur remained for 
 a considerable space unable to determine who 
 
 ii
 
 THE CARDERS. 14? 
 
 was, or where he had met, the personage before 
 him. The vice-provost in the mean time re- 
 turned him the roll, putting the pin, as a per- 
 quisite, with the rest of its fellows in his greasy 
 cufF, and recurring at once to the volume from 
 which the coming, and subsequent arguments, 
 of the dominie had aroused him. His puzzling 
 acquaintance retired with Arthur, who eyed 
 him askance as he paced with ponderous step 
 the oaken floor of the library, that creaked 
 beneath his weight and brogues. After drawing 
 down upon his nose the spectacles that had for 
 some time reposed upon the summit of his wig, 
 he donned a cady of considerable dimensions, 
 and affected a feeble and unsteady gait, which 
 his legs, visibly muscular even through their 
 covering of Connemara, stoutly behed. The 
 same pretence of age was manifest in the old 
 school-waistcoat that doubled o'er his breast; 
 snuff" begrimed the lower part of his visage, and 
 spectacles concealed the upper, thus adding, in 
 appearance at least, a score of years to a form 
 that certainly was as yet but in the prime of 
 H 2
 
 148 THE CARDERS. 
 
 manhood. Once outside the hbrary and still 
 upon its stone staircase, this singular personage 
 seized Arthur by, I forget what exact button of 
 the coat, at the same time accompanying the 
 gesture by certain signs, that told Arthur he 
 was addressed by a man sworn and initiated, 
 like himself, into the antimasonic mysteries of 
 carderism, whiteboyism, or united Irishism, as 
 you will. There could be little use in pleading 
 ignorance of such signs ; and Arthur returned 
 the appropriate word and gesture. Upon this, 
 the very respectable-looking figure before him 
 drew back, first looking around that there were 
 none to observe him, and taking off his hat and 
 spectacles, smiled at Arthur as he assumed an 
 humble countenance, and scraping with his foot, 
 said in a tone far other than that in which he 
 personated the dominie, 
 
 ''' Would your honour be after spaking a word 
 with Phadrick O^Rourke, the schoolmaster of 
 Rathfinnan r 
 
 " CRourke, the schoolmaster — dominie T' 
 ejaculated Arthur, eyeing the hedge-schoolmas-
 
 THE CARDERS. 149 
 
 ter and captain of Carders, whom he had just 
 seen conversing coolly about the Talmud, in a 
 library moreover inaccessible except to graduates 
 of the university. 
 
 " Ay, in troth, Master Dillon. Jacky Bar- 
 ret and I are ould acquaintances ; — he was my 
 tutor in college," continued Mr. O'Rourke, 
 putting on his spectacles and pulling down his 
 broad brim : " I was a class-fellow of Emmet's 
 too. Sir, and his friend," at which word he 
 enveloped Arthur's hand with his own gigantic 
 fist, squeezing it with expression. " Those were 
 the days, Sir Scholar, when old Trinity con- 
 tained men ; — the sons of Alma then had beards, 
 Sir, and opinions; — they could drink in those 
 days, fight, nay, conspire, hear you me ? and 
 Sallust was not lost on them. But now, Sir, what 
 is to be expected from such a day-school fry .?" 
 
 " Little in your line, I am afraid, Mr. 
 O'Rourke," said Arthur ; " and i'faith^ so much 
 the better.'" 
 
 " So much the better ! — that's ill spoken, my 
 young friend, for a knight of Ardcross. Were
 
 150 THE CARDERS. 
 
 you only bamming us, youngster, when you 
 took those oaths, and swore upon the gospel 
 to pursue with us the extirpation of he- 
 retics ?" 
 
 " I have no inclination, good Mr. O'Rourke, 
 to die a martyr for my own religion, and felt 
 less inclined then to prove one for any other. 
 I swore what was dictated to me, and under 
 the alternative of death. My fixed purpose was 
 and is, never to betray aught that I may know, 
 but 1 am resolved to go no further in this busi- 
 ness; and to a properer person than yourself^ 
 Sir, captain or dominie, whichever you be, T can- 
 not communicate this resolution." 
 
 "• Then let me tell you, striphng, that your 
 
 swearing was an act ; but come, let us not 
 
 play Peachem and Lockitt ; moreover, this is not 
 the place,^' for they had just entered the narrow 
 passage which leads from the courts to the park; 
 "but let me argue with you on this point. 
 You have kept bad company, young man; and 
 to the false ideas of decorum and gentlemanly 
 behaviour, forsooth, which you have learned in 
 the fashionable haunts of Orangemen, — to such
 
 THE CARDERS. 151 
 
 would you sacrifice the welfare of your country 
 and your creed."*' 
 
 " I do not see, Sir, what advantages either my 
 country or my creed are to derive from my 
 joining with a gang of assassins, mangier s of 
 the flesh, and dabblers in the blood of their 
 fellows." 
 
 " Little, indeed, are such great interests to be 
 forwarded even by your utmost zeal, but still 
 that zeal you owe not the less. Mangling and 
 carding disgusts you — murder were safer ; but 
 it is the sword of retributive justice we wield, 
 not that of blind revenge ! For orange foes and 
 false friends our code awards death ; — minor of- 
 fences must have minor punishments ; — you are 
 not the executioner, and need no more be moved, 
 than is a noble of England when his brother 
 peer is sent over here to head and hang us.'' 
 
 '' Still the end is as dark to me as the means 
 used are disgusting. What care I for lowering 
 the price of ground, for terrifying the peaceable 
 inhabitants of a country, or for murdering a 
 magistrate in the execution of his office .?'" 
 
 '^ You speak like a schoolboy, but like a proud
 
 152 THE CARDERS. 
 
 one, however, and that 's ' something. Yotir 
 blood revolts at acting rabble, and joining in the 
 chorus of a stage conspiracy — you would be 
 Pierre or Jaffier, and you Ve right. But think 
 you that the troubles, risings, and acts of vio- 
 lence every where throughout the island are the 
 chance movements of peasantry .? Ask yourself, 
 with those dull, fatted tyrants of ours, who seek 
 in our nature, our agriculture, and our religion 
 for the seeds of our discontent, — ask, what is the 
 cause .^ — You 11 find none. Goto, then; depend 
 upon it, when natural causes are wanting, there 
 must be active spirits at work ; w^ho out of pure 
 patriotism stir this land to something nobie, and 
 aid, in producing our independence, the tardy 
 parturition of circumstances. Think not your- 
 self, brother, leagued with bog-trotters or clod- 
 hoppers alone : the noble, the rich, and the wise 
 have all their stakes in this cast, — men far above 
 thee, though thou be'est a Dillon. Take my 
 word for the thing ; for with the opinion you 
 have just uttered, it would be but tempting 
 fate to bring you amongst the true chiefs of our 
 noble enterprise."
 
 THE CARDERS. 153 
 
 ^^I want not to know them," said Arthur 
 Dillon; "but answer me instead, what I just 
 now asked you — why consume in petty cruelty 
 and violence the weapons, the men, and the 
 spirit, which, you say, you destine toward this 
 noble enterprize ?*" 
 
 " My good friend, how is a force to be or- 
 ganized but by bringing it together ? and how, 
 I should like to know, bring together a band of 
 Irishmen without satisfying their love of vio- 
 lence by some immediate object ? Besides, these 
 daring attempts, these burnings and slayings, are 
 the beacons that answer each other from afar : 
 such tidings rouse hearers to like attempts, 
 kindle commotion; and very emulation, without 
 a deeper cause, joined with the headlong pro- 
 pensity of our countrymen to mischief, illumes 
 rebellion through the land,*" 
 
 " Suppose it illumed, what then ?" 
 " What then ! The focus of my foresight goes 
 but to its outbreaking ; penetrate further with 
 imagination, if you will. It is a dream to revel 
 in — first war and command, deeds of valour and 
 days of excitement, mth that atmosphere of 
 H 5
 
 154 THE CARDEKS, 
 
 strife wherein men of spirit can alone be said to 
 live. For youth there is a cause to kindle up 
 the glow of patriotism ; and for men who have 
 outlived such thoughts, there are the troubled 
 waters in which ambition loves to angle. Then 
 we shall have parties, personages, all our own ; 
 free assemblies, a tribune where our native fierce- 
 ness and eloquence may run riot, unchecked by 
 English laws or criticism ; a church that charms 
 the imagination and satisfies the conscience, with- 
 out casting us ever and anon into the slough of 
 polemical discord; a government popular and un- 
 fixed, in which you and I may have our share, 
 and fight our battles : A^hat further 1"" as the ima- 
 gination of O'Rourke thus got into its seventh 
 heaven of day-dreaming, he became giddy with 
 the elevation, and kicking up his heels with 
 unacademic mirth, wound up his Utopia with 
 the climax, " and, by the powers ! we'll have 
 whiskey galyore." 
 
 Arthur could not help joining in the un- 
 couth hilarity of his companion, who from his 
 habits, gestures, and chuckling glee, would 
 have been almost the last person in the aca-
 
 THE CARDERS. 155 
 
 demic grove that one would have taken for a 
 conspirator. 
 
 " After all," contmued the speaker, " what 
 is it but fun ? National independence is a 
 nobler chace than the fox, which is the only 
 object one half of our better orders seriously 
 follow; the pursuit a furious deal more ex- 
 citing, and a broken neck, by the way, not less 
 honourable, methinks, than that of the sports- 
 man. What say you, my young friend ? will 
 you put whip and spur to the road with me P'' 
 
 " Those are things not to be lightly deter- 
 mined," said Arthur, on whom the frank mirth 
 of the dominie had won more than his serious 
 arguments ; " the picture you draw of even 
 your utmost success is at best but a queer ely- 
 sium ; and the pleasure of the chace, to use 
 your own metaphor, seems to entice you on 
 more than the value of the game.^ 
 
 *' By Gemini ! and that's true," said O'Rourke; 
 " and it 's so with all of us, and will be with the 
 Irish while the sod has grass on it : sorrow a bit 
 they heed what market they trudge to, so that 
 row and devilry be the way to 't."
 
 156' THE CAKDEllS. 
 
 "•Well, if ever I come to trouble in this 
 cause," said Arthur, " I cannot plead the hav- 
 ing had an unfair or unfrank seducer." 
 
 " 'Tis true, young master^ I overdo the bu- 
 siness. It is alway the curse of us warm-hearted 
 folk, when we have a good listener ; and elo- 
 quence at times, I speak without vanity, opens 
 the heart as much of the speaker as of the 
 hearer. However, we are friends^ and you listen 
 to me with patience, nay, with pleasure. This 
 is something; and one day or other 1 may grow 
 serious and convince you.'' 
 
 " In the mean time," said Arthur, " solve 
 me the riddle of the village schoolmaster of 
 Rathfinnan being the same personage with the 
 graduate of Trinity." 
 
 " What great riddle can you find in it .'^" 
 quoth the other ; " but that I take on me a dis- 
 guise for a twelvemonth, to learn all the ins and 
 outs of the county. Once the seed is sown, 
 as it was in Rathfinnan, by our very respectable 
 central committee, down I go, turn schoolmaster 
 here, tradesman there, expound Pastorini, act 
 scribe first, and write nobly-spelt notices for
 
 THE CARDERS. 157 
 
 Captain Moll Doyle, Captain Rock, or Captain 
 Carder, till at last I become, by degrees, iden- 
 tified with that midnight potentate, at whose 
 name all orangery turns pale." 
 
 " And what then?'' 
 
 " Why, that I hold the threads of insurrec- 
 tion in half the kingdom. Since I had the plea- 
 sure of seeing you at Ardcross, I have travelled 
 the Southern roads as a North of Ireland pedlar? 
 — such heroes as English poets now celebrate, I 
 hear ; and in sweet Tipperary, to be sure, if 1 
 didn't sell 'kerchiefs to the lads and gowns to 
 the lasses, it 's no matter, — not to mention my 
 business. Not a serving-maiden in Bully Wil- 
 son's, the police magistrate's, kitchen, that I 
 hadn't hansel of, — and tidings to boot, that '11 
 save many a pretty fellow's neck. You stare. 
 Now, art thou not poet enough to understand 
 the romance, the vagabond heroism of such a 
 life? How many degrees does it rank higher 
 than bear-leading or grinding ?" 
 
 '' Every one to his taste," cried Arthur ; " my 
 mode of living is not, perhaps, the most honour- 
 able, but you '11 allow me to follow it a little
 
 158 THE CARDERS. 
 
 longer ; at least till this unfixed govern- 
 ment is established, in which we are to bear a 
 part.'' 
 
 " Stick to it, my boy, and welcome, for a 
 twelvemonth or so longer. Your brethren used 
 to carve out bolder ways to fortune ; but for all 
 this, learning may be gathered without render- 
 ing the heart more faint, or the sinews more 
 weak:'^ he held forth his arm as a sufficient ex- 
 ample. " But remember, as soon as number 
 seven ends the year, be ready to lead a regi- 
 ment of brave lads up the glacis of Athlone 
 battery. Nothing less. I' the mean time I '11 
 keep the porridge stirring till that good hour 
 comes round ; and then, Huzza for ould Ireland 
 on her own pair of legs ! But farewell, my 
 young fellow, I can't afford another round of 
 the park, and this parleying interferes with more 
 serious business. Farewell ! I 'm off for West- 
 meath to-night ; — have you any commands ? — a 
 line for the Grange, or maybe for a big house 
 not far from it ? I '11 do your bidding secret as 
 a mute, to squire, dame, or damsel, and Old 
 Nick himself wouldn't suspect me for a Mercury.
 
 THE CARDERS. 159 
 
 You \'e nothing, and yet look ashamed as if 
 you had. No matter, I won't flit till midnight, 
 and any time before then, a message will find me 
 
 at the ^ he whispered, " there, at the back 
 
 of Francis-street. Good bye, if you ever want 
 a friend, call upon the Dominie Captain."
 
 160 
 
 THE CARDERS, 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 With a tremendous shake of the hand did 
 this personage of many aliases bid Arthur adieu, 
 disappearing forthwith beneath the archway that 
 led into the courts, and leaving his young ac- 
 quaintance fascinated, and riveted to the spot 
 where he had left him for several moments. 
 The singular figure of his interlocutor still 
 haunted the youth's vision, and his voice con- 
 tinued to pour into his ear his plans of reckless 
 treason and rebellion ; which, although they had 
 been heard without emotion, were now recalled 
 by Arthur with an uneasy sentiment of terror. 
 Such thoughts that were familiar to the old con- 
 spirator, and occupied his mind eternally, with- 
 out adding a second's speed to his pulse, had a 
 very different effect when they superseded the
 
 THE CARDERS. 161 
 
 tranquil truisms of logics and of ethics in the 
 student's mind. Even love he found but a tri- 
 fling excitement in comparison with treason; 
 and the weight which now hung fearfully around 
 " the neck of his heart,"" he found far other 
 than the soft despond, which presses like an eyder 
 coverlet upon the melancholy musings of the 
 lover. He felt that he could not shut himself 
 up with such suffocating thoughts, and he turned 
 to pace once more around the park, the crowd 
 and tumult of which, before unheard, now burst 
 upon him for the first time. An active set of 
 students were engaged in hurHng ; and Arthur, 
 as he watched the struggles, the life, and vary- 
 ing success of the game, felt that one excitement 
 is to be allayed but by another, and longed to 
 drown his feelings in bodily exertion. But his 
 foot forbade ; and he was compelled to imitate 
 his soberer fellows, who, in the academic disha- 
 bille of tattered gown and slippers, paced in 
 pairs around the walks, discussing— the elders, 
 some classic reading, abstruse point of Berk- 
 leian metaphysics, or some such principles of 
 schoolboy criticism as Blair engendered — the
 
 162 THE CARDEUS. 
 
 gibs, deep in Barbara, Celarent, and the Pons 
 Asinorum, in disputing the comparative ri- 
 gidity of bugbear examiners, in digressions 
 to Crow-street, and to the feats of blood and 
 buckism most wonderful and last attempted. 
 It was a fine October day : the venerable 
 elms of the academic grove still held their 
 foliage ; and although the space is too confined 
 and low to afford either retirement or pictu- 
 resque beauty, still I know of no rural bower 
 so propitious to meditation as its gravel walks ; 
 whether the cause be the intellectual atmo- 
 sphere of the place, where so much genius has 
 essayed its early powers of mind, or whether it 
 be a bright privilege conveyed by the charter of 
 the good Queen Bess. Some poets prefer a 
 winding path upon the brink of Helicon for 
 their hours of inspiration, — give me instead, 
 prosaic wight, the smooth straight walk of 
 the old school, with leaves overhead, and 
 fields in view ; no matter for the picturesque, 
 but all familiar to the vision : let no varying 
 landscape, no novel shrubs or flowers be there 
 to attract curiosity and attention ; but be all as
 
 THE CARDERS. 163 
 
 it was wont to be — the more insipid and mono- 
 tonous, still the fitter haunt of mind that needs 
 not such weak impulse, as external sights can 
 give, to set its wing in motion. 
 
 The course of Arthur''s thoughts, at any rate, 
 had, for the present, no need of further impetus. 
 The conversation of O'Rourke had awakened in 
 his mind a host of dormant ideas, that had been 
 familiar to his childhood, — considerations of the 
 English as new comers, as invaders, as tyrants, 
 — traditions of their treachery, and of the Divine 
 vengeance declared against them in many a 
 struggle. It is astonishing in how secret and 
 secluded a corner memory preserves the ideas of 
 childhood, and how fresh they burst forth when 
 some strong feeling touches the spring of their 
 cell portal. The lore of his infancy all of a 
 sudden filled the mind of Arthur, the chronicles 
 of his nurse and her gossips poured afresh on 
 him, and the habitual conversation and topics of 
 his paternal mansion at that time, since so ab- 
 sorbed in prudential silence, started anew to his 
 recollection. That part of his country's history 
 too, when, on the strength of her armed volun-
 
 164 THE CARDERS. 
 
 teers, she breathed for once independence and 
 defiance, seemed glorious to him. Scraps of 
 Irish eloquence came to his tongue to express 
 and exaggerate his thoughts, and the diatribes 
 of those orators, equally venal or vain, that 
 converted the Irish House of Commons into a 
 bear-garden, bore to him all the classic energy of 
 Demosthenes. The mind of our hero, in short, 
 was strained to a very high pitch of political 
 fanaticism, in the hallucinations of which he 
 even upbraided himself with having stooped to 
 the selfish and unmanly thoughts of love. He 
 dreamed of nothing less than war, of " ambus- 
 cados, Spanish blades/' and, in imitation of 
 Charles the Twelfth, was about to forswear 
 the effeminate enjoyment of affection, and even 
 the comforts of sleep, until he, scarce bearded 
 Juvenal, had rescued his country from the fangs 
 of its oppressors ! This may seem exaggerated 
 to my apathetic readers of England, who have 
 generally long outlived the fire of youth, and 
 are up to the neck in the mire of party, before 
 they begin to get really acquainted with politics, 
 or to know, in fact, what its principles are. In
 
 THE CARDERS. 165 
 
 old Ireland we reverse the matter,— we are en- 
 thusiastic in youth, whilst our British contempo- 
 raries are carelessly immersed in money-making 
 or in money-spending, behind a brown desk or 
 over a tavern-table ; and we grow men of the 
 world and pococurante at the advanced age, 
 when Enghshmen put on their pohtical youth. 
 and grow furious as radicals or tories. 
 
