which he had fired, and as he thought, from Cornelius falling at the time, with fatal effect-indeed he had sent the ball so close as to cut the breast of the yeoman's coat, though he had not perceived it. His shout of triumph was therefore not repeated when he saw Cornelius spring with renewed rage to his feet; but being in the ditch, he was enabled to escape to the other side of the hedge, while the yeoman, having sprung to his horse again, had to ride some distance down before he could gain the next field, through which his adversary was now running to make his escape. Cornelius, who was now joined by one or two of his comrades, urged his horse to speed with all the fury which the combined passions of revenge and jealousy can supply, and gained rapidly upon Fitzpatrick, who made for the opposite ditch, the bank of which was high and steep. The flying wretch tried to leap it, but struck against the opposing bank and fell to the bottom. He sprung to his feet, and turning round saw his pursuer within thirty yards of him, his sabre already uplifted for the blow that was to cut him down. Escape now being impossible, the man, placing his back against the bank, folded his arms, as if prepared to meet his fate; but when Cornelius was within his horse's length of him, he quickly drew another pistol from beneath his coat, and fired. He did not this time miss his aim. Cornelius dropped his sabre and clapped both his hands upon his right breast, while his enemy burst forth in a yell of exultation. "Hah!" said he, " by Jesus you've got it at last; take that home to your sweetheart, an' tell her who it was gave it to you." Very brief was the interval of the wretched man's triumph, the exulting shout appeared almost to mingle with the man's dying groan, so closely were they upon each other; for within two or three seconds the sabre of one of the comrades of Cornelius laid open his temple with a horrid gash, and the life blood followed the steel as it was withdrawn with the rapidity of lightning, to repeat the blow. "Where did he hit you, Corny?" said the slayer, turning to his wounded companion; "I've put the rebelly villain out of the way of doing any more harm, anyhow."-" Some where in the breast here," said Cor

nelius; who spoke very faintly and had become pale as death. His jacket was quickly opened, and the ball was found to have entered a little below the right breast; very little blood flowed from the wound, but Cornelius complained of being very faint and sickish, and as they led his horse quietly towards the main body of the troop, he did actually faint, and was obliged to be supported on his horse. There was no one in the troop who even pretended to know anything of surgery, except one, who, being the amateur farrier of the corps, was supposed to understand something of the mystery of the living frame in general, and was called to give his opinion about poor Cornelius. "It isn't dead he is, I'm sure," said his companion, who had seen him shot," it's only a faint he 's in."-" By the powers, but I say he is dead," said the man of skill; "as dead as Joe Dunn's mare, that died last Easther; an' sorry I am for him, for he was a likely young fellow, an' killed a power of rebels this day, as I seen with my own two eyes."

Returning animation, however, proved the man of veterinary knowledge to be in error; and Cornelius having been conveyed to the road, a car was provided to bring him to the town of Ballycooley, which the troops determined on occupying after the dispersion of the rebels. Poor Corny was looked upon almost as a dead man ; no one had any hope of him, and even his father while he gave orders concerning the way in which he should be taken care of, shook his head as one that had no hope that any care should save him.

Whilst they were arranging a place in which to put him to bed, and have him quietly attended to, the alarm was given of the rebels having rallied with a very considerable additional force, and being about to assault the little town. It was soon discovered that the alarm was correct; and it was resolved, that with the force of king's troops present, it would not be pos sible to defend the town against the large body which threatened it with so much advantage of the ground; Ballycooley, as I have mentioned, lying in a hollow.

A retreat, therefore, was ordered upon the castle, which they had quit ted in the morning; and as it was well

known, that if the wounded Cornelius were found by the rebels on entering the town, he would be barbarously butchered, they procured a little "low backed car," as it is called in Ireland, a kind of rural carriage, then and since much in vogue amongst the peasantry, and which, it may be mentioned by way of parenthesis, seemed contrived, with admirable Hibernian ingenuity, to carry the least possible weight with the greatest possible difficulty to the horse. Upon this, the wounded young man was placed, in an apparently dying state, and towards evening departed in the rear of the troop for his father's mansion, which, however, he was not destined to reach.

Perhaps the reader will recollect the situation of the house at which Cornelius stopped in the morning, in the joy and gladness of his heart to salute his sweetheart Mary Kelly, and from which he galloped away with love and vengeance in his heart, rejoicing in his strength, and meditating slaughter. The little day was not yet done, and he now approached it again, a wounded, dying man, trembling with pain and fear of dissolution, while bewildering and horrid recollections of the day's business swept in hurried and unconnected train through his mind, and disposed his soul to any thing but peace.

