"'Fore God, I think she would soon be fain to drop her calves," replied the old knight. "John, James, Rickard, Walter, and myself, have an old custom of making free elbow-room, go where we will. But Heaven knows-I cannot tell what to think of these things falling out as they often do. We are just five brothers, now that Gerald (God rest his soul,) is gone." He paused for a moment, and proceeded: "But come, Sir John, and kinsmen, you see the best we can place before you; fall to with the best appetite you can; for, come what may, a man made never the worse fight, either against grief or handy blows for having his stomach well lined with good munition of venison and Spanish wine." But, notwithstanding his recommendation, poor Sir Oliver scarce touched the good cheer set before him: his heart was full; and though he neglected no observance of the rights of hospitality, the tear was in his eye throughout. At length when the sorrowful repast was over, he poured out a goblet of wine and gave it to an attendant to bear to Neale Roe, the bard, who sat at the farther end of the table, next the lowest of the gentlemen of the Geraldine name. "The harp is silent on the hearth, son of Kennedy," said he, in Irish, "and our hearts are low in our breasts. Drink a strong draught to the memory of Gerald that will never listen to the voice of strings again; then let your fingers go forth on the wire, swiftly, sweetly, clearly-ringing, till either the smiles come back to our countenances, or the tears that oppress our hearts flow upward with their weight of sorrow, and pour it from our eyes upon the ground." The bard took the goblet, and, rising, stood beside his harp. The flickering brands at his feet threw his tall figure and wild costume into strong relief as he stood beneath the brace of the black-browed, overarching chimney. He looked round. and, raising the cup, drained it in silence and at a single draught. A few drops fell from the reversed goblet as his arm sank slowly again to his side, while he leaned abstractedly over his instrument, as if gathering his fancies for the coming lamentation: but suddenly raising his head, and shaking back the long red bands of his glibb, that had partially fallen over his brow, he extended the cup again, and exclaimed, “I drank to Gerald of the open hand, and the wine has not melted my soul to lamentation. My heart, among the strong wine, still burns like the hot iron when the son of the hammer has plunged it in a too shallow stream. again! for I will now drink a health; and that neither in silence nor in sorrow, but freely, loudly, and joyfully!" The cup was speedily replenished; and Neale Roe, seizing his harp, without prelude or preface, burst forth with this strain in Irish :— "Health to the wolf of the red forest of Bawn Regan! Fill the cup Hither, wild dog of the woods, and do his errand who drinks to you in Spanish wine. Eastward through the plain of Liffey a day's journey, and the smell of carrion will guide you to Maynooth: There's a dead man in the castle ditch; there is no head upon his shoulders: Drag him out upon the bank, and tear him in four quarters! Give his limbs to your cubs to carry to the four forests of Ireland; But hide his heart in a hole; taste it not, for it is full of poison; It would poison the wolf in his famine; it is the heart of him who betrayed his foster-brother! "Health to the crow of the red shambles of Moyslaght! Hither, black gorger of flesh, and do his errand who drinks to you in Spanish wine. Eastward over the plain of Liffey a three-hours' flight, and the smell of carrion will guide you to Maynooth. There's a head on a spike over the castle gate: there is no back-bone under it : Pluck off the hair of the head, and scatter it to the four winds of heaven! Pluck out the two eyes of the head, and give them to the callow brood of the two shambles of Ireland; But hide his tongue in a hole; taste it not, for it is full of lies; It would deceive the crow before rain; it is the tongue of him who betrayed his foster-brother! "Health to the wolves and carrion crows of Ireland! Come at the cry of Croom aboo! and do his errand who drinks to you in Spanish wine. There will be trunks of traitors and heads of the false churls of London Lying thick upon the ground under the sharp strokes of victorious Clan Gerald; Pluck forth the heart of the traitor; may it be a sweet morsel in the jaws of the wolf of Bawn Regan! Pluck forth the tongue of the false Englishman; in such be the beak of the crow of Moyslaght bathed abundantly! Partake, without fear of poison or deceit, of each portion of the banquet that we will spread before you, For there never lived in the world but one man that betrayed his fosterbrother!" Fierce and vehement was the applause that burst forth on all sides as Neal Roe concluded: but the bard sunk his head upon his breast, and seemed too much absorbed in thought to notice the effect of his performance. He remained for a few minutes motionless and silent; then, taking his harp again, without raising his head, he touched the strings in a low, mournful strain that at once hushed the assembly. The music grew clearer and sweeter as it proceeded, till, catching the recurrence of the measure where the air was most plaintively tender, Red Kennedy lifted up his voice and countenance together, and sung again, in Irish Health to the fair dove of the green waving groves of Moyliffey! Hither, clear shooting star of the woods, and do his errand who pledges you in bitter tears; Eastward with the course of the ships; and the ringing of hammers will guide you To where the churls are forging chains for your people in the black Massey More of London. There is a corpse there before the chapel altar: his mouth is sealed with the oil of peace, And his hands clasped over the cross of his salvation. Alight at his bier head, fair voyager of the dews of morning, And whisper the message of my heart in the ear of the mighty Gerald. "Son of Garret More, I weep not that death has unlocked your prison; For better all the clay of the earth upon