 Such was the agitated accompaniment of 
 thought to which Arthur paced, with strides 
 more rapid than his convalescent foot could 
 have in calmer moments permitted. His wound 
 at last reminded him of this ; and he returned 
 forthwith to his apartment, on the table of 
 which a letter awaited him. It was from 
 Honoria, and ran as follows : 
 
 •' A pretty pickle. Sir, you have brought 
 yourself and us into, by your love of peril and 
 short-cuts; its consequences, which I sit down 
 to inform you of, are so numerous, one worse 
 than another, that I know not which to begin 
 with. It was you, say some, who led a gang 
 of Carders to Mr. Mullen's house, threatened 
 him with death, and carded him with your own
 
 166 THE CARDERS. 
 
 hand. Mullen certainly denies it, but people 
 do not believe it the less. Others say, Lord 
 Castletown Belville came up with you and your 
 army at Dunshaughlin, and after some resistance, 
 in which you yourself were severely wounded, 
 surrounded the party ; but that, in pity to your 
 youth, his lordship subsequently allowed you 
 to escape. This is the story most generally cre- 
 dited, and so eternally and confidently is it din- 
 ned in our ears, that L. and I can scarcely keep 
 from believing it at times. Poor Lucy jokes 
 away as usual ; but the tears that seem to flow 
 from her eyes with laughing, are too often the 
 real effects of grief. 
 
 " The worst is to follow. She was at Castle- 
 town B. with the old gentleman, and there 
 met our scarecrow curate, who denounced you 
 as a rebel, and threatened I know not what. 
 Poor Lucy at the very time was far from well, 
 and most unluckily fainted. You may conceive 
 the hubbub, and what was made of it. Mr. 
 Plunket, however, simple soul ! thought nothing 
 of it, until the post arrived next morning with 
 a letter for him ; which we found out after-
 
 THE CARDERS. 167 
 
 wards to have been anonymous. Soon after re- 
 ceiving it, we heard him pacing his room with 
 furious steps : poor Lucy's mind misgave her 
 instantly, and she was expecting the worst, 
 when he burst into her room, furious as a tiger. 
 He flung himself into a chair, unable to speak 
 with passion ; while I thought poor L. v.ould 
 have sunk in the floor. He motioned me to 
 leave the room, which I did. He charged her 
 with holding a secret correspondence, nay, 
 with seeking to elope with you. She denied; 
 he insisted, and vowed the most bitter impreca- 
 tions if ever he found you again within the 
 walls of Plunketstown. He recapitulated what 
 we all know, dear Arthur, your fortune, your 
 religion, and even worked into his argument 
 the treasonable practices of which your unfor- 
 tunate night-adventure has rendered you sus- 
 pected. Passion, you know, though it kindles 
 and grows warm by speech, also becomes ex- 
 hausted and subsides at the conclusion of such 
 indulgence. The angry parent, as he saw his 
 daughter's sufferings, soon turned to the fond 
 one; and poor Lucy could resist his caresses
 
 168 THE CARDERS. 
 
 less than she could the storm of his indigna- 
 tion. In fine, she promised need I say 
 
 what? your own sense, my dear friend, will 
 tell you, and will, I trust, also reconcile you 
 to its necessity. What she has suffered this 
 some time past were enough, if you knew, to 
 satisfy your pride ; but I believe you above 
 such petty feelings, and shall not seek to sa- 
 tisfy them. She is now tranquil; and honour 
 marks out to you the imperative command of 
 no more disquieting her : your presence or 
 solicitations must do harm — must bring ruin 
 on yourself and her, and at best can avail you 
 nothing. 
 
 " Now, for God's sake ! commit no rash act 
 upon the reception of these tidings. As to the 
 idle reports about your carding, they will pass, " 
 no doubt, like all our country rumours, and 
 your success in life will place you far above 
 them. Farewell! dear Arthur; the best wishes 
 of us both attend you ; the tear that stains this 
 sheet is not mine alone. Adieu, " H.'*' 
 
 " P. S.— Mr. Plunket's brother, Roderick, has 
 been here for this week,— a gay, rattling soldier;
 
 THE CARDERS. 169 
 
 we have enlisted him on our side against the 
 reports, the raw-head and bloody-bone stories 
 of which Arthur Dillon is the hero ; and what 
 with his help and the Embellishers, we reckon, 
 if not on dyeing you orange, at least of undye- 
 ing you green in the eyes of the world here.'" 
 
 This was but wanting to complete the agita- 
 tion and distress of Arthur ; a thousand times 
 he cursed the nothingness of woman's love, and 
 straight he thought of Lucy before her en- 
 raged yet kind parent, and felt that he could 
 not upbraid her. His own folly then became 
 the object of his reproach, for cherishing hopes, 
 which, if his pride forbade him to call high, 
 his prudence might have warned him were 
 impossible to be fulfilled. He thought of 
 writing to upbraid her, of forgetting her, of 
 going down to the country, of not going, and 
 at times an idea crossed him of putting an end 
 to his own existence, to be avenged on her by 
 her regrets ; but for some reason or other, none 
 of these resolutions pleased his after-thought. 
 Had his friend, the Dominie captain, been at 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
 k
 
 170 THE CARDERS. 
 
 his side, there is no knowing to what he might 
 have tempted him ; the disappointment of pri- 
 vate hopes being a feehng at all times most 
 easily converted into political and party zeal ; 
 and luckily for Arthur, O'Rourke's address at 
 the back of Francis-street was too distant from 
 college for him to betake himself thither, in 
 search of such consolation as the rebel captain 
 would certainly have bestowed. Still, thought 
 Arthur, as I intend writing to the Grange, I 
 may as well save the old people postage, and 
 0"*Rourke can drop my letter into the Athlone 
 post. In obedience to the thought, he imme- 
 diately sate down, and penned to his parents a 
 few lines, which strongly partook of the doubt 
 and agitation of the young writer's mind. Its 
 big words and hidden meanings were calculated 
 not a little to astonish the good folk of the 
 Grange, when they received it. In that it spoke 
 of injuries to himself that he could bear, and 
 injuries to his country that he could not bear; — 
 vengeance too, it seemed, he meditated for all 
 these; — his seared heart also he described as 
 beating in his country's cause, and ceasing to 
 bewail his own when he beheld his dear
 
 THE CARDERS. 171 
 
 country's misfortunes. In conclusion, he beg- 
 ged them not to be astonished, if he paid 
 them a sudden visit upon one of those moon- 
 light nights. 
 
 Leaving Arthur to his melancholy cogita- 
 tions, we shall accompany his note^ which, in 
 the hands of a boy, traversed the streets of 
 Dublin towards that magazine of Irish trade 
 and blackguardism, Francis-street. Not far 
 from thence it found the Dominie captain seated 
 in the diminutive back-parlour of a public- 
 house; its windowed-walls, made to receive 
 light during daytime from the passage, closely 
 fenced in this hour of candle-light with curtains 
 of scarlet stuff. He received the note, read 
 that in which it was inclosed, and pocketed it 
 carefully, with a wink of knowingness and im- 
 portance to his companions. These were four 
 or five in number, farmer-like bodies, seemingly 
 met from very different quarters; for not only 
 did their dress bespeak them travellers, but 
 their opposite accents were of different pro- 
 vinces: there was the drawl of the Connaught 
 brogue, drawing up its words as with a wind- 
 lass from the stomach ; the lively twang of the 
 I 2 
 
 L
 
 172 THE CARDERS. 
 
 / 
 
 Southern why; both beaten out of the field by 
 the easy, insinuating tones of the metropohtan 
 organ, the very acme certainly of accent, as 
 expressive of cant and vagabondism. A bottle 
 of whiskey stood in all its native strength and 
 purity before them, and they seemed to be ex- 
 hausting it, as well-bred gentlemen do claret, 
 without the aid of lymph, or other ingredient. 
 From this, we may well suppose the parties 
 showed manifest signs of intoxication : their 
 visages certainly did, their eyes looking vague 
 enough, and their tongues sadly given to wan- 
 dering to the outside of the mouth ; but their 
 intellects seemed to remain quite clear from the 
 fumes that mystified their features, and me- 
 chanically going through the routine of busi- 
 ness for which they had met. 
 
 " The devil a stirrin' them at all at all, I 
 tell you,"" quoth one, in answer to some solici-- 
 tations of our friend the Dominie, ^' until the 
 praties are dug. When they 've that on their 
 minds, not a good 's in 'em. Wait a little, and 
 you'll see, if afore Christmas we won't have 
 row enough in the County Cork."
 
 THE CARDERS. 173 
 
 '•' It behoves you to look to it, my good fel- 
 low," said O'Rourke ; '' for I know right well, 
 that when six months pass over in the side of 
 a country without fight, blood lost, and procla- 
 mations out, all the work before is thrown 
 away ; the cowardly spalpeens get in love with 
 their fire-sides, and it's the devil and all to rouse 
 'em up to any thing again." 
 
 ^' Whe' then, captain," said another, " the 
 deuce a much yourself does be doing down 
 there by the banks of the Shannon." 
 
 " More, by the holy farmer, than you do in 
 the South, lad !" retorted Mr. O'Rourke, " and 
 more shame for you to have it said — the country 
 being fallow-ground, that never was stirred in 
 Ninety-Eight ; whereas ye, Sirs, in the very land 
 of ould times, scarce do a thing beyond a few 
 beggarly notices." 
 
 " Come, come, captain, when we do a thing 
 in the South, we do it right — none of your old 
 nailwork and scratching — we don't let a black 
 sheep bleat twice. We're the true White- 
 boys ; — damn yere carding souls ! ye haven't 
 pluck for a good out and out kilhng." 
 
 " Stand cool a little, my hearties, and you '11
 
 l74 THE CARDERS 
 
 see who goes fastest to plant the green tree ; 
 blood it must have, sure enough, to water it, as 
 we swear, but let's plant it first. Keep up 
 the spirit, and gather arms — that's what's 
 wanting; and I'll lay any one ten golden 
 shamrocks, that we '11 coin yet, please the piper, 
 in our own mint, that we gather a greater 
 stand of arms down in little Meath yonder, 
 afore All-Saints' day, than 3^e have to show in 
 the Galties." 
 
 '^ It 's done," said the other, " I could show 
 you five hundred, all snug and oiled in one 
 bog-hole." 
 
 " Is it a bet.P" said the Captain. 
 
 '^ Troth an' it is, and I'll make you down 
 with the yellow-boys afore Christmas-eve." 
 
 " We'll see that," said the Captain; " but 
 it's time for us to be trotting,— so here's good 
 luck to us all ! and from hemp, gaol, and gib- 
 bet, be our fore-bones free ! " 
 
 So saying, he shook his companions each 
 heartily by the fist, flung his dread-nought 
 around him, and departed.
 
 THE CARDERS. 175 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 As soon as Mr. Plunket had recovered from 
 the paroxysm of the scene with his daughter, he 
 thenceforward dropped not only all mention, but 
 seemingly any recollection of its absent cause. 
 Lucy too, whatever sorrow internally preyed 
 upon her, recovered soon her wonted gaiety of 
 manner ; and the same parties, visits, the same 
 jokes and conversation held on their course at 
 Plunketstown, as if no brow had been ever 
 wrinkled, nor heart troubled within its happy 
 precincts. A visitor too, in the person of Mr. 
 Plunket's younger brother, was welcomed at the 
 mansion, and contributed not a little to break 
 in upon its monotony. Like most younger bro- 
 thers, and, indeed, not a few elder brothers of 
 the Green Isle, Mr. Roderick Plunket was an
 
 J 76 THE CARDERS. 
 
 harumscarum youth, for he was very nearly 
 twenty years junior to his brother ; and to ac- 
 quaint my readers with what he was not, would 
 take up less time and paper than to acquaint 
 them with what . he was. His father had in- 
 tended him for a clergyman, and educated him 
 accordingly ; but one bright morning, perusing a 
 f-'.peech of Currants, he vowed himself to the bar 
 —a learned resolution, which Master Roderick 
 kept precisely until he had mastered the payment 
 of his deposit-money. That difficulty conquer- 
 ed, he was free again to choose, and chose to go 
 seek his fortune : since which time he had been 
 soldier and sailor, and a thousand nameless things ^ 
 beside, in times of strait and abandonment. He 
 had been in the army — was made prisoner— and 
 escaped ; he had been in the navy, and chose 
 one day to kill a Chinese, and narrowly escaped 
 strangulation. In short, he had seen a great deal 
 of life, and of the hardest kind: though, from 
 his own account, you would have supposed him 
 to have spent the time of his absence in a fairy- 
 land of marvel and magic, like Kilmeney, ex«
 
 THE CARDERS. 177 
 
 isting not altogether so pure and tranquil cer- 
 tainly as the heroine of Hogg, but conversant 
 with scenes and circumstances all as incredible 
 and inconceivable. In moving accidents of all 
 kinds he had been ; and, as to the Anthropo- 
 phagi, he was on terms of intimacy with the 
 whole nation. No one told huger falsehoods, or 
 with a better grace, than Roderick : he seemed 
 himself quite aware of the tricks that his imagi- 
 nation played him, and was not in the least an- 
 noyed if the truth of his tales were doubted, — 
 being perfectly satisfied, with the smugglers, if 
 he could run one cargo in every five. 
 
 At first he not a little annoyed the squire by 
 his asseverations — that he rode better, shot bet- 
 ter, swam better, et cetera^ than any man hving ; 
 but this soon turned to laughter, as he was com- 
 pelled to try each ; when it was found that a 
 ball in his tliigh prevented him sticking a horse 
 over a six-foot wall ; the dislocation of his arm 
 had spoiled his aim ; and as to swimming, he 
 was totally out of practice. The innovations, 
 too, that he meditated in agriculture were im-
 
 178 THE CARDERS. 
 
 portant : every mode was wrong — no implement 
 as it should be ; and it was his intention to put 
 a stop to the future poverty of the country, to- 
 gether, of course, with its evil habits of card- 
 ing and insurrection, by substituting rice, in- 
 stead of potatoes, for the common sustenance of 
 the people. The Irish steward of the estate 
 always took care to tell Mr. Roderick that he 
 was perfectly in the right, and promised to adopt 
 his opinions in every thing ; but it appeared that 
 the soft-tongued fellow was determined to put 
 none of his plans in execution, by the inert op- 
 position with which he counteracted the execu- 
 tion even of the least. 
 
 Finding himself so thwarted by the males, he 
 gave up his time and talent to the female in- 
 mates of the mansion, whom he found to b^ 
 listeners far more obsequious, more flattered by 
 his attentions and the exercise of his imagina- 
 tion. He walked with them, rode, boated with 
 them, called forth the flagging spirits of his 
 niece ; and felt more pleasure in being chidden 
 by the serious Honoria, than in being sneered 
 at by an incredulous board of gentry, deaf to
 
 THE CAHDERS. 179 
 
 the merits of foreign travel, and the knowledge 
 of the world. 
 
 Such was Roderick. He and Mr. Travers 
 were seated in Plunketstown parlour upon a fine 
 evening, early in October, discussing with the 
 squire himself a few tumblers of punch, made 
 from a fresh batch of potheen, imported but 
 the night before from the wilds of Connaught. 
 Notwithstanding the lateness of the month, it 
 was still harvest-time ; an unusual bustle was 
 heard in house and field ; the peasantry, even 
 the females, busied upon the stubbles ; an army 
 of them reaping and binding, while hosts of 
 stragglers gleaned here and there, or under pre- 
 tence of gleaning, wandered about for joke and 
 gossiping sake. Either the bustle, or the po- 
 theen, or both, inspired the gentlemen with the 
 desire of issuing forth upon some sport : it was 
 no time to get tackle ready for cross-fishing, and 
 boating was dull, except such distant voyage as 
 would procure a shot at a swan. At length Mr. 
 Travers proposed to lie in wait for the ducks, 
 which he asserted to have seen coming from the 
 lake for several nights past- This sport was
 
 180 THE CARDEES. 
 
 instantly agreed upon, not only as new, but as 
 one that could not be enjoyed except on very 
 few evenings of the year. 
 
 The gentlemen were not long in seizing their 
 guns and sallying forth, not, however, before 
 Master Roderick had offered to wager that he 
 would bring down more birds by one-third than 
 any other of the party. The young ladies also 
 agreed to accompany them as spectators of their 
 sport, though distant ones. 
 
 The part of the lake coast in and about Ratli- 
 finnan has been described as rising in precipi- 
 tous crags from the water. The Rath-head was 
 the termination of this line of rocks, beyond 
 which lay immediately a sandy cove convenient 
 for boats and bathers ; and beyond this again, 
 the land skirted the lake, not precipitously or in 
 rock, but, after a narrow beach or interval of 
 mixed pebble and sand, briars and stunted hazel, 
 rose gradually into a brow of rich cultiyated land, 
 that a few days previous had waved with a rich 
 barley crop to every gust from the water. This 
 ground lay now in stubble, the sheafs piled by 
 fives and sixes into httle stucks, as they are
 
 THE CAllDERS. l8l 
 
 called, forming that encampment of the young 
 harvest, which is one of the most pleasing and 
 picturesque scenes of rural economy. These 
 stubbles, freshly reaped, were a great attraction 
 to the wild fowl that inhabited the marshes, the 
 reedy and shallow bottom of the lake ; and the 
 wild duck, especially, as soon as they found t]'iat 
 the sickle had done its office, were wont to come 
 of evenings in innumerable flocks to finish the 
 work of the gleaners. As it was impossible to 
 come upon the wary birds, or get a shot at them 
 after they had once settled, the usual artifice of 
 the sportsman was, to surround himself with 
 standing sheafs, in fact, build himself into a stuck, 
 and there await the coming of his prey. Thus 
 did our sportsmen ensconce themselves on the 
 present occasion; the young ladies helping to 
 place them in a more smothering concealment 
 than was at all necessary, and then retreating to 
 their post in a neighbouring wood, whence they 
 might watch the sport. After remaining nearly 
 half an hour perdus, the enemy at length began 
 to make his appearance : two single birds came 
 first to reconnoitre ; and after flapping for a few
 
 1B2 THE CARDERS. 
 
 moments, like a pair of winged quart bottles, over 
 and around the field, meeting of course with no 
 interruption from the ambuscade, fiew back to 
 their comrades to report that all was right, and 
 nothing likely to disturb their evening's repast. 
 
 In a few minutes after the return of the re- 
 connoitrers, the whole flock was seen to rise from 
 the reeds, and sail towards the desired stubbles ; 
 they came thick, and occupying space enough to 
 be mistaken for a stray cloud, if the immense 
 noise of their wings had not betrayed them. 
 They hovered in a moment of suspense over the 
 field, ere they dropped to settle, and at the mo- 
 ment the sound of si^^ barrels, discharged within 
 the space of a few seconds, effectually scared away 
 all that had the power to retreat. Mr. Plunket 
 gathered five or six around him dead or wounded, 
 Mr. Travers four, while, strange to say, none 
 could poor Roderick discover. To have fired 
 without effect upon a black cloud of birds was as 
 impossible as missing a haystack ; but fate de- 
 lighted in disappointing him, and except one 
 that he caught fluttering rather nearer to him 
 than to his comrades, not a bird had Roderick to
 
 THE CARDERS. 183 
 
 boast of, not a drake's tail or crest had he to 
 bear witness to his boasted prowess in duck- 
 shooting. 
 