Just as the troop reached the point where Cornelius had leaped the ditch in the morning to ride over to Kelly's house, a large party of rebels who had arrived there, by the same short cut as he had used in the morning to overtake his companions, suddenly rushed with loud shouts and yells upon the soldiers, and a smart skirmish took place, which, however, lasted but a short time, as the rebels, after the first onset, retired to wait for their companions who were coming up, which reason was the strongest possible for the soldiers, or "army," for that was the distinguishing designation of the king's troops in the rebellion of ninety-eight, however small their numbers,-not to wait, but to push on with all the rapidity they could towards head-quarters at the castle. In the assault of the rebels, it happened that they forced themselves between the troop of yeomanry, and the car in which poor Cornelius was lying, and he would probably have fallen into their savage

hands, but for the timely intervention of Mary Kelly's brother Phil, who was a witness of the affray taking place before his father's house.

He saw the imminent danger in which his friend Cornelius was placed, and whilst the combatants were too busy to attend to what he was doing, he guided the car round to the lane which led to his father's hay-yard, and placed the wounded man beyond the reach of further and immediate mischief. When the "army" retreated therefore, Cornelius was left behind,he was not even thought of at first, and when they missed him, which they did in a very few minutes, they concluded with a "poor fellow!" that he had fallen into the hands of the rebels. The danger, however, of his situation, was only momentarily postponed.

The rebels after the skirmish occupied Kelly's house, not in hostile fashion, for through Fitzpatrick's agency he had come to be considered almost as one of them, though he did not bear arms along with them; but in the most friendly manner they de voured his bacon and potatoes, and drank his whisky, broke the ceiling of his parlour with their long pikes, and cursed and swore against all orangemen and yeomen, more especially against young Corny MacCooney the butcherin' young bastard, whom they threatened with the most savage vengeance whenever they got an opportunity.

Phil Kelly listened to all this with no slight apprehension for his friend's safety-he saw at once it would be necessary to hide him, and that was no easy task to accomplish without observation. It was, however, requisite to make the attempt without delay, and he returned to Cornelius, whose car was drawn by the back way into the yard, and placed behind one of the hay-stacks, where, favoured by the twilight of evening, it had as yet remained unnoticed. "What will we do, Master Cornelius?" said Phil, acquainting him with the extent of his appre hensions.

"Oh Phil," said the wounded sufferer, "take me and lay me anywhere, that I may die quietly, an' don't leave me to be cut to pieces by them villains' pikes. It won't last long wit' me anyhow, I'm afraid, for I'm very wake, Phil, an' perishin' wit' thirst."

"Don't be afear'd-don't be afear'd," said Phil, endeavouring to be as consolatory as he could. "I'll take you up in my arms to the loft above, and make a bed of hay for you to lie upon, behind the ould oat bin, where no one 'll take notice, an' then I'll get you a drink of water; an' plase God, if we can keep you safe till mornin', you'll be better, an' come round afther all." "Ah, Phil," said Cornelius, "I'm afraid it's too little I've done to plase God all my life time; but I hope he'll reward you just the same for this kindness to a fellow-creature in the miserable state that I am in. I must trust everything to you, and I'll go where ever you like to put me."

The hay was spread behind the oat bin, and the young man carried up with great pain and difficulty, and placed upon it. The refreshing cup of cold water too was given, which seemed to revive him a little.

"An' now I must lave you," said Phil," for fear'd I'd be missed, and some one 'id come here to look for

me."

"You'll come back to me, won't you, Phil," said the sick man, in a supplicating tone.

"Yes, before we go to bed, I'll come an' see how you are, if I can come unknownst," (unnoticed).

"God bless you, Phil. Does Mary know I'm here in this condition?" added Cornelius, in a lower and more tremulous tone.