your breast, than one closed door between your warm heart and the friends you loved. I weep not that my nation have been left without their head of protection; For, proudly where the old tree stood the young branch of nobleness still spreads his shelter over the people. I weep not that the fire is quenched on the broad hearthstone of your father's dwelling ; For the deeds of a traitor move not the tears of indignant men: But I weep, and my tears fall faster and hotter, When I think that Gerald of the open hand was left to die alone in a land of strangers! “Oh, had I been with you! these hands should have attended you; This voice should have soothed you with the songs you used to ask for by night! But your attendant was the rude son of the fetterlock; The hands of the rough jailer wiped the cold moisture from your brow; No kindly nurse to hold the cup of refreshment to your lips, Nor word of comfort till the good priest bade you prepare for the road to heaven Oh, my sweet master, that I had been with you! Your eyes should never have been closed by the hands of a stranger! My tears are dried up: there are martial trumpets sounding In the midst of the camp of the silken-vested son of Gerald ; There are iron breastplates flashing in the light of a hundred watch fires, There are strong kerns without, with battle-axes, broad-bladed and blueshining: There are noble gentlemen within, with heads of wise counsel and undaunted hearts of valour Son of Garret More, I will not weep; there will soon be tears enough of Saxon widows Bewailing the day that saw you left to die alone in a land of strangers! The music had grown louder and more rapid in the last stanza; and although, in the preceding parts of the lay, there were few there who had not been in tears, the approbation, at its conclusion, was as fiercely vehement as before."Let my cousin Thomas but give me fifty men," cried one of the Fitzgeralds, starting to his feet, "and I will make a dash into the pale tonight! There's a garrison of churls in Tristledermot, and I'll lay my gold chain to a kern's belt, that I bring in a score of their heads before this time tomorrow!" "Get to your bed, Maurice," said Sir Oliver; "the wine and grief are turning your brain. 'Fore God, I think we had all better get to bed," he continued, rising, and brushing a tear from 66 his eyes; we have a hard day's riding before us tomorrow, and I am myself ill able to keep up a revel after what has happened this evening." On this they broke up, and Talbot retired to his quarters for the night. Next morning, he could not but reproach himself for the ill success of his mission. Many arguments now suggested themselves that he had not urged before; many oversights also, and faults of judgment, as it seemed to him, in the manner of his putting those he had already used. He therefore besought a second interview with Lord Thomas but, so far as the prospect of : accommodation was concerned, with the same ill success as before. "Well, my lord," he said, when he had exhausted every argument, "I can but thank you for your courtesy in listening to me so long, and relieve you of the subject, which I well believe is a disagreeable one to you." "It is a distressing one, Sir John," replied Fitzgerald, "firmly believing as I do that my father has been made away with by foul means, to enable these rapacious enemies of my house to confiscate the whole Geraldine possessions. But enough of this. You said, Sir John, you could explain some private reasons that induced you to think this ingrate did not betray me so much for the sake of money as for other causes." "My lord, you are aware we both sought the same lady's hand in marriage." gated him to fix the imputation of that crime on me by a still more desperate act of villainy. It was he himself who was the third murderer; he confessed it, my lord: he said he could not bear to see me united to the woman who had scorned him; and to be revenged, he stole my sword and dagger that night as they were taking the Archbishop away, and, entering in the dark with Teling and Wafer, left the one weapon in the prelate's body and threw the other under or behind my bed as he escaped; so that till God's fit time I lay under a seemingly manifest conviction of the act." "I have been greatly deceivedgrossly practised on indeed !" exclaimed Lord Thomas; "human nature is a worse thing than I ever thought it to be before. But, now that he has gone to his account, Sir John, I pray God to forgive him, and to grant you long life and peace for the enjoyment of your recovered reputation; for I must bid you farewell, as I have to ride this morning on urgent affairs towards Mac Coghlan's country. Remember what I told you last night; and if ever you grow weary of their cabals and knaveries within the pale, count on a sure welcome with me and my merry men wherever we may be." Farewell, my lord; may God grant us all a happy issue out of this wild enterprize!" cried Talbot, wringing his hand, and in a few minutes after, each was riding at the head of his respective party in opposite directions through the forest. Talbot had scarce journeyed ten miles from the camp, when his little troop was thrown into some confusion by the approach of a considerable body of footmen, who. in their turn, startled at the sight of English cavalry, halted, and threw themselves into close order right across the road, which wound through steep banks on either side, forming a pass of considerable strength. "They are the advanced guard of the Lord Deputy's army," said one; "he always puts his kern to that service." "In my mind, they are Mac Coghlan's men," replied another. "More likely the Mac Gillpatricks out of Ossory," said a third; "for I heard that the Lord Butler, whom they serve, was expected in the borders of Kildare this week." "Push on," cried Talbot; "neither VOL. VI. Fitzpatrick nor Mac Coghlan ever had such a battle of galloglass as that under his banner! I would know the march of my own old troop as far as I could distinguish footman from cavalry. So ho, Art," he cried, riding