 They were now joined by the ladies ; and uncle 
 Roderick was sadly tormented about his sport from 
 all hands, a rather sorer subject than usual for 
 quizzing, — a good aim being what he most plumed 
 himself on possessing, and with most confidence. 
 The young gentleman forgot, however, that his 
 practice had been bestowed on bail and pistol 
 shots, not on those of a fowling-piece, and that 
 dexterity in one by no means includes proficiency 
 in the other. All this put Master Roderick in 
 no very good humour, at least in half an ill one ; 
 and whilst the old gentlemen. Messieurs Plunket 
 and Travers, returned soberly to the mansion, 
 the young uncle was sportively quarreUing with 
 his impertinent niece, pursuing her for a short 
 chase o'er the lawn, and inflicting divers petty 
 punishments upon her when caught, for her un- 
 ceasing raillery. 
 
 There happened at the time to be a young 
 gentleman witnessing all these gambols, to whom 
 the sight proved any thing but agreeable. This
 
 184 THE CARDERS. 
 
 was no other than Arthur Dillon, for whose sud- 
 den re-appearance in the county I shall not 
 insult my young and fair reader's experience by 
 giving a cause, or entering into any very compli- 
 cate excuses therefor. Suffice it to say, there he 
 was, like another Robin Hood, as he was sus- 
 pected to be, haunting the green wood, and 
 peeping from the convenient trunk of some 
 portly oak to catch a ghmpse of the unwelcome 
 gaiety of his mistress. As the merry trio, or 
 rather pair, for Honoria assumed not with Mr. 
 Roderick the liberties of a i>iece, still approached 
 the house in their gambols, Arthur shifted his 
 position from tree to tree, and at length took up 
 one in an arbour or little summer-house, which 
 was approached but by the dark wiilk of the 
 grove, although it afforded a full view of the 
 lawn. He did not take into account how far the 
 capricious foot of a frolicsome maiden might 
 stray ; for after some very sly cuts indeed at her 
 uncle Roderick, some observation, I believe, that 
 he drew the long-bow better than the trigger, 
 she bounded off to escape his vengeance up the 
 very dark walk of the grove, which her hidden
 
 THE CARDERS. 185 
 
 lover had reckoned on as so secure. Master 
 Roderick was neither less nimble nor adventu- 
 rous, and pursued unremittingly after Lucy, 
 who at last took refuge in the aforesaid summer- 
 house, Roderick entering the moment after, and 
 finding his niece neither praying pardon nor in 
 play, but recoiling in terror and agitation from 
 the aspect of a stranger youth. 
 
 Arthur Dillon seemed not to pay any attention 
 to this second intruder on his secrecy, nor did 
 he attempt to offer any excuse for being found 
 there, continuing to bend a reproachful look on 
 the dumb-struck Lucy. 
 
 '' It was not my intention," said the youth, 
 " to break upon your mirth. Miss Lucy." 
 
 " And, good Heaven ! how came you here, 
 Arthur.?" 
 
 " Just arisen from a bed of sickness, I 
 thought the air of my native hills and the 
 countenance of old friends might revive me. 
 It was a silly thought; — forgive me. Miss 
 Plunket, I will no more intrude." 
 
 " You have been very ill, Arthur, you look, 
 you are so," said Lucy, '* and I "
 
 186 THK CARDERS. 
 
 " Then you know this person, it seems. Miss 
 Plunket ?*" interrupted Roderick. And, indeed, 
 the appearance and habihments of Arthur, con- 
 trary to his wont, much neglected, almost war- 
 ranted the omission of the word gentleman. 
 
 " I had once the honour," returned Arthur, 
 " of Miss Lucy Plunket's acquaintance, which, 
 I hope, need not stand in the way. Sir, of your 
 present great intimacy with the lady." 
 
 " What the devil do you mean, young fel- 
 low .? Are you mad ? to be lurking about here 
 like a criminal, acting the hobgoblin, and 
 frightening young women ! — Go home, and 
 shave yourself." 
 
 '' Criminal, Sir ! you insult me." In vain 
 Lucy endeavoured to calm her lover's wrath- 
 " And whoever you be • " 
 
 " Pray, who is this precious acquaintance of 
 Lucy's, Honoria .?" said Roderick to that , lady, 
 who was just entering the summer-house. 
 
 " Oh, Arthur ! Arthur! still in harm's way: 
 — it is young Arthur Dillon, Sir, whom we have 
 spoken to 3"ou about."*' 
 
 *' Blockhead that I am !" exclaimed Roderick, 
 " not to have known the great Captain-General
 
 , THE CARDERS. 187 
 
 of the Carders ! Sir, I salute your beard," 
 making a mock bow, " and 'fore gad ! I never 
 saw before the uniform of your majesty's forces; 
 'tis a Httle ungracious or so, but characteristic. 
 Card not with thy frown, doughty Captain ; take 
 my Hfe, and spare all I have." 
 
 " Sir !" said the youth, " you 're an inso- 
 lent " 
 
 " Hush !" said Honoria, " Arthur, Mr. 
 P ." 
 
 " Let me speak, girl. Now 1 11 tell you 
 something,- Master Dillon, and it will be of 
 use to you in life, short as yours is likely to 
 be, if you go on after this fashion ; — never let 
 an insult off at half cock, rather keep it for the 
 last round. In this case it has been thrown 
 away on one who was a bit of a friend of yours, 
 as these young ladies can acquaint you. For the 
 present I '11 leave you a few moments with them, 
 — being myself still a youngster and unwilling 
 to spoil even your sport ; and then I shall have 
 the further kindness to walk part of the road 
 home with you, and let you into a secret or two 
 by the way." 
 
 " What can my uncle mean ?" said Lucy, as
 
 188 THE CARDERS. 
 
 Roderick turned from the summer-house, and 
 sauntered up the grove with a loud and care- 
 less whistle. 
 
 " Oh, what does he ever mean, but fun ?" said 
 Honoria. 
 
 •* Your uncle ! —what, that young man ?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir, my uncle, Mr. Roderick Plunket, 
 whom you have insulted. But you are changed, 
 Arthur, dreadfully changed, and — '■ — " 
 
 " True, Lucy, but what of that ? — it is my lot 
 to suffer. Your cheek retains its bloom, your 
 spirit its gaiety, and I am satisfied." 
 
 *' What are my smiles or sighs, Arthur ? — may 
 not the withered heart send a flush to the cheek 
 and madness to the spirits ? — and hast not thou 
 thyself writ if I remember, 
 
 This gaiety, 'tis deeper gloom. 
 
 As on the bier waves ostrich plume ; 
 
 And from thy lip comes laugh and jest. 
 
 The sad soul inly sighing. 
 Like leaves that flit on autumn's blast. 
 
 And sport whilst they are dying.'* 
 
 " Ah, Lucy ! those were the days of hope, 
 and you awake its spirit once more in my breast.
 
 THE CARDERS. 189 
 
 It was not in search of such consolation I came 
 hither. — No ! — You have promised. Your fa- 
 ther, your worthy father, is right, is just. I 
 will not cross him, will not spoil him of his trea- 
 sure, nor be the thief they call me. I will not 
 degrade his daughter to the wife of a poor, 
 hunted, outcast Catholic, nor steal my fallen 
 blood into his noble house. No ! Lucy, — I 
 came, I know not why, to look once more at 
 this familiar scene, this lawn, these trees. I 
 loved you, but came not here to tell an useless 
 story, — I ask no return ; and be you gay or not, 
 why should I-complain ? Your happiness, your 
 mirth should please me,~and it does; — and yet, 
 such is man's selfishness, I had departed hap- 
 pier, methinks, to have for the last time wit- 
 nessed a few fond tears fallinff for me from the 
 eyes I loved. They fall — they do fall fast — 
 and I have tasted life's last pleasure." 
 
 " Leave me, Arthur," said the distracted 
 girl ; " you can but torture me, and feed your 
 vanity in beholding me thus abandoned; — 
 and -my promise to my fathe r, but I cannot 
 keep it."
 
 190 THE CAEDERS. 
 
 " I unman myself," said the youth; '^ I came 
 but to take a last look at this place, and I stay 
 mingling my tears with thine." 
 
 " And why last, Arthur ? — My father is en- 
 raged with you, certainly, terribly enraged, but 
 twill pass ; and when he is assured that we are 
 no longer any thing to one another, as it must 
 be, Arthur, you will again be welcome to 
 Plunketstowli." 
 
 ^' Never, Lucy, never can I look on you 
 but as I do this moment. Let not your parent 
 dread me, for I will not deceive him, nor trust 
 me, for I would not. I have been long in 
 doubt and irresolution, but am at length de- 
 cided. I leave this kingdom for ever. Th^ 
 Continent is wide, and Heaven has thrown it 
 open alike to the happy that fly there for 
 amusement, and to the wretch like me that 
 flies thither for refuge and oblivion." 
 
 '^ Oh ! no, no, no ! don't go, Arthur ; I 
 thought I had made up my mind to this, but 
 feel I have not. Stay, stay in this dear coun- 
 try, though ever so far off", but let not the sea 
 divide us. There is no faith in love that 's part-
 
 THE CARDERS. 191 
 
 ed by that fearful barrier : I will not break my 
 promise to my father, but will not the less live 
 true to thee, for all my smiles ;" and for a mo- 
 ment the poor girl did smile, and straight re- 
 lapsed into a convulsion of sorrow. 
 
 " Who would have thought this ?'** exclaimed 
 the youth. " The gay, the volatile, the trifling. 
 Yet when I, who thought myself all passion, 
 could make up my mind to quit her, her wo- 
 man's heart rebels, and will not bide the sa- 
 crifice." 
 
 " Roderick returns," cried Honoria, inter- 
 rupting them. *' You must part : go, Arthur ; 
 dear Lucy, recover yourself."' 
 
 The young lady did so, and drying her 
 tears, as she turned to depart, said, " Arthur, 
 we must meet again, once more at least, with 
 feelings better armed than in this unexpected in- 
 terview. I '11 counsel something for your good, 
 some milder fate than banishment : but I have 
 betrayed myself, I fear, — be it so ! Farewell ! 
 dear Arthur ; beg pardon of my uncle, — I trust 
 your love and honour." 
 
 *' Farewell, angel of women !■' and with this
 
 192 THE CARDERS. 
 
 exclamation, which seemed to him at the time 
 but the merest prose, whatever it may seem to 
 my readers, our hero stepped forth to join Mr. 
 Roderick Plunket. 
 
 That gentleman accosted him jocularly, as if 
 nothing had previously passed between them 
 other than a cordial introduction. Although 
 the uncle of Lucy, and every way entitled to 
 make enquiries of and respecting any pretender 
 to the hand of his niece. Master Roderick felt 
 not inclined to act the Argus on the present oc- 
 casion. He was young and frolicsome himself^ 
 and consequently sympathized with love and 
 frolic, and was himself moreover at the moment 
 smitten somewhat with the tender passion — a 
 state of mind in which man is naturally benevo- 
 lent to his fellows in the same predicament. 
 And the same Roderick, who a few months 
 since would have looked upon Arthur as an 
 impertinent fortune-hunter, at present made in 
 part the confident of the young ladies, regarded 
 his audacity, with whatever opinion of its hope- 
 lessness, at least with none of opposition or re^ 
 sentment. Some, who in life were acquainted
 
 THE CARDERS. 193 
 
 ^vith the circumstances of this story, deemed 
 that Roderick had no objection to a runaway 
 match on the part of his niece, and a conse- 
 quent rupture between her and her parent, 
 which could not fail to be to his, Master Ro- 
 derick's, advantage. But this opinion I have 
 myself ever disbelieved and combated, unwor- 
 thy as it was of Roderick''s independence and 
 honesty, — the more so, indeed, from having often 
 observed blunt and rough-hearted people do the 
 very same things from whim, which they might 
 have done from interest; the world infallibly 
 attributing the act to the most obvious cause, 
 and setting down to the account of shrewd- 
 ness, what was merely the chance production 
 of folly. 
 
 Moreover le ^'vrai rCest pas toujours le 
 vrai-semhlable ;" and if my readers object to the 
 likelihood of such and of the following beha- 
 viour on the part of a young lady's uncle, all I 
 can answer is— such was the case. 
 
 " Well, my fine fellow, half your romance is 
 over — which path do you pursue P""* 
 
 " This one, which leads to my home. But I 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 THE CARDEBS. 
 
 pray you. Sir, before we go further, to accept 
 my excuses and grant me pardon for the word 
 I so hastily uttered." 
 
 " So, so, what a hasty gentleman ! — beforehand 
 both with insult and excuse. But come, I did 
 not spoil your sport, don't you spoil mine." 
 
 *' In what manner .?*" 
 
 '' By thus sneaking out of a handsome quarrel 
 — besides, I have sent your old friend Jack 
 Beahan, whom I met here, to the house for 
 pistols, and I 'm sure you won't disappoint me.'* 
 
 *' What ! would you fire at me without a 
 second? For as for me. Sir, beside my being 
 the insulter, I could not think of lifting my 
 arm against you." 
 
 " Lift your arm ! — nonsense ! and as for 
 seconds, damn me if I more than wing you ; and 
 should you shoot me, man, why what is it to one 
 of your trade ?" 
 
 " You have been sadly misinformed. Sir, and 
 I grieve for it, respecting what you please to call 
 my trade. I have used an hasty epithet towards 
 you, and am ready to crave any pardon you
 
 THE CARDERS. 195 
 
 please to dictate for having so. What more 
 can you require ?" 
 
 '* Not much." Here Jack Beahan was seen at 
 the turn of a corner with a brace of Wogdons in 
 his fist. Master Roderick took them, and pre- 
 senting one at him, intimated that his brains had 
 but a bad lease of his skull, in case he dared to 
 speak one word of what he either saw or sur- 
 mised. 
 
 Arthur could not help smiling at this strange 
 conduct, which he could scarcely think serious. 
 Roderick Plunket, however, was perfectly so, and 
 in a temper not by any means approaching to 
 merriment, further than carelessness and a kind 
 of satisfaction at enjoying once more a pastime 
 that he loved. 
 
 " Now," said he, " the deuce a properer place 
 can we find than Miss Lucy's grotto for the bu- 
 siness." 
 
 " But, Mr. Plunket, can you be in earnest ? 
 —I protest—" 
 
 " Indeed, and I protest in my turn that I will 
 not Usten to bad names, and, what is more, send 
 for my pistols in vain. But, as you have given 
 K 2
 
 196 THE CARDERS. 
 
 some sort of an excuse, I'll ask but one round. 
 Just try one ; by Jupiter Ammon, you '11 find 
 the sensation delightful !— such fine bracing of 
 the nerves, such a manly palpitation of the heart. 
 Zounds ! man, you of Trinity, and not fleshed ! 
 why, I tell you, without a shot received and 
 given you 're not entitled to plead manhood ; and 
 how you dare look a lady in the face without 
 such credentials is an impudence beyond my 
 comprehension. Your only toga virilis is a shot. 
 Sir, a shot ; — now do just oblige me, and take 
 your ground." 
 
 '' Sir, I never heard the hke." 
 Poor Roderick lost patience, and began to 
 fear, that short of murder, for which, gay and 
 good fellow as he was, he had little inclination, 
 he should lose this delightful opportunity of an 
 innocent and honourable shot at his fellow-man. 
 There was but one way left. Roderick put on 
 at once a tragic visage of gloom, gnashed his 
 teeth, clenched his fist, and approaching Arthur, 
 asked him in an assumed tone of suppressed 
 passion, 
 
 " Whom, voung man, do you take me for ?"
 
 THE CARDERS. 197 
 
 '• For the uncle of Miss Plunket, whom I 
 grieve to have offended." 
 
 "Uncle!" said Roderick with a smile that 
 would have done honour to Mephistopheles, 
 " the devil never failed a woman at a pinch. 
 She said I was her uncle, did she .?" 
 " She did, and are you not .?" 
 " She said so for the best, poor thing ; but we 
 men are not to be so juggled. I am thy rival ! 
 thy successful rival, I trust ; but yet I dread 
 thee, and will not leave this spot until my jealous 
 soul be satisfied." 
 
 " Good heavens ! I can scarcely believe it ; and 
 yet her confusion, this person's youth, — and 
 she told it not at first—Mr. Roderick Plunket 
 truly ! — it must have been an excuse fabricated 
 to elude my indignation." 
 
 " Oh ho i"" cried Roderick, " have I touched 
 you ? To your post, foe of mine ; there, it is 
 marked." 
 
 " Blood-thirsty man ! but no, I will not fight. 
 ^Tis not for want of witness or of second, for 
 what bitterer pang could even the gallows now 
 bring me ? But I will not raise my arm against
 
 198 THE CARDERS. 
 
 you ; against me her very falsehood shall pre- 
 serve thee." 
 
 " By Jupiter Ammon,"" muttered Roderick 
 to himself, " I was never so put to it for a 
 tragic vein. Why, thou bear-leader, thou 
 sneaking grinder of grammar rules, thou pluck- 
 less mock-captain of banditti, a Dillon truly ! — 
 a pin's prick upon thy little finger would draw 
 every drop of Dillon's blood in thy veins/' 
 
 " You are determined, I see, to provoke 
 me," said the youth, *' and what reason you 
 can have, unless as you say, and indeed as I 
 have seen, you are my rival, I cannot see. It 
 is enough ; —I will not balk you — give me the 
 pistol." 
 
 Arthur took the pistol from the hand of 
 Roderick, and both took their positions, which 
 the latter had previously marked out at twelve 
 paces ; that distance, said he to himself, being 
 quite near enough for a joke. 
 
 The whole object of Roderick in the affair 
 was sport: he had been in innumerable duels 
 every where, and as they occurred more gene- 
 rally every three or four months, they had
 
 THE CARDERS. 199 
 
 become to him a kind of necessary excitement ; 
 like fox-hunting to some, wine or opium to 
 others, and war or worse to many. This dose 
 he had long been without in the midst of 
 British circumspection, and his appetite to- 
 wards it ran now as headlong as that of a 
 savage towards brandy. On this principle, 
 bearing no grudge in the least to Arthur Dil- 
 lon, his intention was, having received some 
 fair provocation, to wound him shghtly, or 
 graze, in fact, some not very mortal part of his 
 body ; reckoning at the same time, that the 
 chance of his being wounded himself, if indeed 
 he thought for a moment on the subject, Avas 
 not very great, from a long duelling-pistol in 
 the tremulous hand of a green-horn. In this 
 Master Roderick, as usual, reckoned without 
 his host ; for although in the first moments of 
 emotion the nerves even of the strongest are 
 agitated, yet either the extreme or the conti- 
 nuance of passion frequently strains them to 
 the firmness and consistency of wires. So it 
 was with Arthur at the moment when they 
 fired.
 
 200 THE CARDERS. 
 
 " Now for your shoulder-blade," cried Ro- 
 derick, and his ball obeyed his word, by slightly 
 grazing the part he mentioned, and inflicting 
 little more than a rent on the habit of his an- 
 tagonist ; who, with aim as sure, brought poor 
 Roderick instantly to the ground; — the ball 
 had pierced his arm and back. 
 