"No, not a word," said Phil; "I hadn't an opportunity to tell her yet,

but I will now when I go in ; only I'm afraid she'll be makin' some work about it, that 'll let them know somethin's the matter wit' her. I'll manage it the best way I can." So saying, he left the wounded man, and finding an opportunity, told his sister in a whisper of the fate of her friend, "Master Cornelius," and his present situation. The poor girl was bitterly grieved at the sad intelligence, and cried in secret, while the noisy riot of the rebels went on around her. She would have gone to see poor Cornelius-Start not at the indelicacy, ye fair ones of higher station, for poor Mary's mind knew not the nicer rules which regulate, and justly regulate, the state of society for which they are framed-She would have gone to nurse him, and speak comfort to him, but she knew that to attempt to do so, while so many men were loitering about the house, must lead to his instant discovery. Their gallantry, or rudeness, call it which you will, would not, as she well knew, have suffered them to let a young woman go alone into the farm-yard, particularly at that twilight hour, so favourable to that peculiar kind of eloquence which Irishmen are said to possess, how truly, I shall not pretend to say. So she was obliged, for the present, to hide her grief and her anxiety in her own breast, trusting that when night and darkness came, she might have an opportunity of stealing unperceived, to the comfortless hiding-place of her unfortunate and unhappy lover.

know the principles on which words ought to be formed into sentences, so as to give a meaning not only to the separate parts of speech, but to whole passages and paragraphs, why, they could not well fail of being rather agreeable writers. Their ears are long and fine, and delighted with jingle. Some of them are wire-drawers, some haminermen, and some bell-hangers; all working very industriously, and whistling, humming, or singing at their work all day long, on their small stock of raw material, borrowed, or purchased on credit, or by bills at a long date. Their verses, when finished, have sometimes very much the appearance of poetry. But their articles are all plated-glittering very prettily, till you begin to rub or furbish them up, when they have chanced to get a little dim, and then you discover the take-in, and peer upbraidingly on the bit of tin or brass, of which the whole service is composed, and which, in utmost need, would be rejected at the pawnbroker's. They do not belong to that wicked set, who hate the light, because their deeds are evil; but, on the contrary, light, in all its hues, is what they love above all things else in heaven or on earth; and all their compositions are either resplendent with radiance, splendour, lustre, beams, and rays, or are shadowed with gloom, glimmer, thunder-clouds, and midnight darkness. Astronomy and meteorology are their favourite sciences, which they treat popularly; and they would think it sacrilege to indite a verse without a sun, a moon, or a star. They like to lose themselves occasionally in a mist, and "their hearts leap up when they behold a rainbow in the sky"-the sight is so pretty and so are its many appellations, too: -the showery bow, heaven's aerial bow, the radiant arch, the glittering sky-bridge, the blended glory, the blue, yellow, violet apparition, the shining segment, the prismatic wonder, and so on, with many other epithets equally original and encomiastic. To commit to memory twenty lines of any such composition would have baffled Julius Scaliger. In they go at one ear -or rather eye and out at the other, without touching one single phrenological faculty, except now and then, very slightly, the organ of lower individuality; and though you might not think it, they set you very soon asleep.

To borrow the language of the school, just like the motes glimmering in the noon-tide sun before the half-closed eyes of a man or woman, lying in a soporific posture, with evident intentions of forgetting all the affairs of this life. "Fair as a star, when only one is shining in the sky," you see them glittering yet surrounded with a dewy halo-in the Poet's Corner of an Evening Paper-or through the mists of the Melancholy Magazine.

In Class Third, which, in point of numbers, is to the second as the se cond is to the first, may be seen persons puzzled what to make of the white and brown matter that is stirring in their brains; and who possibly might produce something not entirely unrememberable, did they only know how to set about it. But then they answer that description of Christians of whom Wordsworth says, "Oh many are the poets that are sown by Nature," but "wanting the accomplishment of verse!" Of verse certainly they have no notion-probably from having skulls in which the organ of number is poorly or not at all developed; and hence, being naturally incapacitated for counting either their verses, feet and toes, or yet their own hands and fingers,-so that their lines are lame and halt, and hobble away dot and go one, after the fashion of wooden-leg or crutches. Call them not stupid. To count your fingers with the utmost accuracy-ay, with out missing a single one of the whole on either hand, from both thumbs and little fingers inclusive,-may, to you, who have little or nothing else to do, be an easy task,-with nothing to disturb or distract your full powers of attention; which powers were, in fact, all that distinguished Sir Isaac Newton from other men ;-but to a poet, a bard with eyes in a fine frenzy rolling, and who scarcely knows, perhaps, whether he is standing on his head or his heels, as if he were looking at himself through an inverted telescope, the enumeration of his di gits is a work often beyond the reach of the most respectable powers of inspired arithmetic; and in such cases, how seldom do we see it successfully achieved, even by a lineal or collateral descendant of Joseph Hume! Hence the poetry of such persons can only be reduced, or worked out into me lody by the rule of three, or in the