up, "you are making a full leisurely retreat." . "Chorp an Chriost, Sir John," exclaimed the son of Connogher; "how came your nobleness here? I never thought to see you a living man again!" "You will hear the whole story from Neale Roe when you reach the camp," replied the knight; "I doubt not but he will have my adventure set in choice verse by the time you arrive. Meanwhile, Årt, I must push on, for I bear urgent news for the Lord Deputy. I must, besides, arrange to have our friend Norah sent in safety to your quarters." Art smiled, and pointed to a horse litter, which Talbot had not before observed in the rere. Norah's term of service was up, Sir John," said he, "when she left the bantierna safe at Saint Mary's. We had fled in that direction to deceive the churls, and fell in with them just as they reached the abbey gates; so I thought it better to make sure and bring her on with me. She is yonder with little Feargus, safe and sound, in the old litter. By the hand of my body, it has been the useful vehicle!" Talbot rode up, and having learned that Ellen was put safely into the hands of the abbess, presented little Feargus with his dagger, and with a general banaght leat, and a parting assurance to Barry Oge that he had not taken service with the churls, left his old comrades to pursue their way to the rebel camp, and pushed on with his own company as fast as the rugged nature of the roads would permit. But when he arrived at Maynooth, the Lord Deputy was gone with a body of cavalry to Tristledermot. Hither he followed him; but he was again late; Skeffington had started for Dublin the evening before. To Dublin, then, the knight bent his course; and on the seventh day from the date of his commission, laid the result of it before the Deputy and council. This duty performed, Sir John's next anxiety was for some means of supporting the rank which R now assume he and his wife must among their equals. In the friendship of Cromer he had every trust, and he knew that, for the present, they could experience no difficulty; but when he began to reflect on the necessity of providing for the future, he was obliged to confess to himself that the prospect was dark enough to justify even more melancholy forebodings than he felt disposed to indulge in. Pondering these sad thoughts, he rode slowly from the castle towards Christ's church for the road to Hoggin Green was blocked up by some workmen repairing the Dame's gate, and he had to go round by Francis-st. to make his way thither. When he came to Skinner's Row, he could not resist the desire of taking a passing look at the house of his friend the ruined merchant, for whose liberation he had been laying many plans during the last two days; but he was struck with great astonishment to see the front of Master Harvey's warehouse exhibit precisely the same appearance it had presented when he saw that worthy trader last. There were the identical bales and boxes, the cases of cutlery and piles of rich armour-all as if the last year had passed in the space of a single day. A porter, as was usual at the hour, was sprinkling the dusty footpath from a jar of water. He started back with a look of joyful recognition when he saw the knight, and ran into the warehouse exclaiming" By the devil, Master Harvey, here is Master O'Regan-I beg his nobleness's pardon-Sir John Talbot himself at the door!" Next moment Talbot's hand was in the grasp of the good merchant. 66 Why, Master Harvey," he exclaimed, "in God's name, how is this? I thought you were a ruined man!" "Come in, come in, Sir John, and I will tell you all," cried Harvey, his countenance bright with extreme good humour. " Marry, there are some here that you will be glad to see. But, Sir John, as I am a true man, I have been searching for you throughout Ireland for the last three months, but all in vain: Drogheda, Armagh, Kells-not a town in Oriel or Meath that I have not ransacked in search of you." "I can answer for that," said Peter; "it was between Kells and Raheen I lost your honor's track last; and if you but knew the handling I met with on the road-But no matter; I may sing with the rogue-they called him Sheridan-that travelled the last stage with me 'I through Ireland twice have walked, Once besides through Moatogrenge." "Hold, your peace, sirrah," said the merchant," and lead round his nobleness's horse." "But, Master Harvey, I have not yet seen my wife, who lies at the abbey." 66 Why, to tell you the truth, Sir John, when Mrs. Harvey heard that she was there, she would not rest till the good lady abbess consented to let her come to us for a season; and there was, too, as I believe, some report of fever going among the sisters; so that, in fact, my Lady Talbot is up stairs." "Fever! she is well, I trust ?" "As well, Sir John, as heart could wish; but before you go to her I must tell you, that all is well here too ;" and he pointed to the cabinet in which he had deposited the jewels. "So wronged a man you never heard of as I have been, Sir John; but thanks be to God, I am out of their clutches now, and God bless the good Archbishop of Armagh, say I; if it had not been for him, I would have been a beggared man this day. But I will tell you all about the charges they brought against me, and how I cleared myself before the whole council, when we have time to sit down by and by; for I see a friend of yours coming here that must speak with you first." It was Dame Keating. “Kinsman, can you forgive me?" she said, coming forward with her brother from the inner apartment. Talbot extended a hand to each with frank good will. "Forgive you, Dame Margaret?" he said; "I must be at war with all the world if I resent what you once thought of me; and, Father Thomas, it would take good cause to make me quarrel with you after the good service you did me that day in Saint Patrick's!" Here Dame Harvey came forth smiling, and with an air of considerable importance. "Ah, dame," cried the knight, taking the hand she held out, and cordially saluting her, "it was not thus we parted that day I left you sprinkling little |