 " Curse your arm !'' said Roderick, as the 
 youth ran to his assistance ; " this it is to lend 
 one's own good pistols, this to jest with captains 
 of banditti. Who would have thought that 
 baby-hand could hold an eighteen-inch barrel 
 straight ? But fly, my young friend, fly ! this 
 looks like murder, and poor Campbell's fate 
 may be thine : wretch that I am ! this trick of 
 mine may hang you. Fly to France or the 
 devil, and here 's my purse, if you want silver 
 wings. I knew I should die like that stage- 
 knave Mercutio. But go, Dillon, they re com- 
 ing. I am Roderick Plunket, Lucy's uncle, 
 and have deceived you into this sorry, sorry 
 joke." 
 
 On his knees, bent over his wounded an- 
 tagonist, was Arthur found almost instantly
 
 THE CARDERS. 201 
 
 by Jack Bealian, and another servant, whom 
 he had called to his assistance on hearing the 
 report of the pistols. Roderick still, though 
 weak, had sense to urge Arthur to depart. 
 " It may be but slight," said he, " but hide 
 yourself at least. Fear not ; — never did I see a 
 duellist weep before. I ''ll live, were it but to 
 be your friend." Arthur wrung the hand of 
 Roderick, and sped away through the wood; 
 whilst the wounded gentleman was borne home 
 by the domestics. 
 
 K o
 
 202 THE CARDERS. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 The unlucky Arthur scarce knew whither his 
 furious steps were directed. On he rushed, 
 heedless of bough, briar, or underwood, tearing 
 through all impediment, and cursing the way- 
 ward fate, which, when he deemed himself at the 
 lowest depth of fortune, seemed to make a sport 
 of sinking him into a still deeper abyss. With 
 unabated speed he traversed the wood to its 
 outward wall, or fence, on which, springing 
 with a passionate bound, he paused to consider 
 of his future steps. The bleak flat country 
 stretched in the sinking twilight before him, the 
 very emblem of exile ; but now, in the agitation 
 of his thought, the necessity of flight, of expa- 
 triation, flattered his fancy ; and the prospect of 
 struggling a bold and needy adventurer in foreign
 
 THE CARDERS. 203 
 
 climes, seemed, at the moment, a noble and an 
 easy task. Lucy was the thought of bitterness — 
 " What must she think ?" There was no tune 
 for such questions. His father had chidden him 
 severely in the morning for his sudden and impru- 
 dent return to the country ; and the son, in whose 
 breast the passions of manhood, just allumed, 
 had rendered him less obsequious and dutiful in 
 hearing than formerly, had answered his parent 
 in words of unusual warmth and independence. 
 Arthur felt not inclined to renew so unpleasant 
 a scene, likely, under the circumstances that had 
 since occurred, to be doubly so. But how to 
 leave them ^vithout even a farewell ? — A little 
 bare-legged fellow at the moment came running 
 down the hill, and solved the difficulty. " Hallo ! 
 my little fellow, will you earn a five-penny ? 
 Hurry across to the Grange yonder, and tell 
 ^lurtagh to bring me my carbine, with the swan- 
 shot, to the old castle yonder. I 'll wait for him 
 there ; and, hark 'e, tell no one, for you know, 
 Neddy, blabbing spoils sport.*" Away sped the 
 boy, eyeing the five-penny piece, whose bright- 
 ness added vigour to his heels ; and Arthur,
 
 204 THE CARDERS. 
 
 pacing slowly by the wood enclosure, amved 
 at the Castle of Ardcross. 
 
 The twilight had nearly faded away as Arthur, 
 ascending the green knoll, entered the ruins of 
 the castle. A misty moon, just risen, promised 
 the continuance, if not the increase of the little 
 light that still lingered. Its silvery ray shone 
 through no fretted window or Gothic portal, all 
 the windows extant of Ardcross being but mis- 
 shapen loop-holes, and time and Cromwell both 
 having utterly demolished that side of the castle 
 where once had been an entrance. Still there 
 was enough for the imagination of Arthur to 
 have expatiated on, if reality had not preoccu- 
 pied it with sadder and more absorbent images. 
 So was it, that he heeded not the whistling wind, 
 or rustling grass ; nay, the owl might have 
 shrieked in his ear without adding one shade to 
 the horrors of his thought. He leaned upon 
 the corner of the breach ; his attention turned 
 towards the morass, from whence he expected 
 every moment to see Murtagh issue. Footsteps 
 approached, but not in the desired direction ; 
 and Arthur ensconced himself still more, stung
 
 THE CARDERS. 205 
 
 by the giant nettles amongst which he har- 
 boured. It was not the bold tread of Murtagh 
 neither, nor his voice ; for the cautious comers 
 were slowly muttering observations, and keeping 
 up each other's courage by whispers. They 
 seemed to have crept almost on all fours by the 
 liedge side for fear of observation, and ascended 
 the knoll, towards the breach, with equal caution. 
 The first entered ; Arthur knew him not. The 
 second he could not mistake — 'twas Crostwhaite; 
 and the last he in a little time recognized to be 
 the peer — no other than Lord Castletown Bel- 
 ville himself. Here was a contretems. And how 
 to escape himself, and prevent Murtagh from 
 falling into their hands, were considerations that 
 he began seriously to meditate. He was relieved 
 in a little time, by observing that they were mak- 
 ing preparations to descend into the cavern, and 
 that they were hghting and getting ready a lan- 
 tern for that purpose. At length they descended, 
 the precipitancy of the entrance sending head- 
 long one of the gentry — as far as Arthur could 
 gather, the peer, to that worthy noble's no small 
 discomfiture. No sooner were they earthed than
 
 206 THE CARDERS. 
 
 Arthur arose; and, conscious that the new- 
 comers were beneath him, retreated with fairy- 
 step down the knoll and towards the morass, in 
 the hope of intercepting Murtagh. 
 
 In a few minutes the trusty domestic made his 
 appearance, the carbine slung upon his back ; 
 but Arthur began to think there would be no 
 end of ill luck and annoyance on perceiving that 
 Murtagh also had brought a companion with 
 him. He advanced a space into the bog to meet 
 them. " Is that you, Murtagh?" 
 
 " Yes, master." 
 
 " And who 's with you .?" 
 
 " Only Tim Oulaghan, that was crassing the 
 bog when I met him." 
 
 " And what the devil, Mr. Timothy, can you 
 be doing here at this time of night .?" said 
 Arthur. 
 
 " Maybe I 'm in great need of telling you," 
 said the other. 
 
 " Need or no need, Mr. Timothy, get back 
 from whence you came ; there are Cromwellians 
 waiting for you yonder in the castle." 
 
 " Och I by the holy frost, what an escape !"
 
 THE CAllDERS. 207 
 
 exclaimed Timothy, thunderstruck; " and who 
 the puck be they ?" 
 
 Arthur informed the landlord all he had 
 observed. " A pretty kettle of fish to have 
 O'Rourke nabbed and us all,"" said that worthy ; 
 " howsomdever, they '11 not gather till mid- 
 night, and I only came to see was all quiet. 
 But who he's the third chap ? — we must scent 
 out the mangy sheep at all events.'' 
 
 So saying, Timothy stretched on towards the 
 castle. Arthur stopped him, saying if he went, 
 that he should go alone ; for, as to himself, he 
 had a journey to take, and time was pressing. 
 Timothy, in return, urged Arthur Dillon not 
 to forsake him ; asserted that they might dis- 
 cover Mr. Crostwhaite's plans against the 
 Grange, and against Arthur himself, which he 
 had already heard something of. Murtagh 
 seconded Timothy with all his might. From 
 part of his father's conversation with him in 
 the morning, Arthur felt himself inchned to 
 learn something of the curate's movements, as 
 well as of his informer, and at length allowed 
 himself to be persuaded ; so that he, IVIurtagh
 
 208 THE CARDEllS. 
 
 and Timothy, proceeded to place themselves 
 in the castle, in a situation whence they might 
 mark the enemy, and observe especially who 
 this third person might be. 
 
 " I think, Crostwhaite," said the Peer, as 
 they emerged from the subterranean, " that 
 ledge of wall up there would be your position. 
 The ivy would completely hide you, and you 
 could see full into the cavern without any dan- 
 ger of being observed. And as there's but 
 place for one, I'll wait for you at Plunkets- 
 town, and come down on you about one with 
 the Peelers." 
 
 " Yes," said the Curate, " but alone, I con- 
 fess, I do not much like the task. — If dis- 
 covered " 
 
 " Poh, poh ! how could you be discovered ? 
 By the word of a man, I 'd stay willingly ; but 
 what would be said or thought of a peer of the 
 realm sculking all night in such a place .'^" 
 
 " All as fit as that a priest should," thought 
 Crostwhaite. 
 
 " But come," said the Peer, " bide the time 
 out here ; you shall have Cappagh rectory after
 
 THE CARDERS. 209 
 
 Drumsnuffle's death, and that can't be distant, 
 with gin and the Bench-walls against him."" 
 
 " Well, my lord, for your sake, I '11 do it,"" 
 said the curate, " but there 's no need of your 
 going yet, they will not be here till midnight, 
 and what shall I do with myself in the mean 
 time ?'' 
 
 '• They ^11 be sending boys to look about 
 afore that," said another voice. 
 
 " We had better be off," said the Peer ; 
 " you must amuse yourself as you can, Crost- 
 whaite ; and to your post at the first step- 
 sound. And you, Blaney, had better not be 
 seen here before your tim.e. ' 
 
 At the mention of the name of Blaney, Mur- 
 tagh grasped his young master's hand with con- 
 vulsive force. 
 
 '* And be sure, Crostwhaite," said the Peer, 
 " you mark if young Dillon be of the party 
 to-night. He has been seen on his way hither 
 from town, and is no doubt lurking about the 
 country." 
 
 " Fear not that I should miss him of all 
 others. If I can but lay my eye once upon
 
 210 THE CARDERS. 
 
 the young springald, I '11 not be taunted longer 
 with his name." 
 
 " Well, good night, Curate ; remember the 
 tithes of Cappagh." 
 
 " Keep close, your worship's reverence,"" said 
 Blaney, '* you '11 see me again afore long in 
 good company." 
 
 The two instantly took their departure. The 
 curate left alone, stood awhile musing, uncer- 
 tain, perhaps fearful ; but he soon mustered up 
 his presence of mind, examined the lock of his 
 blunderbuss with his lantern, observed at the 
 same time the hour by his watch, and extin- 
 guished the light. He paced for some minutes 
 longer within the walls, stopped, listened, fidget- 
 ed, and peeped again. No sound approached ; 
 he went out upon the knoll to observe, and 
 walked round the castle on the outside. 
 
 " By the holy farmer ! I '11 put this much 
 into him," muttered Timothy, grasping a ba- 
 yonet, with which he was armed. 
 
 *' It's our only way," seconded Murtagh. 
 
 " You'll commit no murder, Timothy Ou- 
 laghan, whilst I am with you."
 
 THE CARDERS. 211 
 
 " And b s, master, what are we to do ? 
 
 he 's armed, and will fire at the first sound. I 
 must escape, if it were but to warn my com- 
 rades; he's coming round, and a back stroke, 
 as he enters, would silence him for ever.'"* 
 
 " Tut ! man, I tell you, to seize him will be 
 surer than to stab him. The one may chance 
 to give him time to fire, the other cannot. 
 Mind me, and speak not a word. We'll spring 
 upon and bind him. There are ropes below ; 
 let us hurry him down, and then leave him." 
 
 " As you will, master," said Timothy, rub- 
 bing his hands in delight at the ensuing mis- 
 chief; " by the powers ! I have had a longing 
 this century after that brass blunderbuss of his, 
 — it's an instrument kilhng purtty." 
 
 The curate had by this completed the round 
 of the castle, and once more entering the walls, 
 he stood with his back towards the hidden ene- 
 my, his blunderbuss beneath his arm, and cover- 
 ed with his cloak to keep it from the dew. Si- 
 lently Arthur put his arm around Murtagh, in- 
 timating to his stout follower, that in a similar 
 manner he was to secure and pinion the curate.
 
 212 THE CARDEUS. 
 
 Murtagh took the hint, sprang upon his prey, en- 
 folding at once arms, blunderbuss, and body, in 
 a grasp as irresistible as that of the Boa. Ti- 
 moth}^ at the same time rushed to secure the 
 weapon he had so long coveted ; and Arthur, 
 also from behind, untying the cravat of the 
 pinioned man, speedily transferred its swathes 
 from the neck to the face, bUndfolding him ef- 
 fectually, and endeavouring to put an equal 
 stoppage on his mouth with the nearest piece of 
 garment he could lay hold on. In this manner 
 was Mr. Crostwhaite unexpectedly seized and 
 borne, in despite of most strenuous struggles to 
 the contrary, down to the cavern, the poor man 
 expecting all the while certainly no milder fate 
 than death. He heartily wished Lord Castle- 
 town Belville in his place, and the tithes of 
 Cappagh at the bottom of the sea. Neither his 
 fears nor expostulations were attended to, and 
 to the few words that were permitted to burst 
 from him, no answer was returned. In a few 
 minutes he lay, securely bound hand and foot, on 
 the floor of the cavern, and was there mysteri- 
 ously left by his captors, to his great momentary
 
 THE CARDERS. 213 
 
 relief. It was at least a reprieve, and there 
 were hopes of rescue before the coming of 
 more sanguinary ruffians. 
 
 To these consoling though sad cogitations did 
 the trio leave the reverend Mr. Crostwhaite, 
 Timothy bearing off the blunderbuss in tri- 
 umph, —the only plunder he deigned to take, 
 and scarcely compensated by such acquisition 
 for the curate's blood, which he vowed was 
 due over and over to the cause. " Howsomd- 
 ever. Master Arthur, for what should I be 
 going against the will of your father's son ? And 
 now the blessings of the night be on ye, for I 
 must go bid the owls He close." So saying, the 
 landlord set off upon his errand in a swinging 
 trot. The next act of Arthur's was to dismiss 
 Murtagh home, lest the Peelers might pay the 
 Grange a domiciliary visit, and find him abroad, 
 contrary to the laws of a proclaimed district. 
 He briefly informed his follower of his duel 
 with Mr. Roderick Plunket, and its conse- 
 quences, and bade him inform his father of 
 the particulars. For himself, he was deter- 
 mined to seek refuge for a time in some of
 
 214 THE CARDEES. 
 
 the distant islands of the lake, either the Nun''s 
 Isle, or any of the neighbouring ones; and 
 he instructed Murtagh, that in the unfortu- 
 nate event of Mr. Roderick's death, he was to 
 light a fire at six in the morning, or even- 
 ing, or at mid-day, on Whinnum Point; at 
 which signal, thought Arthur, must I for ever 
 bid adieu to the land of my ancestors. If, how- 
 ever, Mr. Roderick was considered to be out of 
 danger, Murtagh was to come to the island in 
 Arthur"'s little sail-boat, in which he might 
 again return to the Grange. Having made 
 Murtagh duly understand all these points of 
 importance, our hero dismissed him, and set 
 forward alone to his destined place of conceal- 
 ment. 
 
 The moon had risen high and full, but vainly 
 strove to shine through the mists that obscured 
 her. Even when free from flitting clouds, a 
 vapoury circle hung around her, — a prognostic, 
 according to country seers, of very many and 
 contrary causes, — at present permitting the lu- 
 minary but to make darkness visible, and indis- 
 tinctly show the dim gray mist that lay stretch-
 
 THE CARDERS. 215 
 
 ed over hill and dale. Its reflection glimmered 
 indistinctly on the morass lake, as on a foul 
 mirror; but on heath and highland, except upon 
 the very spot surrounding the contemplator, its 
 effects were scarcely perceivable. Still it con- 
 siderably increased the peril of traversing such 
 a country at such an hour ; for although it was 
 generally understood that the clauses of the 
 Insurrection Act were directed against the mere 
 peasantry of the country, letting the gentry 
 night-walk or wander at will, yet Arthur was 
 not over-certain how far his pretensions, un- 
 doubted as they were, to gentility, would be 
 allowed by a bench of Orange magistrates, who 
 all, most hkely, feared, contemned, and suspect- 
 ed him. A fresh adventure, however, would at 
 the present moment be nothing new to him, on 
 whom, indeed, they seemed to rain of late; so 
 slinging behind him his carbine, he proceeded 
 to recross Plunketstown-hill, towards the dis- 
 tant border of the lake he sought. 
 
 Luckily he encountered nor Carder nor Peeler 
 in his course, and about three in the morning he 
 stood upon the brink of Lough Ree, meditating
 
 216 THE CARDERS. 
 
 the best means of crossing to the Nun's island 
 without being observed. Some one he neces- 
 sarily should confide in ; but he deemed his 
 secret would be most secure with an inhabitant 
 of the island, where he intended to take refuge. 
 So pushing a boat silently from shore, having 
 first taken a pair of oars from a neighbouring 
 brake, where they customarily lay hid, he rowed 
 ofi^ without a plash, or greater noise than the 
 momentary " drip of the suspended oar." Un- 
 til at some distance from the land, no longer 
 fearing to alarm the slumbering owners of the 
 boat, he pulled with all his might in the direc- 
 tion of the island. Against a contrary wind, 
 and no contemptible swell, Arthur was some 
 hours rowing, and daybreak was long glimmer- 
 ing at the head of the lake, and over the moun- 
 tains above Lanesborough, ere he neared the 
 shore. The sun at length poured forth his 
 rays along the wide expanse of waters, gild- 
 ing their light ripple for miles, save where 
 the reflection was broken by an intervening 
 isle, resting in silent shade, its outline only 
 tipped with the briUiant sunshine in which its
 
 THE CARDERS. 217 
 
 reverse was basking. Each lofty headland 
 cleared its vapoury brow ; and even the Black 
 Islands, so by name and nature, famed as the 
 residence of King Corny, shone forth as gaily as 
 their dun heath would permit. 
 
 The Nun's Island, on whose beach Arthur 
 now ran his boat, had been of old, what its name 
 imports, the little territory of a religious com- 
 munity, and of a numerous and powerful one, 
 if we judge from the ruins that still remain 
 of their monastic edifices. Antiquarians have, 
 no doubt, discussed the character of these ruins, 
 imagined them restored, and assigned to each its 
 peculiar use and office. But I am not over-deep 
 in their lore ; and, except the chapel with the 
 Gothic window, and narrow door, scarcely large 
 enough indeed to permit a stout monk or tall 
 abbess to enter, except on all fours, there is no 
 ruin that could be designated otherwise than as 
 an indestructibly-built stone wall. Beneath these 
 the modern inhabitants of the Nun's Island had 
 nestled; and, like the Roman of to-day in the 
 palace of the Caesars, planted their mud shed 
 amidst the ruins of ancient splendour. They 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 THE CARDERS, 
 
 were few and amphibious, eking out with their 
 nets the scanty store which the cultivation of the 
 isle afforded. But, in truth, their chief support 
 and occupation consisted in a kind of inland 
 smuggling, the conveyance of illicit whiskey 
 from one province and coast of the lake to 
 another. 
 
 Arthur was not long in leaping ashore, and 
 making his way to the principal cabin of the 
 island; where he was received with all the respect 
 and hospitality which the Irish, especially the 
 secluded and aboriginal inhabitants of these 
 ruins, may be supposed to pay their own na- 
 tional gentry. 
 
 " Musha, then it 's your honour's self that 's 
 welcome," exclaimed an old woman, starting 
 from the boiling cauldron of stirabout, or oat- 
 meal porridge, that she was tending, in an in- 
 stant brandishing a broom, and sending to the 
 right-about the whole population of the cabin — 
 children, pigs, hens, dogs, and divers other heads 
 of cattle. From the inner room was immediately 
 produced a chair, too bright and grand evidently 
 for the family, and therefore abandoned as a
 
 THE CARDERS. 219 
 
 convenient perch to the fowl, of whom it bore 
 fragrant marks. To absterge it, the old dame 
 appHed a rubber — " dust to dust ;" straight was 
 our hero seated, and the old dame also on an 
 Irish stool, alias her hunkers. 
 
 " Well, Sibby, how have the world and you 
 been jogging for this some time past ?" 
 
 " Och ! sorrow a differ in the times — nothing 
 strange at all at all. Nelly went off wid a drover. 
 Pat got cruel drunk, and kilt by the Connaught 
 men at the fair of St. John's ; and sure you must 
 have heard of poor Jack's misfortune ?''^ 
 
 " No, indeed ! I Ve been away. Sib, in Dub- 
 lin. What has been the matter with him .?" 
 
 " Troth there 's not much to talk about — he 
 was only hanged, poor fellow, at the Roscom- 
 mon 'sizes this very day come five months. My 
 bad luck attind the big wigs! — it warn't the 
 hanging that either Jack or I cared for — but, 
 oh ! Master Arthur, 'twas the notomizing that 
 kilt us, and that we couldn't wake my boy, nor 
 bury him like a Christian." 
 
 '^ And what had poor Jack done T'' 
 
 '' Arrah ! the devil a ha'perth, your honour, 
 L 2
 
 220 THE CARDERS. 
 
 barrin' that he bint a poker round a rivenue- 
 man's skull, and the beggarly villian took it into 
 his head to die, and for nauthing but a knock 
 that wouldn't ha kilt a flea. Sure enough not a 
 ha'perth did he die for, but just to spite Jack, 
 and get my poor fellow hanged — the curse of 
 Cromwell on the neger V 
 
 " And he only bent a poker round the re- 
 venue man's skull ? Most uncivil of him to die 
 for such a trifle !*" 
 
 Sibby looked earnestly at her young guest, 
 but, instead of answering him, or pursuing the 
 argument further, she started with a loud ex- 
 clamation of horror. Arthur was at first asto- 
 nished, but recollecting himself, he attributed 
 the good woman's surprise to his wasted fea- 
 tures, and still sickly look: he smiled, and 
 was about to explain the cause to old Sib, when 
 the stout dame, elevating herself suddenly, 
 rushed upon him, seized him by the breast with 
 both her hands, and dragged him in an instant, 
 ere he could meditate, much less make resist- 
 ance, into the inner chamber. In vain he de- 
 manded the cause of this violence, and as vainly
 
 THE CARDERS. 221 
 
 did he struggle to oppose Sib's undivinable in- 
 tentions; for the island matron was a stout, 
 bony giantess, that, with her two arms for pes- 
 tles, might have brayed him in a mortar. 
 Without further ado, she seized his two hands, 
 bent his arms back, and drew off his out- 
 garment; — in another second, she peeled off 
 his waistcoat, and was making for his shirt, 
 when he thought it full time to muster all his 
 powers to withstand such plunder, as he deem- 
 ed it. The old dame, however, pulled on, at 
 the same time holding up the waistcoat to his 
 view, which he now perceived was stained with 
 blood, as well as his shirt. 
 
 " Gie me 'em," cried she, " oh, win*a, wirra, 
 the hangin** o' the likes o' you wud be no joke, 
 whatever poor Jack''s might be. Have ye a 
 change ? — no ; that 's onlucky, for we might ha' 
 brunt 'em. But for you to be catched in our 
 coarse duds would be more suspectful nor ony 
 thing. Howsomdever, I'll bile 'em ; and don't 
 you be afeared a cushla, but lie still and quite, 
 while I be going to see if the boat bears any 
 of this raddle,"
 
 222 THE CARDERS. 
 
 Arthur wanted to explain to the old woman 
 the causelessness of her anxiety, and to ac- 
 quaint her, that the stains came from Mr. Ro- 
 derick Plunket, who had been wounded, and 
 whom he for a moment supported. But the 
 mind of Sibby was too full of blood and its 
 consequences, to pay the least attention to his 
 explanations. Slaying some one he had been 
 for certain, she was right in convincing her- 
 self; but the rest of her argument, in which 
 she was as positive, though not so just, was 
 that the country-side contained no one worth 
 Arthur Dillon's killing, except Major Hempen- 
 shaugh, or Mister Crostwhaite. So she leaped 
 at once to the conclusion, and was assured that 
 he had put an end to one or other of these 
 worthies, or both. 
 
 " Whisht, whisht," said she, interrupting 
 him, *' the boys are comin' to breakfast, and 
 this is no time for talking. What boat did 
 you come in ? — There 's some of the gossoons 
 wanting to go ashore will take it, and say they 
 brought it out themsels the night. Creep
 
 THE CARDERS. 223 
 
 under the rug, acushla, I '11 ha them clane and 
 dry afore an hour for you." 
 
 And the old woman departed on her errand. 
 Arthur was pretty well fatigued with his jour- 
 ney of the night before, which happily counter- 
 balanced too the agitation of his mind, and he 
 sank in a few moments into deep sleep be- 
 neath the rug, which Sibby had recommended. 
 
 Meantime the youth's careful hostess per- 
 formed all that she had taken upon her; — she 
 despatched the boat ; informed all her gossips 
 that were trust-worthy, of Arthur's coming ; 
 assigning nothing more than sundry hems and 
 haws as its cause ; and had, moreover, pretty 
 well extracted all ugly stains from his habili- 
 ments. When he awoke, the first object his 
 eye met was Sib couched by the opposite wall, 
 watching his slumbers, as one that contemplates 
 the restoring effects of medicine on the sick 
 sufferer they love. In this instance, however, 
 the watcher's kindness was mingled with cu- 
 riosity;— she was longing for Arthur's slumbers 
 to be at an end, that she might enjoy a full
 
 224 THE CARDERS. 
 
 account of the feats and horrors, which she had 
 already more than anticipated. 
 
 " Ye have been draming mighty ughly, Mas- 
 ter," said she. 
 
 « Indeed." 
 
 " Och ! then, it 's a killin' weight about the 
 heart, that same blood ; what for though it be 
 spilt in the right cause. It 's I that tould the 
 boys that long ago, if they would but ha minded 
 me." 
 
 " Blood I why 'tis you that are dreaming, 
 woman, — what do you mean ?'* 
 
 " Troth then, ye needn't be angry wid a 
 body : not a bit o' me but would be delighted, 
 had you brained half a score of the spalpeens.'^ 
 
 "Of them? of whom?" 
 
 " Och ! as if myself didn't know without 
 axing you : but maybe its hungry ye are, an' 
 it's ill spaking, in troth, on an empty stomach. 
 What will your honour have ? — a rasher or a 
 slice of trout ? — or would you begin with a morn- 
 ing of spirits to rouse ye ? A sup of the crater 
 will do you all the good in the world, and we have 
 it of the right sort, none of your Parliament stuifl'^
 
 THE CARDERS. 225 
 
 But spirits, whether Parliament or Potheen, 
 Arthur would none of. A. fresh trout was more 
 to his fancy, on which, with an oatmeal cake hot 
 from the griddle, he soon proceeded to satisfy a 
 tolerable appetite ; turning his repast, moreover, 
 to a further use than nutrition, as he made each 
 mouthful an excuse for leaving the thick-coming 
 questions of Sibby unanswered. The old dame 
 at length lost patience at his taciturnity, started 
 up, flung her stool aside, and proceeded to take 
 vengeance on the pigs, children, and rest of the 
 family, for her dissatisfied curiosity. 
 
 Abandoned to himself, Arthur roamed about 
 the island, thrust his head into every ruin, and 
 seated himself on every moss-covered stone that 
 looked inviting. Towards the hour of six he 
 paced the shore most anxiously, with a fearful 
 regard cast towards the point whence was to 
 arise the dreaded signal. But evening passed, 
 and night came on without fire or flame being 
 seen upon the point of Whinnum. Roderick 
 still lived ; and hope yet remained, that he 
 might not be obliged to fly, — that he might see 
 once more, might live to possess his Lucy. 
 L 5
 
 226 THE CARDEES. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Upon the night of Arthur's departure or 
 flight for the Nun's Island, Plunketstown- 
 house presented an unequalled scene of confu- 
 sion : Mr. Roderick brought home wounded, 
 the curate borne thither almost dead with 
 fright, his lordship filled half the night with 
 anxiety, the rest of it with rage. Lucy sate 
 watching her uncle ; whilst her father in vain 
 demanded of every creature he met an explication 
 of all this mystery and trouble. Our facetious 
 friend, the military surgeon, had been sent for 
 immediately to attend on Roderick ; and his 
 speedy arrival dissipated half the tragic feeling 
 of the night, as he declared the wound to be by 
 no means dangerous. On hearing this, Mr. 
 Plunket had leisure to inquire into the misfor-
 
 THE CARDER1S. 227 
 
 tunes of the curate, just at the time borne in by 
 a body of Peelers. Poor man, in his hurry to 
 evacuate Ardcross he would not allow time to 
 extricate himself from his bonds, and he was 
 placed upright in Mr. Plunket's parlour, pale as 
 fright itself, and still enwrapped in the coil of 
 rope that his unknown captors had woven round 
 him. The physician, having performed his duty 
 for the present by Roderick, joined them as 
 they were uncoiling the ropes from the curate's 
 person ; he turned the ecclesiastic round and 
 round, but no bodily hurt appeared or was com- 
 plained of. And to crown the disasters of the 
 curate, the whole assemblage from smiles fell to 
 titters, and from thence into a downright laugh 
 at his expense. 
 
 Mr. Crostwhaite told his story with all the un- 
 affected seriousness of suffering ; but having no 
 bones broken, his rueful countenance excited no 
 sympathy in any one save the peer, who himself 
 ^vas at times obliged to join the smiles of his 
 neighbours. 
 
 *' Carders, indeed ! " said the physician, " by 
 my conscience ! that 's not the way Captain
 
 228 THE CARDERS. 
 
 Carder is accustomed to treat folk even for a 
 slight offence, much less you, reverend Sir, if 
 you fell into his hands. No, no, take care it 
 was not the good people." 
 ^ " Good fiddlesticks I'' cried the Curate. 
 
 " Then o' my conscience, if it wasn't the 
 fairies, it was their nearest relations amongst us 
 mortals, that could play so harmless and ca- 
 pricious a freak. 'Twas a troop of girls, I '11 be 
 sworn." 
 
 " What do you mean, Doctor T^ cried Crost- 
 whaite, all alive to the dreadful consequences 
 of an Embellisher catching hold of such a sup- 
 position ; " is this the way that loyal magistrates 
 are to be rewarded for their exertions in behalf 
 of king and country ? " 
 
 *' King and country ! " responded the phy- 
 sician; " certainly there are worse ways of 
 serving his Majesty, than that of increasing 
 the number of his subjects. Nay, Mr. Crost- 
 whaite, depend upon it, this is the very best 
 face you can put upon the matter ; for if you, 
 one of the most dreaded magistrates in the
 
 THE CAEDEHS. 22^ 
 
 county, have been in the hands of those inve- 
 terate ruffians, the Carders, and they have but 
 thus harmlessly swathed you, — if this be known 
 to my lord's friend the secretary, farewell the 
 country's character as dangerous ; farewell yours 
 as useful, — 
 
 * Farewell the pretty picking, the rewards 
 That make suspicion virtue ; oh ! farewell 
 The patronage of office, and the hopes' 
 
 Do you understand me, curate ? " 
 
 " I understand you. Sir, for a calumniator ; 
 for " 
 
 " Come, come, Crostwhaite,*' said Mr. Flun- 
 ket, " do you mind his jokes ? '' 
 
 " A joke 's a joke,"" said the Peer ; '*' but it 
 is far from a joke — on the contrary, truly vexa- 
 tious — to hear military gentlemen, who have 
 marched here but yesterday, passing judgment 
 on the state of the country, and ridiculing the ill 
 success in one instance of exertions, the good ef- 
 fects of which, let me tell them, they experience 
 every night they lie undisturbed in their beds. 
 For I '11 leave it to vou, Plunket, if such macri-
 
 230 THE CARDERS. 
 
 strates as Mr. Crostwhaite there, and myself, 
 and some others, were not active in preventing 
 and pursuing these traitorous acts and traitors — 
 jeered as they are by idle gentlemen, who seem 
 paid by his Majesty for little else than laughing 
 
 at his friends I put it to you, what state 
 
 would the country be in .?" 
 
 " Faith, there is a great deal of truth in what 
 his lordship says." 
 
 *' Doubtless, Plunket," replied the physician ; 
 " a great deal may be said on both sides, as 
 you are apt to say.^' 
 
 " You have gotten a rub yourself at last, my 
 vacillating friend, from this Thersites of phy- 
 sicians,"" said the Peer to Plunket. 
 
 " He is welcome. And now, gentlemen, in 
 the name of Heaven I return ye to your homes ; 
 for the house is quite full enough of trouble of 
 its own without exciting more." 
 
 Lord Castletown Belville took the hint, and 
 proceeded to mount his horse ; the curate, hav- 
 ing shaken and assured himself that all in his 
 skin was sound, following his example, not 
 without muttering incivihties against the Doc-
 
 THE CARDERS. 231 
 
 tor, and laments for the loss of his old and 
 faithful companion, the brazen blunderbuss. 
 
 On the ensuing morning, Mr. Plunket, who 
 had seen the uselessness of prosecuting inquiries 
 the night before, visited his brother's couch ; and 
 after some condolence, demanded of Roderick, 
 what cause of quarrel he had had with Arthur 
 Dillon, and how the youngster had the auda- 
 city to fire at him ? 
 
 " Why he fired ? — *faith, because I made him. 
 He had all the reluctance in life, but I forced 
 him, under pain of having his brains blown 
 
 out " 
 
 " To shoot you." 
 " Precisely." 
 
 '* And what cause of quarrel had you with 
 him ? " 
 
 " Poll ! he wore his hat on one side ; isn't 
 that offence enough, especially to one who has 
 just had bad luck in duck-shooting .?" 
 
 '' And Lucy " 
 
 " What of her ?'' 
 
 '* W^as she speaking with this young fellow ?" 
 
 *' Curse me, if I know."
 
 232 THE CARDERS. 
 
 " I merely imagined it had been on her ac- 
 count, and from some behaviour of his, that yovi 
 had taken it into your head to punish him." 
 
 " Nonsense,'' muttered Roderick, as he turned 
 upon his pillow, having sufficiently mystified his 
 brother. That gentleman found his daughter 
 not more communicative : she had seen young 
 Mr. Dillon ; had spoken to him ; but could not 
 tell what had brought him to the country, or to 
 Plunketstown. In short, there was nothing more 
 for him to learn than what his own conjectures 
 told him ; and those were sufficient to swell con- 
 siderably his resentment and suspicions against, 
 what he termed, the ingratitude of Arthur. 
 
 For many days did that young gentleman re- 
 main in his isolated place of refuge, pacing its 
 narrow limits with the restlessness of a caged 
 lion. Successive suns rolled over him, without 
 in the least diminishing his mortal anxiety. No 
 fire arose, it was true, to mark the death of Ro- 
 derick Plunket; but, on the other hand, no 
 Murtagh appeared to assure him that that gen- 
 tleman was out of danger. Were he certain 
 even of the worst, his mind, after the first
 
 THE CARDERS. 233 
 
 shock, would have made hourly progress in re- 
 covering its self-possession ; but suspense kept 
 him still in the same continued agitation, or 
 worse, as his nerves grew feebler under their 
 continued tension. At first, when the glow of 
 morning enlivened every object, his fancy flat- 
 tered him with a long prospect of romantic ad- 
 ventures and subsequent honours abroad : and 
 there were moments in which he grasped, with 
 somewhat sad delight, at the novelty of exile ; 
 but a jaded fancy and a declining day always 
 brought other thoughts. The wearied spirit 
 ceased to soar, and folded up its wing for con- 
 templation. Gentler hopes and more homely 
 projects succeeded to bold schemes of adventure; 
 and his long diurnal soliloquies, like most tissues 
 woven from the Active brain, led through scenes 
 of glory, peril, and heroism, but to end in the 
 common-place events of matrimony and domes- 
 tic life. 
 
 At length Murtagh arrived in our hero's 
 barge, with the welcome news that Mr. Ro- 
 derick was up, and out of all danger ; and Ar- 
 thur, bidding a willing adieu to his hostess.
 
 232 THE CARDERS. 
 
 " I merely imagined it had been on her ac- 
 count, and from some behaviour of his, that you 
 had taken it into your head to punish him." 
 
 " Nonsense," muttered Roderick, as he turned 
 upon his pillow, having sufficiently mystified his 
 brother. That gentleman found his daughter 
 not more communicative : she had seen young 
 Mr. Dillon ; had spoken to him ; but could not 
 tell what had brought him to the country, or to 
 Plunketstown. In short, there was nothing more 
 for him to learn than what his own conjectures 
 told him ; and those were sufficient to swell con- 
 siderably his resentment and suspicions against, 
 what he termed, the ingratitude of Arthur. 
 
 For many days did that young gentleman re- 
 main in his isolated place of refuge, pacing its 
 narrow limits with the restlessness of a caged 
 lion. Successive suns rolled over him, without 
 in the least diminishing his mortal anxiety. No 
 fire arose, it was true, to mark the death of Ro- 
 derick Plunket; but, on the other hand, no 
 Murtagh appeared to assure him that that gen- 
 tleman was out of danger. Were he certain 
 even of the worst, his mind, after the first
 
 THE CARDERS. 233 
 
 shock, would have made hourly progress in re- 
 covering its self-possession ; but suspense kept 
 him still in the same continued agitation, or 
 worse, as his nerves grew feebler under their 
 continued tension. At first, when the glow of 
 morning enlivened every object, his fancy flat- 
 tered him with a long prospect of romantic ad- 
 ventures and subsequent honours abroad : and 
 there were moments in which he grasped, with 
 somewhat sad delight, at the novelty of exile ; 
 but a jaded fancy and a declining day always 
 brought other thoughts. The wearied spirit 
 ceased to soar, and folded up its wing for con- 
 templation. Gentler hopes and more homely 
 projects succeeded to bold schemes of adventure; 
 and his long diurnal soliloquies, like most tissues 
 woven from the Active brain, led through scenes 
 of glory, peril, and heroism, but to end in the 
 common-place events of matrimony and domes- 
 tic life. 
 
 At length Murtagh arrived in our hero's 
 barge, with the welcome news that Mr. Ro- 
 derick was up, and out of all danger ; and Ar- 
 thur, bidding a willing adieu to his hostess.
 
 236 THE CARDERS. 
 
 fantastic hopes. Arthur remained silent, cer- 
 tainly from no want of filial affection. 
 
 " Come, my boy, choose your father for a 
 friend : you have already put on manhood, and 
 we are henceforth equals. What can have so 
 changed you from the mild, happy, regular 
 youth, to your present state of irritability, fero- 
 city, and unaccountable conduct ? Are you in 
 debt ? Have you gambled .?'' 
 
 *' I have never gamed, nor do I owe six- 
 pence," said Arthur, impatient at his father's 
 want of penetration. 
 
 '* Indeed an' indeed, Luke," said Mrs. Dil- 
 lon, " our dear son must be in love. I told you 
 as much many a long day ago." 
 
 '' Troth, yes. In love or in drink he must 
 be," rejoined Mr. Dillon, laughing at the pre- 
 posterous supposition, for such he deemed the 
 good dame's foresight, " to have his brains 
 wool-gathering at this rate. But pray, what 
 business, mistress, has he with being in love? 
 — What would he do with a wife, I should 
 like to know ?" 
 
 " Indeed an' indeed, Luke, I can't tell."
 
 THE CARDERS. 237 
 
 One sixteenth part of honest Luke's grin 
 would have sufficed to fright the least shy 
 love from confession; and Arthur abjured in- 
 stantly the thought of profaning his by laying 
 it bare to such unsentimental scoffing. The 
 good man totally failed in arriving at his son's 
 secret thoughts, and, in fact, turned the key the 
 wrong way in endeavouring to get at the inside 
 of his confidence. Arthur put on a smile as 
 derisive of love and such out-o*-the-world 
 thoughts, as that which played on his parent's 
 honest visage, and enveloped his real feelings 
 in the mystery which, to tell the truth, such 
 feelings always love. 
 
 " No, no, I don't suspect Arthur of any such 
 nonsense ; but I do hugely, of being more deep- 
 ly concerned in these country plots than he is 
 willing to allow. Now, young man, what is 
 your opinion concerning the state of this 
 kingdom ?" 
 
 " That it is a conquered, oppressed, drained 
 province," answered Arthur, determined, by the 
 frankness with which he avowed his political 
 feelings, to make amends for the secrecy which
 
 238 THE CARDERS. 
 
 he drew over his private ones ; " spoiled by its 
 rulers, abandoned by its lords, and fleeced by 
 a clergy foreign to its soil and creed ; — that the 
 better part of its inhabitants are deprived of 
 their political rights, and that the lower orders 
 are throughout the kingdom slaves — utter 
 slaves to the Orange magistrates that rule the 
 country." 
 
 " True, Sir, true, these are my own opinions. 
 What do you mean by slaves ?" 
 
 '^ I call slaves those who can claim no reward for 
 their labour beyond what their masters choose, 
 — those to whom justice in their private quarrels 
 is invariably denied, — those for whom all the free 
 and beneficial laws made for the ease and liber- 
 ty of the subject are virtually repealed. Here 
 in this county, for instance, most of the land- 
 lords are spendthrifts ; —what 's the consequence ? 
 that there is scarcely a working man in any of 
 their services who has not owing to him six, 
 eight, or ten pounds, which he dare not demand 
 payment of, under penalty of being thrown out 
 of work, and ruined, or imprisoned, perhaps, as 
 suspected; and where shall he apply for jus-
 
 THE CAJIDERS. 239 
 
 tice ? — why, to the quarter-sessions, or to a jury 
 composed of these self-same magistrates. Our 
 vain lords and vainer lawyers cry out for an 
 emancipation, that will let them vote in parlia- 
 ment. — they should rather cry out for some 
 laws that would free the helot poor from the 
 oppressions of the Orange magistracy,'' 
 
 '^ I perceive, my boy, you have learned other 
 things in Dublin city, besides Greek and Latin. 
 But take care in what company you learned 
 them. They are not fathers, who teach such 
 opinions to youth. They are my own, Arthur, 
 as I told you; but I ask you, if here you have 
 ever heard such thoughts avouched ?" 
 
 '* Never, father ; and it is my greatest cause 
 of wonder, how you can bow down so tranquil 
 and subdued before oppression, — you who have 
 personally suffered from the injustice of the 
 times."" 
 
 " Of what use to vent continually such angiy 
 feelings, breed up a family in discontent, and 
 rear them for the gallows, as old Emmet did, by 
 preaching rebellion to his children ? No, no, 
 Arthur, let men acquire for themselves a know-
 
 240 THE CARDERS. 
 
 ledge of their political wrongs; — the sorrows of 
 boyhood and youth are enough for the time, 
 without bringing on, prematurely, as I fear you 
 have done, the perils of mature manhood on a 
 striphng's head. And talking, what is it .^" 
 " A time for acting may come, father." 
 '' Rest thee, boy, never in this age. The 
 time is gone by, when rulers allowed plea 
 enough to give rebellion force. Revolutions 
 have succeeded but when they were new; and 
 royal ministers, all over the globe, are too well 
 acquainted with popular tactics to permit such 
 ever the least chance of success. Trust not any 
 selfish conspirator, that may have filled you 
 with hopes— there are none now stirring but the 
 low-born and the needy. Gentle blood of old 
 was scattered into wild and disunited torrents, 
 that dashed over crag and precipice in a course 
 of everlasting turmoil, but all such violence is 
 now past ; and every solitary torrent is united 
 into a full, deep, sluggish stream that sweeps 
 along in tranquillity to its end. It is but the 
 rill brawhng in the dike you list to now-a- 
 Mays."
 
 THE CAEDEES. 241 
 
 ** Perhaps so; but how can men endure, 
 how Hve without hope, without the endeavour 
 to be free ?" 
 
 ^' We are not altogether ^nthout hope, my 
 son. Stern despotic principles have long been 
 at the helm, 'tis true ; yet, perhaps, such have 
 been necessary in combating the democratic 
 power of France; — that once prostrate, as it now 
 is, more liberal minds will rise to power. The 
 English ministers, nay, the monarch himself 
 may turn his attention towards our suffering 
 state ; and we shall thus gain tranquilly, what 
 would in vain be sought by aiding some score 
 of intriguing ruffians to agitate the ignorant 
 peasantry.*' 
 
 " And you really think, that no man of 
 wealth or influence is interested in these 
 troubles V 
 
 " Not one, my boy, with the sense of a new- 
 born infant. When I was at your age, the 
 world was quite another world from what it now 
 is, and I entertained the wild ideas that seem to 
 possess you, with a hope that had some basis. 
 When mine in that day turned to nothing, 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 THE CARDEKS* 
 
 what can yours now turn to, but your own de- 
 struction ?^ 
 
 Arthur was pensive. Mr. Dillon saw that 
 his words had effect; — he pressed the hand of 
 his son with parental fondness and satisfaction ; 
 and at the moment the army of little boys and 
 girls burst into the room, to commence the 
 festivities of the night, and interrupted further 
 conversation. 
 
 It was an October's Saturday evening, as it 
 happened, the very last day of October, of 
 course All Hallow's-Eve^ or Holy-Eve, — a night 
 traditionally of revel and rejoicing for all Irish 
 spirits, visible or invisible. The fairies were 
 parading round their forts and knolls, and boys 
 and girls were all as busy in-doors at their 
 many merry games of soothsaying. The boys 
 bobbed and dived for farthings and five-pen- 
 nies ; — the girls, like modern Canidias, went 
 forth to gather herbs beneath the moon ; and 
 nuts and apples received the gift of prophecy 
 under the warm inspiration of a blazing fire. 
 It was that night on which, above all others, 
 the lover ponders on his absent mistress ; and,
 
 THE CAUDERS. 243 
 
 grave and sensible though he be, watches with 
 superstitious creduHty the pair of nuts that 
 burns upon the bar together; the shce of cake 
 that he has chosen ; the piate of salt, of ashes, 
 or of water, on which his hand may chance to 
 fall. Ominous to tell, Arthur was unlucky in 
 all those experiments ; — his nuts were unfaith- 
 ful, his lead melted into the most meaning 
 and fearful shapes ; and, when blindfolded for 
 tlie trial of the plates, he was sure to place his 
 hand on the ill-boding ashes. For all his logic, 
 these petty declarations of fortune against him 
 had manifest effects on the spirit of the stu- 
 dent ; and he retired to rest with those very 
 uncomfortable feelings of foreseen misfortune, 
 which are so apt to haunt the low moments of 
 the sanguine. 
 
 All Hallow's-Eve was a feast kept in other 
 mansions as well as in the Grange : the family 
 of Plunketstown itself was not dissimilarly oc- 
 cupied; and the anxious bodings of Lucy were 
 but too much a-kin to those of our hero. The 
 convalescent Roderick was as loud and as ac- 
 tive as ever. He was even the most forward 
 M 2
 
 244 THE CAR3)EKS. 
 
 amongst them in proposing feats of fun and 
 boyhood. Let whose would be heavy, his heart 
 was hght ; and he made all, even to his grave 
 brother, and the veteran Travers, his playfel- 
 lows for the time. Nor was the general glee 
 of the night confined to two-storied habitations. 
 Cabins, where the savoury odour of meat had 
 never penetrated, reeked with a tremendous 
 platter of kalecannon, made from parsnips and 
 potatoes; while the solidity of meat, wanting 
 to such meagre fare, was more than made up 
 by the strength of the whiskey. There, too, 
 they had their tricks of throwing yarn and 
 eating apples before a mirror ; whilst the most 
 bold and fearless amongst the maidens ventured 
 forth at midnight, to sow flax-seed against the 
 stream, in no less a name than the deviPs. 
 
 A gainful night would this have been to 
 ' the landlord of the Goose, had not the ma- 
 gistrates been so inexorable in shutting up his 
 house of entertainment. Timothy, however, 
 contrived to turn his penny in secret ; and there 
 was not a house in the village that he had not 
 supplied with the best produce of the bog-stills
 
 THE CARDERS. 245 
 
 of Connauglit. Even the sheebeen, silent and 
 blank as it appeared in front, was seemingly 
 not without a few chosen customers on Holy 
 Eve; and whoever could have penetrated to 
 the lawn or back of Timothy's premises, might 
 have witnessed all kinds of hilarity going on in 
 a rearward apartment of the house. Every 
 man has a right to possess a store of whiskey 
 for his own private amusement ; and what ma- 
 gistrate would take it upon him to assert, that 
 Timothy was selling without licence, or selling 
 at all? or that Mr. O'Rourke, Murtagh, and 
 divers other boon inmates of his parlour, 
 were not carousing on invitation, and at their 
 hosfs proper expense ? Carousing they were, 
 and talking with considerable fervour, and 
 too deeply interested in their conversation, to 
 descend to the idle jokes and tricks that 
 amused at the hour all the rest of the village. 
 Upon their debate I shall not break, especially 
 as the measures therein discussed and resolved 
 on, are likely to be developed in some future 
 chapter.
 
 246 THE CARDERS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 The next morning was Sunday. In the 
 country parts of Ireland, where Cathohc places 
 of worship are few and scattered, it is often cus- 
 tomary for the parish priest to go through the 
 service of the mass at the house of some Roman 
 Catholic gentleman, for the convenience of his 
 family, as well as for the benefit of the old and 
 feeble of that part of the parish most remote 
 from the regular chapel, whither many of them 
 might be unable to trudge. Whether the house 
 or apartment be able to contain the congrega- 
 tion is a matter of little importance, — the good 
 folk, in the case of its not being so, spreading 
 themselves over the lawn, quite contented if 
 they could but catch the sound of their pastor's 
 nasal Latin : the rules of their worship in this
 
 T;HE CABDERS, 247 
 
 vespect resembling those of sea-warfare, where 
 if a ship be within hearing of an engagement, 
 her crew have full right to lay claim to their 
 share of the prize-money. 
 
 Pursuant to this custom, mass was gone 
 through every Sunday at the Grange by Father 
 Flynn, after he had performed his duties at the 
 parish chapel, which lay on the other side of the 
 country. On fine Sundays the good father had 
 but a thin congregation at the Grange— all who 
 had powers of limb betaking themselves to the 
 great place of meeting, for the sake of gossip as 
 well as of prayers. However, on Sabbaths that 
 were wet, or that else happened to be days of 
 any patron feast convanient to the Grange, the 
 peasantry mustered there in preference to at- 
 tending at the chapel proper. On such occa- 
 sions, Father Flynn often concluded his clerical 
 labours with an edify ipg sermon, in subject ge- 
 nerally well calculated for his flock ; turning on 
 such themes as the inconvenience of being 
 hanged, the impropriety of carding or night- 
 walking ; while at times he thundered forth ana- 
 themas on some sacrilegious thief, that had
 
 248 THE CARDERS. 
 
 violated a potatoe-pit, or committed some such 
 prohibited robbery.* I remember myself meet- 
 ing some good folk returning from one of his 
 discourses, and questioning them on the good 
 priest's preaching : — " A very fine sarmon the 
 day, in troth," was the reply, " all about my 
 Lord Wilkin s's sheep," 
 
 No sour and mortified saint was Father Flynn, 
 but, on the contrary, a rosy-gilled, jolly son of 
 the church, with a red, good-humoured, though 
 at the same time iracund visage, the very sight 
 of which was an antidote to penitence. Fasting 
 and similar works of supererogation seemed to 
 make no part of his practice, neither did it of his 
 preaching, for although many of his brother mi- 
 nisters ruled the country from their confessionals. 
 Father Flynn ruled it in a more summary man- 
 ner with his horsewhip, which he did not fail to 
 lay on the shoulders of every stout sinner. To 
 display the father's mode of pastorship, and at 
 the same time the feelings of the peasantry 
 
 * Flax in a bog-hole, or potatoes in a pit, are consi- 
 dered unfair objects of robbery. A superstition guards 
 such places, and it is sacrilegious to steal from them.
 
 THE CARDERS. 249 
 
 towards him, I shall depict one scene from life, 
 which affords a strong example of both. 
 
 The good priest, like more of his brethren 
 than perhaps prejudiced readers would believe, 
 was willing, in the utmost degree, to second the 
 exertions of the magistrates in keeping the 
 country quiet, and restraining the banded vio- 
 lence of the peasantry. To effect this, as far as 
 lay in his power, Father Flynn had solemnly 
 forbidden from the altar his flock to crowd toge- 
 ther, or frequent places of meeting, under any 
 pretext ; and he even went so far as to prohibit 
 Sunday-evening dances, which he knew were 
 turned to evil purposes, and to anathematize all 
 who attended such. But the simple country 
 beaux and belles resisted, as much as the Carders 
 themselves, against so dreadful an edict ; and 
 pipe and tabor went on merrily as before in 
 despite of the priest's edict. Father Flynn was 
 main wroth at this flagrant disobedience of his 
 commands ; his resentment even went so far, as 
 to cause him peremptorily to refuse absolution to 
 all dancing sinners. Affairs were in this state 
 upon some Sunday evening: — the gay Rathfin- 
 M 5
 
 260 THE CARDERS, 
 
 nanites were assembled at the place of rendez- 
 vous, described in our first chapter, beneath the 
 shade of the sycamores of Plunketstown domain, 
 just by the broken bridge and brawling stream; 
 when lo ! who should appear, urging his steed to 
 amble down the declivity of the road in all haste, 
 but Father Flynn ? The will of the priest out- 
 stripped his steed, who protested against gallop- 
 ing down hill, and he shook his whip with pro- 
 mised vengeance on the assembled culprits, who, 
 men and maids, all fled in dismay. The en- 
 raged ecclesiastic spurred his steed after them, 
 and had already reached the backs of the hind- 
 most with his whip, when either his exertions, 
 or the unwonted struggle of his horse in cross- 
 ing the stream, ended by flinging poor Father 
 Flynn on his back in the river. Seeing this, 
 the fugitives paused, still too fearful to come to 
 the assistance of the dreaded priest ; who, how- 
 ever, recovered his feet of himself, and regain- 
 ing the dry bank, smarting as he was under 
 pain and the sense of ridicule, sank instantly 
 on his knees in a paroxysm of vengeance, similar 
 to Lear's, and cursed aloud, with all the venom
 
 THE CARDERS. 251 
 
 of Shakspeare's old king, or bitterer still, with 
 that of Kemble in the part, the culprits who 
 had caused him such an accident. A cry of 
 despair was instantly sent forth by all the fugi- 
 tives aimed at in this dreadful anathema; and 
 they drew near on their knees, and in the hum- 
 blest attitudes of supplication to their offended 
 pastor, praying of him to hft off his curse, and 
 that they would be obedient for the future. 
 Father Flynn had not the power to brandish his 
 horsewhip more, but he long remained inexorable 
 in the midst of them ; till at length, overcome by 
 prayers and entreaties, he took off the excom- 
 munication, gave his blessing by way of amende 
 honorable to the penitents, and departed on his 
 way. Father Flynn had not been gone five 
 minutes, when the whole party, who but now 
 were at his feet in an agony of supphca- 
 tion, put their tongues in their cheeks, and 
 recommenced with greater glee than ever their 
 piping and dancing. The anathema of the 
 church once off, they cared not a fig for the 
 verbal commands of the priest. 
 
 On the afternoon of the first of November,
 
 252 THE CARDERS. 
 
 Father Flynn arrived at the Grange, for the 
 purpose of performing mass. A most unusual 
 crowd was collected, and the priest could not 
 help remarking that such a congregation he had 
 not seen for a long time : however, it was a 
 great hohday, one upon which even the indiffer- 
 ent think it decorous to grow devout, and he pro- 
 ceeded without further remarks to the perform- 
 ance of his duty. The lower part of the Grange- 
 liouse was open for the occasion, and was now 
 filled by the family of the Dillons and the ear- 
 liest comers of the congregation. About the 
 door, and for a couple of perches round, the 
 throng was as thick as people could kneel toge- 
 ther, the assemblage covering the whole lawn, 
 growing thinner towards its extremities. It 
 formed a curious and not uninteresting sight: — 
 such a multitude all bent one way, kneehng; 
 the gray, dark mass of men's habits interspersed 
 with the white kerchiefs or scarlet coifs of the 
 females, all uncovered, in the act of worship be- 
 neath the sole canopy of heaven, towards which, 
 however, they directed little either their eyes or 
 thoughts, the priest's words and paraphernalia
 
 THE CARDERS. 253 
 
 being the objects that seemed to possess attrac- 
 tion, and supposed alone to dispense all salutary 
 influence. Amidst them not a sound was heard, 
 except the chaunt of Father Flynn, issuing 
 from the parlour of the Grange, in solemn tones 
 of varied measure, hke the speed of a courser ; 
 now ambling leisurely through the service, anon 
 galloping at furious pace, and straight reined up 
 in one long pause at the termination of his reci- 
 tative. 
 
 At length these holy sounds ceased, the con- 
 gregation arose from their long genuflexions, 
 and the crowd from the door of the Grange 
 was moving off" in one soKd mass to depart. 
 At the moment, in the very midst of the mass, 
 the sudden report of a pistol was heard to take 
 place; the astounded hearers springing from it in 
 all directions, and leaving in the centre one of 
 their body stretched lifeless, with a discharged 
 pistol by his side. The Dillons, the priest, even 
 those who had just retreated, ran to the fallen 
 man — it was Blaney. He was stone dead, shot 
 through the heart ! The pistol must have touch- 
 ed him when it was fired, for his coat was even
 
 2M THE CARDERS. 
 
 singed by the flash. On hfting him up, a piece 
 of paper was found pinned to his back, on which 
 was written, *' Every bloody informer shall have 
 the like !" Mr. Dillon and his son were struck 
 with consternation ; the good priest stood as 
 astounded, agitating his horsewhip, but this was 
 a crime above its vengeance and jurisdiction. 
 The crowd in the mean time seemed to regard 
 the body with apathy, all eager to look at the 
 dead, and shrugging their shoulders, on behold- 
 ing it, with no very mournful feeling for the de- 
 ceased. Even the women made no outcry, and 
 none amongst the peasants, but the very chil- 
 dren, seemed much struck by the event. 
 
 Curiosity satisfied, it was every one's wish to 
 get away as fast as possible from a scene, likely 
 to turn out awkward to its witnesses; and in the 
 space of a very few minutes there were not, per- 
 haps, ten people on the lawn. Mr. Dillon des- 
 patched a messenger to Plunketstown — fame 
 despatched hers to other quarters; and ere two 
 hours had elapsed, every magistrate and Peeler 
 for ten miles round was collected at the scene of 
 the murder.
 
 THE CARDERS. 255 
 
 Considerable time was spent in inquiry. 
 The cause of the victim'*s fate was obvious ; and 
 Mr. Crostwhaite and Lord Castletown Belville, 
 conscious how much they had been indirectly 
 instrumental to it, were filled with feehngs of 
 mixed remorse and vengeance. Their suspicions, 
 of course, rested on the Dillons, which they at 
 first concealed, hoping that a strict inquiry into 
 circumstances would lead all naturally to the 
 same suspicions, without putting themselves for- 
 ward as accusers. Little light could be thrown 
 on the mystery in this hurried inquest : the 
 pistol was recognised as one lately taken from 
 a gentleman whose house had been broken into ; 
 but to any of the peasantry it could not be 
 traced ; and as the witnesses had all irrevocably 
 disappeared, none could tell who v/as even near 
 the deceased at the time of his fate. The Dil- 
 lons witnessed this scene with feelin<:^s of mortal 
 anxiety : — the father not knowing to what length 
 the son might have carried his connexions with 
 the assassins ; the son remembering into what 
 scenes fortune had lately flung him, and how 
 much there was of equivocal and mysterious
 
 256 THE CARDEES. 
 
 about his late motions to corroborate an accu- 
 sation of guilt. The magistrates seemed unv 
 certain how to act ; paced about uneasily, and 
 reasoned with one another, without coming to 
 any particular conclusion. Mr. Crostwhaite, at 
 length, and Lord Castletown Belville, told what 
 connexions they had had with Blaney, as well 
 as the last important piece of tidings that the 
 unfortunate man had revealed respecting young 
 Dillon ; which disclosure becoming known to the 
 betrayed, by some means or other, had pro- 
 duced, they were certain, the present cata- 
 strophe. The fact was but too likely ; the rea- 
 soning carried conviction with it; and it was 
 resolved, at any rate, not to let the Dillons loose 
 for the present. It behoved them to come to 
 some resolution, for the day already grew late, 
 and the hedge surrounding the lawn became 
 lined every moment with greater numbers of 
 spectators, who seemed anxiously waiting for 
 the- immediate consequences of the late act of 
 violence. 
 
 Amongst those who hurried to and fro, and 
 mingled, from time to time, with the crowd
 
 THE CARDERS. 257 
 
 around the body, the quick eye of Major Hem- 
 penshaugh distinguished our friend Murtagh ; 
 he knew him to be the chief follower of the 
 suspected house ; and although in face or 
 gesture he shewed no signs of agitation or emo- 
 tion, still the Major kept his eye bent continu- 
 ally upon him — a kind of ordeal, beneath which 
 the police magistrate had found many a hidden 
 culprit sink. Murtagh perceived that he was 
 marked by the Major's stare, but he flinched 
 not ; making himself, on the contrary, more con- 
 spicuous, and growing more loud in his excla- 
 mations on the inhumanity of committing such 
 a crime, and in such a place. For all this, he 
 grew, after a time, uneasy under the evil eye 
 of the Major, whose professional terrors were 
 not without increase of superstitious attributes, 
 occasioned by his bold acts and wonderful 
 escapes. Murtagh, in consequence, reckoning 
 that he had been visible and talkative enough to 
 shew that he did not shun observation, was about 
 to retire, when he was instantly followed and 
 stopped by the Major.
 
 258 THE CARDERS. 
 
 " Is that the coat, my good fellow, you had 
 on this morning ?" said the magistrate. 
 
 " Musha ! then, to be sure it is ; doesn't your 
 honour Hke it ?" 
 
 " I have not much objection ; but the steward 
 of the Grange, I should think, mounts a better 
 frieze upon a Sunday." 
 
 ^' Steward indeed ! Och ! in troth, you Ve 
 goin' to the fair wid us now at any rate. Blister 
 the steward here — we 're all one and like at fac 
 and plough— poor land, poor folk." 
 
 '' Ay, but the coat ?" 
 
 " Troth then, it 's good enough ; but if 
 your worship intends to obligate me with a 
 better " 
 
 " Mr. Dillon, I must be under the necessity 
 of searching the room or closet where this man, 
 Murtagh, your steward, I believe, is accus- 
 tomed to keep his clothes.*" 
 
 " Most wilhngly. Sir," said Mr. Dillon, lead- 
 ing the way before the Major into the house. 
 
 " Gentle 'havour of a Sunday afternoon," 
 muttered Murtagh, " overhauling poor body's
 
 THE CARDERS. 259 
 
 ould clothes — then it 's a beautiful fine wardrobe 
 you 're a goin' to see/' cried he, endeavouring 
 to pass. 
 
 " Take things easy, Sir," said the Major ; 
 " not so fast. So here it is;" and he hfted up 
 some of Murta^h's habiliments from off the 
 straw couch and floor of his dormitory. 
 
 " More of Vm, your honour's worship," cried 
 Timothy, hauling from under the bed a swarm 
 of broken stockings and old shoes. 
 
 " Thank your attention, I\lr. ^Murtagh," said 
 the !Major. '* 'Tis this I want to have a look 
 at ;"' and he seized on a new-looking frieze-coat 
 that lay, rather covered up, amidst other 
 things. The Major held up the coat to the 
 light, and the countenance of Murtagh fell — 
 the side of it was scorched, and black, evidently 
 recently, and had been rubbed. 
 
 " You are the King's prisoner, my good fel- 
 low ; and you, Mr. Dillon, I think it my duty 
 to arrest, as well as your son. Be so kind as to 
 walk into one of the parlours, until we can 
 arrange matters for your removal." 
 
 The sagacity of Major Hempenshaugh was
 
 260 THE CARDERS. 
 
 loudly applauded by his brother magistrates; 
 and Arthur v/as bidden to consider himself a 
 prisoner, as well as his father, and their domes- 
 tic, until it was considered what was to be done 
 with them for the night. To march the prison- 
 ers at once to the county gaol was impossible, 
 from its distance, as well as from the lateness of 
 the day ; and to perform any part of such a 
 journey by night were almost to necessitate a 
 rescue. Athlone itself was at some distance, 
 and its strong-holds were in another province and 
 county. The guard-house at Rathfinnan was pro- 
 posed, but all allowed it to be but an insecure 
 cabin ; and, with the Dillons confined in it, the 
 village and surrounding peasantry would almost 
 certainly rise on the soldiery, and liberate the 
 captives. Lord Castletown Belville proposed 
 his strong castle, but even that was too distant ; 
 in short, the magistrates feared, until they had 
 mustered a greater force, to attempt marching 
 any distance with so important a prize as that 
 which they had now grasped. No place re- 
 mained but Plunketstown-house : Mr. Plunket 
 certainly protested strongly against the convert-
 
 THE CARDERS. 261 
 
 ing of his mansion into a prison, and for his 
 acquaintance too; but he was over-argued, 
 over-ruled, his loyalty appealed to ; and he at 
 length consented. 
 
 The family of the Grange soon discovered 
 what was going forward, and filled the house 
 with the wildest clamour. The peaceable and 
 taciturn Mrs. Dillon, whose existence even might 
 generally have been overlooked, now fought 
 her way through sentinel-Peelers, and gave way 
 to wailings that appalled even the hearts of 
 constables. 
 
 " Oh ! Luke, Luke ! that I should live to 
 see the day — your gray hairs parted from mine 
 — and for murder! The bribed, sold blood- 
 hounds ! they know you 're innocent, and drag 
 you from us but to earn their blood-money. — 
 And my son— my Arthur ! our only prop ! to 
 be torn from us — the persecuting villains !"" and 
 she embraced, in all the frenzy of sorrow, her 
 son and husband alternately, who both in vain 
 endeavoured to calm her grief. 
 
 " Bridget, my dear Bridget, be quiet,— go, 
 stop those crying children above, and comfort
 
 262 THE CARDERS. 
 
 them. Has not this happened many a time to 
 me, and has not the just law returned me to 
 you?" 
 
 ^' Just law— -just me no just, Luke Dillon ! — 
 curse it for a law, and them that brought it ! — 
 cursed be the tyrants and the heretics that up- 
 hold it ! Law it is for them ; but for us, poor 
 Romans, what is it, but warrants, and tithes, 
 and prison, and poverty ? Holy Mother of 
 God ! *tis for you we suffer all this ; free us, 
 free us from this persecution ! " 
 
 " Peace, my dear Bridget," said Mr. Dillon, 
 '^ you but talk away our lives." 
 
 " And what 's the difference between talking 
 and not talking, Luke? — the more caution, the 
 worse ending, seemingly. What comes of all 
 your peace-seeking and peace-making, your 
 coward silence even at your own fire-side, your 
 friendships and hand-shakings with those blood- 
 sucking, time-serving Orangemen, but when a 
 known spy meets his fate from the hands of 
 those he has betrayed, the crime must be laid 
 at your door.? — The villains ! — our hands are not,
 
 THE CARDERS. 263 
 
 like theirs, washed in blood, before they are 
 held out for their hire/' 
 
 " Listen to the papist b , how she raves 
 
 of blood," cried one of the Peelers, " as if there 
 warnt a sea of it at her own door."" 
 
 " Silence, mother!" said Arthur, '• will you 
 expose yourself to the insults of these men r 
 What is there to fret about, but our lodging 
 hard and away from you a few nights? And 
 as to the insult or the ignominy, that 's nothing 
 new. What blood or name is in the country, 
 that has not been made well acquainted with 
 the prison and the dock ?" 
 
 " Oh ! then that 's the beautiful truth ye 're 
 after spakin', Master Arthur," cried Murtagh, 
 rousing himself; " sure a body ought to be 
 ashamed to hould up his head, that hadn't up 
 before the big wigs oncet or twicet." 
 
 " Troth, then, you '11 be apt to hould your 
 head high enough. Master Murtagh, after 
 being up before the big wigs," said the Peeler, 
 anxious to avenge on the servant the insults he 
 had received from the mistress.
 
 264 THE CARDERS. 
 
 " Whisht wid you, at any rate, you hang- 
 man's adjutant," replied Murtagh. 
 
 '' Hold that tongue of your's. Sir," said Mr. 
 Dillon, " ye '11 need its help, even if innocent, to 
 work you out of this scrape; — but if guilty, the 
 Lord forgive you for the deed, as well as for 
 the misery you have brought on this unhappy 
 family !" 
 
 " Oh, wirra, wirra. Master dear ! for you to 
 be talkin' the like to me, as if I'd dirty my 
 hands in the villian's blood, false, sould in- 
 former though he was. What proof have they 
 against a body, but where a coal from my pipe 
 singed my coat, smokin' an' drinkin' on Holy- 
 Eve ? Dirty bad luck to it for a pipe ! to be 
 after bringin' us all into sich a scrape." 
 
 " Rouse yourself, my dear Bridget," said 
 Mr. Dillon, little heeding his servant's exculpa- 
 tion, " leave sobbing to children that have 
 nothing else to do. Be up, and out, and stir- 
 ring; nothing dries tears like toil. Keep the 
 old house and the little bog-acres together ; if 
 they flit. Heaven must feed the Dillon-brood, 
 as it does the ravens, houseless and a-field !"
 
 THE CARDEES. 265 
 
 " Oh, Luke! Luke I" said the lady, unable to 
 answer more. 
 
 '' The sorrow a use now in crying at all at 
 all. Mistress; for if the worst comes to the 
 worst, what can they do but hang poor Mur- 
 tagh? And sure enough," continued he, lower- 
 ing his voice, " whoever did take vengeance on 
 the bloody informer that lies there, couldn*'t 
 look for less than a blessed martyr's death of 
 the kind, — a happy one it'll be, I've been 
 tould by them that knows; — four elegant angels 
 catches him as he drops, and carries him clane 
 off to Paradise, afore a body could cry trap- 
 stick." 
 
 The three present stared at this half confes- 
 sion of the unfortunate domestic with feelings 
 of pity, anger, and admiration mingled ; and 
 Arthur was conscious that his luckless adven- 
 ture at Ardcross had led to this daring act of 
 vengeance on the part of his follower. The 
 youth accused his own imprudence more than 
 accident, and fixed his eyes, to which the tears 
 were starting, on Murtagh as the victim of 
 over-attachment, and mistaken fidelity towards 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 THE CARDERS. 
 
 him. But Murtagh, at the sight of his young 
 master's tears, attempted to assume his careless 
 air, and exclaimed, — 
 
 " Any how, it's happened mighty contraary, 
 and the praty-digging beginning to-morrow. 
 But the mistress, long hfe to her ! must see to 't 
 hersel'. Its a fine crap too the same ; the cups 
 and bangers '11 bate the country for beauty ; 
 and yees, at ony rate, '11 live to ate of 'em. And 
 sure if I don't mysel', I won't want any, an 
 that's a comfort." 
 
 The entrance of the magistrates here inter- 
 rupted further conversation; — they came to 
 intimate the necessity of immediate departure, 
 leather and son took leave of the rest of the 
 family; — of the children, with promises of speedy 
 return and many presents, — of Mrs. Dillon, 
 with less of noisy grief than they expected ; — 
 the worst of sorrow she had before relieved by 
 waihng. They mounted a pair of steeds pre- 
 pared for them ; while Murtagh, manacled and 
 crest-fallen, was placed behind a mounted po- 
 liceman. As the cavalcade set off' from the 
 Grange, numerous bodies of the peasantry were
 
 THE CAllDERS. 267 
 
 seen hovering around, distant but observing, 
 while stragglers skulked behind the neighbour- 
 ing hedgerows ; a few, and very few venturing 
 boldly up to the prisoners and their escort, and 
 affecting an air of profound indifference as they 
 trudged past it. 
 
 The evening was already far advanced, and 
 from the overcast sky, night promised to be 
 premature. Each stride that the darkness took, 
 however, acted as a spur to the steeds of the 
 magistrates, as well as to those of their suite; 
 and the party achieved in a smart trot the dis- 
 tance of road that separated the Grange from 
 Plunketstown-gate. Therein once entered, they 
 abated their anxiety and speed, and leisurely 
 approached what had ever been to the Dillons 
 an hospitable mansion, now their temporary 
 prison. Too well Arthur knew the avenue he 
 traversed, and not a peculiar view or majestic 
 tree marked any particular spot of its winding, 
 that was not associated in his mind with feelings 
 of past happiness, mingled, no doubt, with pain, 
 but with pain that deserved not to be called 
 such in comparison with what he now felt. He 
 N 2
 
 268 THK CARDERS. 
 
 approached the habitation of his mistress, not, as 
 before, a free and innocent, at least, if not an 
 happy lover, but a prisoner, — a suspected accom- 
 plice in a murder ; to be consigned, no doubt, on 
 liis arrival, to some close-barred apartment, nor 
 allowed to hold communication with the family. 
 But what of that ? thought he, — has not my en- 
 counter with Roderick long since steeled the 
 heart of Lucy Plunket against me ?
 
 THE CARDERS. 269 
 
 CHAPTER XIV, 
 
 As the prisoners ascended the steps, and 
 were ushered into the hall of Plunketstown- 
 house, Arthur's feelings almost overpowered 
 him. He turned to the right and left, and re- 
 garded each door and passage with a nervous 
 dread, lest the form of Lucy should burst upon 
 him, and witness his ignominious state. His 
 faltering steps and moved features were con- 
 strued by his guards into evidences of guilt ; on 
 perceiving which, the youth ralhed, and was 
 master enough over his feelings to suppress them, 
 until solitude should allow him an opportunity 
 to give them way. Although the magistrates 
 were resolved on the committal of the prisoners, 
 still the form, at least, of an examination was 
 previously necessary ; and for this purpose, as
 
 270 THE CARDERS. 
 
 well as that they might partake of some refresh- 
 ment, the Dillons remained in an adjoining par- 
 lour, while Murtagh was at once secured in one 
 of the upper apartments, and a guard placed 
 over him to prevent any possibility of escape. 
 
 The father and son partook but shghtly of 
 the repast that was prepared for them, and un- 
 derwent the interrogatory that Major Hempen- 
 shaugh thought necessary previous to commit- 
 tal. Arthur, who looked with contempt on the 
 accusation of his having been accessary to the 
 murder, and who reckoned that all the ques- 
 tions that they could make or he answer would 
 but prove the baselessness of the charge, was 
 astonished, and indeed enraged, at the direful im- 
 portance which many points of the examination 
 assumed as it proceeded. Lost, since his arrest, in 
 feelings of bitterness and shame, instead of being 
 occupied with thoughts of security, he had ar- 
 ranged no sort of answers, no plan of baffling 
 insidious inquiry; and aware, as he was, how 
 liable to misconstruction one part of his con- 
 duct had been, and how little explicable the 
 other part, which had its origin in his affection
 
 THE CARDERS. 271 
 
 for Lucy, was before a magistrate or a court of 
 justice ; still he abandoned his cause to chance 
 and to the consciousness of his own innocence 
 solely for support. In this unprepared state 
 the simple question of " Why did you leave 
 the country ?" — " What brought you back ?" 
 produced from the youth but embarrassment 
 and evasive answers ; and as it was the magis- 
 trate's purpose at present to extract just enough 
 to corroborate his suspicions, and justify com- 
 mittal, the impression made on all present by 
 the answers of the son was even more sinister 
 and prejudicial to him than they could have 
 expected, or even the curate wished. Arthur 
 himself felt that this was the case, and v.ith 
 that one more consciousness in addition to his 
 former causes of sorrow, were he and his father 
 consigned for the night to their apartment. 
 
 The magistrates themselves sate down to their 
 meal with no very calm feelings. Mr. Plunket 
 himself was greatly moved, and spoke not : he 
 had known the Dillons long, was attached to 
 them, and in this first moment of Arthur's 
 danger he forgot the resentment he cherished
 
 272 THE CARDERS. 
 
 against him. The Major was cool, but, as 
 usual, grave ; and the Peer and Curate, what- 
 ever might have been their inward thoughts, 
 deemed the moment improper for exultation. 
 All knew the event to be such as would agitate 
 the whole country, — it would call each party 
 into direct opposition; and none were so likely 
 to be troublesome to the high government or 
 Orange leaders in such a case, as the moderate 
 and timid of their own party. Their own in- 
 creased importance or disgrace would depend 
 on the condemnation or acquittal of the prison- 
 ers, and would prove whether their fears and 
 zeal were considered just, or their activity in the 
 cause of government frivolous and affected. 
 
 " 1 am sorry, my Lord,"*' said Mr. Plunket, 
 " for your sake, as well as for that of our reve- 
 rend friend here, that I have not more accommo- 
 dation in the house ; but, what with the prison- 
 ers and my brother Roderick being here, I 
 doubt if we could make out another bed." 
 
 " Don't mention it, Plunket : Crostwhaite 
 and I will ride home together, and be back 
 again with you betimes in the morning. There
 
 THE CARDERS. 273 
 
 is no fear of the rascals attacking such a solid 
 fortress as this mansion. Besides, you have 
 plenty of hands without ours ; Hempenshaugh, 
 too, sleeps in the village, and could be up here 
 with the military in five minutes after hearing 
 a gun-shot/'' 
 
 " If you take my advice," said Crostwhaite^ 
 " we'll each of us occupy a chair here by the 
 fireside, and bide the night out ;~ there is no 
 knowing what these villains may attempt. If 
 it were not for the train of artillery that ac- 
 companied Delany's murderers to the gallows, 
 a rescue would certainly have been attempted/' 
 
 " Poh ! poh !"' said Hempenshaugh, " a bay- 
 onet or a Peeler's sabre would put a million 
 of them to the rout. They '11 never get cou^ 
 rage, depend upon it, till we show that we 
 begin to fear them. We '11 leave half a dozen 
 Peelers, — that will be eight stout men in the 
 house, and if they venture on such a number, 
 it 's more than ever I knew them capable of. 
 Besides, I '11 have the soldiers below on the qui 
 vive, and a pistol-shot from one of the upper 
 windows will bring us up here in five minutes," 
 N 5
 
 274 THE CARDERS. 
 
 '' Attack my house, indeed !"" said Plunket, 
 " egad, I 'd like to see them attempt it.'' 
 
 The Curate still shook his head, and was 
 about to protest still stronger against leaving 
 the house with so small a guard, and with such 
 prisoners within it, when the Peer pulled him 
 by the sleeve, and expostulated with him in an 
 under-voice, unheard by Plunket. 
 
 " Are you blind, man ? — what better could 
 happen than an attack ? — That would prove still 
 further the complicity of the Dillons, and their 
 union with the rebellious lower ranks. Besides, 
 what could come of it, but their losing some 
 of their number in an attack on such a house 
 as this, and aid so near ? But, depend upon it, 
 they '11 not stir.'' 
 
 " Very good and true," quoth the Curate ; 
 '^ this house and the prisoners in it may be 
 safe, but are we so in riding home on such a 
 night, and the country in agitation on account 
 of the DillonB' capture ? Vengeance, I take it, 
 would be almost as welcome to them as a suc- 
 cessful rescue." 
 
 " Tut !" said Lord Castletown Belville, " they
 
 THE CARDERS. 275 
 
 had you in their power, and did not harm you. 
 What can you fear? — I have two mounted 
 Peelers of my own following, and four of us 
 armed may well ride across the country in se- 
 curity." 
 
 The Curate's scruples were accordingly 
 quieted, and he and the Peer set forth for 
 Castle Belville in a night whose murkiness did 
 honour to the first of November. The major 
 also, and his myrmidons, took their departure 
 for the village of Rathfinnan, where they were 
 to pass the night; and Plunketstown was left 
 alone to its own silent sorrows, or noisy defence, 
 as it might prove. 
 
 Lucy and Honoria, in the mean time, were 
 a prey to equal anxiety with Arthur. Pre- 
 vented from appearing by their own delicacy, 
 as well as by Mr. Plunkef s commands, they 
 greedily caught each sound from below ; but 
 all passed silently as tranquillity itself. The 
 female servants bustled up and down stairs 
 with all the intelligence that they could suc- 
 cessively gather from the Peelers; and each, as 
 they got their memories duly filled with hor-
 
 276 THE CARDERS. 
 
 rors, hurried up to communicate them to the 
 ears of their young mistress. Roderick had 
 gone out in the morning, and, not having yet 
 returned, they were deprived of a faithful and 
 attentive counsellor, who would have conveyed 
 the true tidings of things, such as they were. 
 Uncertain of the domestics' tales, they awaited 
 the coming of Mr. Roderick Plunket with im- 
 patience ; and they remained still in suspense 
 and expectation, when Mr. Dillon and Arthur 
 were shown to their apartment. 
 
 At length Roderick returned from spending 
 the day with some of his military acquaintances, 
 and was himself astounded at the first tidings 
 of the event that had so fearfully imphcated 
 his late antagonist. He felt interested for Ar- 
 thur on many accounts, as an high-spirited 
 youth, whom, like himself, fortune seemed 
 bent .on putting to frequent trial; moreover, 
 their mutual exchange of shots, much inconve- 
 nience as that had produced to Roderick, 
 proved no weak bond of amity between them. 
 He soon made himself master of all the cir- 
 cumstances of the case, and began to ponder
 
 THE CARDEBS* 27 
 
 Within himself the best mode of exertion in 
 behalf of the youth, when it occurred to him, 
 that a female head was likely to devise the best 
 counsel for the occasion. He accordingly pro- 
 ceeded to his niece's apartment, was admitted, 
 and, after abating in the minds of the young 
 ladies the exaggeration which the facts had 
 gathered from the conveyance of constable and 
 domestic, they began to consult on what was 
 best to be done. 
 
 Roderick thought the simplest plan would be 
 to contrive the youth's escape ; but Lucy, who 
 upheld her lover's innocence, wished that her 
 father should be convinced of it, should see 
 the Dillons, and support them, as far as he 
 could in justice, against the malevolence of their 
 enemies. But her uncle asserted, that the im- 
 pression left on his brother''s mind by Arthur's 
 answers to the Major's interrogatory, was an 
 
 assurance of his having been at least privy to 
 
 the crime that had been committed. 
 
 " Oh ! good God ! 'tis impossible," cried 
 
 Lucy ; ^' if my father would but see Arthur, 
 
 and talk to him in his old kind way, he would
 
 278 THE CARDERS. 
 
 confess every thing, and show how he had been 
 entrapped into connexion with these horrid vil- 
 lains." 
 
 Roderick at length adopted liis niece's ad- 
 vice. He sought out his brother, and endea- 
 voured to persuade him to have an interview 
 \dth the Dillons, and to give Arthur, at least, 
 one fair trial, ere he withdrew all protection 
 from the youth, and abandoned him to his 
 fate. 
 
 " I foresee little advantage to be derived 
 from the attempt," said Mr. Plunket ; " the boy 
 is close and evasive, as well as sullen: he cannot 
 account for his motions, and every thing in him 
 looks like guilt : — and yet, he was a noble, 
 ingenuous young fellow, — what ever can have 
 wrought upon him so? — it must be that cursed 
 papistry, that has made . him a murderer in 
 deed, and a Jesuit in word. But since you 
 press me, Roderick, let us go up, and make 
 the trial." 
 
 The brothers accordingly proceeded together 
 to the apartment in which the Dillons were con- 
 fined. They were received with tears of wel-
 
 THE CARDERS. 279 
 
 come by Mr. Dillon, since their coming beto- 
 kened some interest; and with a sullen salute 
 by his son. 
 
 " So, my old antagonist," said Roderick, 
 " you salute me still with a duellist's greeting 
 of stern civility." 
 
 " I have little time or cause now, I believe, 
 for more cordial behaviour,*" replied Arthur. 
 
 " Do not write us down enemies at once, 
 young man," said Mr. Plunket ; " however 
 mischance may have soured your temper, you 
 have little reason from my former conduct to- 
 wards you, I feel assured, to think that I come 
 here other than as a friend." 
 
 Mr. Dillon was about to expostulate with his 
 son, when Mr. Plunket interrupted him. 
 
 " Now tell me, Arthur Dillon, as a friend, 
 not as a magistrate, what was the cause of 
 your leaving the country so suddenly in August 
 last .?" • 
 
 *' Because I was wounded by a musquet-ball 
 in returning from this house late at night." 
 
 " And why should that have necessitated 
 your departure ?"*'
 
 280 THE CARDERS. 
 
 Arthur here frankly confessed what he had 
 previously done to his parent and to Lucy, the 
 circumstance of his rencontre with Timothy, 
 whose name, however, he concealed, and feigned 
 ignorance of. 
 
 " I have heard of this before,"" said Mr. 
 PI unket ; " and what time Avere you brought 
 home, pray .?" 
 
 Arthur was silent. 
 
 " It was past one, certainly," said Mr. Dil- 
 lon, who wished to urge his son to unreserved 
 frankness. 
 
 " And the shot was fired by our party at a 
 little after ten : there are three hours, Arthur, 
 which I shall not question about. You spent 
 them in the cavern of Ardcross." 
 
 *' How !"" ejaculated Arthur. 
 
 " Nay, Sir, did you not know you were be- 
 trayed by Blaney ?*" 
 
 " I did, but " 
 
 '' But what ?" 
 
 " Do I speak to you, Mr. Plunket, as a 
 friend, bound to honourable secrecy ?" 
 
 '' I am here no magistrate, Arthur. You are
 
 THE CARDERS. 281 
 
 committed independently of me, and I shall not 
 be your judge/' 
 
 " Implicating others is all that I am in dread 
 of," continued Arthur ; " and not fearing that 
 in the present company, I confess to you to 
 have been, by chance, one of the two or three 
 that surprised and bound Mr. Crostwhaite. 
 We overheard him and Lord Castletown Bel- 
 ville, and saw Blaney with them. In that way 
 was the informer discovered." 
 
 " And Murtagh was with you ?" 
 
 Arthur waved his hand. " I must, indeed, 
 Mr. Plunket, dechne speaking further on this 
 subject, even to you. Perhaps I have al- 
 ready said too much. I now see myself all 
 the ambiguity and danger into which I have 
 been betrayed, involuntarily betrayed: and 
 whatever be the consequences, I must abide 
 them silently." 
 
 " You are indeed unfortunate, Arthur. The 
 coincidences link fearfully together, especially 
 with the reserved mode of defence you seem in- 
 clined to adopt. You must fling yourself more 
 open, abandon the wretches that have led you
 
 282 THE CARDERS. 
 
 into it. There will be plenty of other evidence 
 against them to render all you have to say 
 respecting them perhaps immaterial, and a 
 frank confession of all will doubtless save 
 you." 
 
 " I beg you may not repeat such entreaty,'' 
 said Arthur; " to turn informer myself were 
 worse even than to sink under a groundless ac- 
 cusation. Besides, what proof can they bring 
 against me ?" 
 
 " Against you, Arthur ? — more than you 
 dream of; — proofs of your being sworn, of 
 your having attended meetings, — perhaps, of 
 your having surprised Crostwhaite, — of its be- 
 ing your interest more than -any one else's to 
 have Blaney put out of the way; — evidence, 
 Arthur, that, if insufficient to condemn, is at 
 least sufficient to blast for ever your good cha- 
 racter and respectability in this country." 
 
 " I am of a religion," Mr. Plunket, " whose 
 followers were never indulged with any of what 
 you call respectabihty in this country."" 
 
 " That may be partly true, Arthur," said 
 Mr. Plunket, with a smile ; " but at least the
 
 THE CARDERS. 283 
 
 good opinions of some are worth preserving. 
 Mine, for instance, I should be glad that 
 you valued." 
 
 '* That I do value it, Sir, I trust, my pre- 
 sent confession will witness. I hope, in return, 
 that that confession has produced its effect, 
 and that you, at least, are prepared to think 
 me innocent." 
 
 " Of having been an accomplice, or privy in 
 any way to this dreadful crime, I now do, Ar- 
 thur : — it must have been that unfortunate 
 Murtagh, of his own impulse. And yet it is 
 to be doubted, if a jury will be as easily con- 
 vinced of this as I have been. One thing 
 more I would ask you, though it can scarcely 
 be said to relate to this affair, — what might 
 have been the cause of your unexpected re- 
 turn to the country, all as sudden as your 
 former departure, and your strange apparition 
 yonder in our lawn .?" 
 
 At this interrogatory respecting his affections 
 Arthur's cheek glowed deeper, and he became 
 far more agitated than at an accusation of trea- 
 son, or even of murder. Confession on this
 
 284 THE CARDERS. 
 
 point was more difficult than that recommended 
 and urged by Mr. Plunket respecting his con- 
 nexion with the Carders; and the youth found 
 it impossible to reply. 
 
 " I read your answer in your countenance, 
 Sir," said Mr. Plunket, "" and am glad to see 
 it blush at least for this. But 'tis past ; and 
 your present misfortune may be of use in open- 
 ing your eyes, and dispelling those wild dreams 
 that mislead youths, like thee, from the paths of 
 sober exertion. Now, young man, my influence* 
 is not small in this county, as you may know ; 
 and although your servant Murtagh must un- 
 dergo the fate he has so richly merited, yet, for 
 yourself and your worthy father here, I can 
 almost promise to hush this matter up, — perhaps 
 with much personal obloquy and enmity to my- 
 self. Yet still I will engage to do it, on one 
 condition — that you quit this country, and re- 
 turn no more : at least, for several years." 
 
 " What !'' said Mr. Dillon, " banish my son 
 from his home and family ?*" 
 
 " My dear Dillon, how otherwise can he avoid 
 iioming in contact or opposition with those card-
 
 THE CARDERS. 285 
 
 incr ruffians ? — besides, he shaU have where- 
 withal to go— a commission, or something equi- 
 valent. Arthur, answer me — will you accept 
 my offer .^" 
 
 " No ! Mr. Plunket. In spite of even mis- 
 fortune, I am too innocent to purchase acquittal, 
 and at an ignominious price. I understand your 
 fears and pride ; and though I should have re- 
 spected them unuttered, now, when they re- 
 proach me to my face, and would even banish 
 me, I reverence them no longer. I consider the 
 ties of gratitude broken. I am a culprit, and a 
 prisoner. Perhaps 'twere wiser now to keep 
 me so, lest, being hberated, I might annoy 
 you." 
 
 " Upon my word, you are high on the stilts 
 of romance, young gentleman." 
 
 " High enough, Mr. Plunket, to raise my 
 poor pride to a level with the purse pride of 
 others." 
 
 *^ Impertinent beggar!" muttered Mr. Plun- 
 ket. 
 
 To which uncivil ejaculation Arthur, whose 
 anger was fast carrying him away, was about to
 
 286 THE CARDERS. 
 
 reply as uncivilly, when a female form glided 
 within the door, held up its finger for an instant, 
 and vanished as abruptly. Arthur was silent : 
 Mr. Plunket looked around, but there was no 
 sign of interruption. 
 
 '* Well, Mr. Arthur, you reject my offers ?" 
 
 " I do, Sir, as I would any advantage on 
 dishonourable conditions."" 
 
 " Dishonourable conditions truly ! — to make 
 an officer and a gentleman of you. But enough. 
 Sir; I leave you to your pride and prison." 
 And the brothers left the room — one of them at 
 least little contented with the issue of the con- 
 versation. 
 
 The spirit that had supported Arthur until 
 now, strained at first by momentary resentment, 
 utterly gave way as this subsided. Grateful as 
 he felt to Mr. Plunket, and long accustomed as 
 he had been to reverence him, the open avowal 
 of how much he considered Arthur beneath an 
 alliance with his family, though no more than 
 the youth could and did expect, was yet too 
 much for him, and came at a moment when he 
 was little able to bear the additional blow. If
 
 THE CAHDERS. 287 
 
 he had been alone, and far from the object he 
 loved, he might have resigned himself at once 
 to despair, and steeled himself in romantic pride 
 against the thick-coming visitations of ill fortune ; 
 — but her being near him, under the same roof 
 with him, together with her sudden apparition 
 in the apartment, that marked the still-during 
 interest she took in his fate, held the lover in 
 suspense and agony, nor permitted him to re- 
 sign himself to the thoughts of losing her for 
 ever. In this state of mind he paced the apart- 
 ment, alternating between the tears of passion 
 and the ravings of offended pride : his aged 
 parent sitting a silent spectator of his son's agi- 
 tation, which he seemed equally unable to un- 
 derstand or console. 
 
 At times Arthur pondered on some means of 
 speaking to Lucy, but an interview it seemed 
 now impossible to effect. And he had come to 
 the determination of writing, when a door in the 
 apartment stirred ; not that which opened to the 
 lobby, and at which a guard was stationed, but 
 another, from an adjoining apartment, that had 
 been overlooked or ill-secured. It was Lucy's
 
 288 THE CARDERS. 
 
 form that entered, and her constant friend, Ho- 
 noria, was behind her. They beckoned Arthur 
 towards them; and he stept hghtlj on, near 
 enough, nevertheless, to have betrayed them 
 with an exclamation of surprise. They led him 
 into the next apartment, lest even their whispers 
 might attract the suspicions of the guard with- 
 . out ; and the first question was, whether he 
 would wish to make his escape ? 
 
 " Can you think me guilty, Lucy.?'' was Ar- 
 thur's answer. 
 
 *' Oh no ! but prison is so terrible, and trial, 
 
 that even innocence might well flee from them.''' 
 
 " Not so very terrible, dear Lucy, but that 
 
 they may be even enjoyed by the happy lover — 
 
 happy, for you remember me." 
 
 " Ah ! of what use is remembering ? — that I 
 must, at the least, ever do, Arthur, sorrowful as 
 it may be." 
 
 " But Mr. Plunket," said Honoria, '^ what 
 said he ? We heard your voices raised in angerj 
 and poor Lucy could not restrain herself from 
 venturing in." 
 
 *' In a lucky moment," said Arthur ; " your
 
 THE CARDERS. 289 
 
 father, Lucy, was just to me, and kind. — He 
 does not believe me guilty, nay, offered to free 
 me even from the trouble likely to ensue." 
 
 " Oh, did he?" said Lucy ; " then I am con- 
 tented." 
 
 " He did, Lucy, but with a proviso — upon 
 one condition did he offer this.'* 
 
 ''Upon what.?'' 
 
 '* That I should quit this country, and never 
 see his daughter more."' 
 
 " Good Heavens ! Arthur— and that brought 
 on those angry words?— Oh ! why did you not 
 accept the offer .?" 
 
 " Can you say so, Lucy ?" 
 
 " And why not, Arthur ? How can we ever 
 hope for the completion of our early dreams ? 
 To know each other safe and happy, though for 
 ever separate, must now content us. Religion, 
 fortune, every thing divides us. I am not 
 superstitious, Arthur; but you see how un- 
 lucky our attachment has proved: — to you, 
 it has been the origin of all this misfortune — 
 and to me, God knows, little less. Besides, 
 Arthur, independent of all this, it cannot be — 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 THE CARDEIIS. 
 
 my father wills, and I have promised ; and al- 
 though I thus partially break through his com- 
 mands in meeting, I must not, will not, disobey 
 him in the main." 
 
 " To plead against this resolve, Miss Lucy, 
 in me were dishonourable. I may quit this 
 country, and you,'* said the youth with falter- 
 ing voice, " but it must be of my own free will ; 
 at least, in obedience to no commands but thine. 
 And yet, when last I saw you, you promised 
 me counsel ; and, if I remember right, ' a milder 
 fate than banishment.' Is it your pride, or your 
 duty, Lucy, that has recovered itself since 
 then, or have I fallen in your esteem, as well 
 as in the world's, for having become thus a 
 prisoner ?" 
 
 " Arthur, Arthur, this is unkind !" said Lucy, 
 bursting into tears ; " let this visit, these tears 
 witness, if my affections have changed or abated : 
 — but what avails a weak girl's will with fate and 
 the world against it ?*" 
 
 "Ah !" said Arthur, '' more powerful than 
 fate and the world united, if it be sincere. -But 
 Hsten/'
 
 THE CARDERS. 291 
 
 A tremendous crash, followed by as tremen- 
 dous blows, broke off this passionate dialogue 
 abruptly. Arthur hurried back to his room, and 
 the young ladies as hastily retreated to theirs. 
 But what this was, will require the ample ex- 
 planation of another chapter. 
 
 THE END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY S. AND R. DENTLEV, DORSET STREET.