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CHAPTER XLIII.

A FRENCH ALARM.

MR. WADDELL was very fond of what he called summary justice. It suited his quick temper exactly to catch, convict, and chastise a croppy" within the hour, if practicable, and to be himself captor, judge, and jury. Consequently, when he reached his abode, and had provided himself with some disinfectant against the dreaded typhus, he constituted himself into a court of justice without delay, though the hour was midnight, and commanded the prisoner to be brought before him.

The magistrate and his three satellite companions sat at the dining-room table, which bore the usual burden of punch jugs and claret; also the pen and ink bottle of the establishment, and a large ledger, loosely scrawled over in the very indifferent handwriting of the secretary satellite. Herein a sort of record of Mr. Ulick Waddell's magisterial performances was kept; and the size of the volume had considerable effect in awing the vulgar. The very fact of the writing going on before their eyes-stereotyping their offences, as it were-struck the weakminded among them with a sort of despair. Another imposing effect was produced by the yeoman cavalry uniform in which Mr. Waddell always appeared on such occasions-the heavy sword, helmet, jack-boots, and buckskin breeches, with a black stock of great stiffness and discomfort to the throat.

So the first sight that met the shivering vision of the Philomath as he was ushered over the threshold, was the coup-d'œil of sword, helmet, and punch jug grouped in front on the shining mahogany; and Mr. Waddell's face over them (somewhat in the manner of a

crest over a coat of arms), rather purpler than usual, and with vengeful eyes. He could not forget his late exposure to infection, and its possible results; for which, in reality, would the prisoner be punished, rather than for the more venial offence of "croppyism." Some papers were produced, as having been found in the pockets of Mr. O'Doherty—a bundle of dirty-looking ballads, printed on the coarsest discoloured paper, and a few manuscripts. The ballads looked as if they had been in the fire and snapped out of it ere they began to blaze-which was indeed the truth, as the Philomath had endeavoured thus to destroy them; but the vigilance of his guards intercepted the intention. And Mr. O'Doherty gave himself up for lost thenceforth, with as good grace as a man could who was fond of his life.

Mr. Waddell opened the parcel, and drew out one long strip. "A rebelly song, I'll be bound," says he, holding the paper at a certain focus, like a person not very well accustomed to reading. "What! the Shan van vocht!'-look, O'Brien, isn't the chorus the 'Shan van vocht? The most rebelly chorus in creation, isn't it, O'Brien ?" who echoed that it was, and, at his superior's bidding, read aloud some of the verses: we give the verse next to that quoted in the last chapter.

"Where will the Frenchman have their camp? says the Shan van vocht; Where will they have their camp? says the Shan van vocht.

On the Curragh of Kildare:

The boys they will be there,

With their pikes in good repair, says the Shan van vocht.”

Further the ballad goes on to promise the presence of "Lord Edward" on the Curragh, and predicts that the yeomen would throw off the "red and blue" in favour of the "immortal green." All present were greatly horrified, more especially the prisoner; who indeed had best reason, seeing that the ballad was likely to work most immediate consequences in his own case.

"Now, sir," says the magistrate fiercely, eyeing him, "what have you to say for yourself? How did you come in possession of these seditious and rebelly songs? If you were a loyal subject of his Majesty's, you would never have kept such things in your pocket an instant. You would fling them out like—like scorpions,” concluded Mr. Waddell, with a very indistinct idea of what a scorpion was.

The Philomath, in sore dismay, cleared his throat, and put up his rope-tied hands to his mouth as he did so. A line of defence did not immediately present itself to his terrified imagination.

"I would just compendiously obsarve, most honourable sirs," he began, with one of his usual low bows, to the four gentlemen who were sitting in judgment on him, and whom he saw through the mist of immeasureable social distance at that moment, poor man-"I would just compendiously obsarve, that it is a new thing to have persons of our peaceful and literarious profession, teachers of the seven sciences, and Philomaths by name, charged with the heinous criminality——'

"Do you mean to deny, sir, that these rebelly ballads were found in your pockets?" shouted the magistrate, who understood about every third word of the defence.

"Allow me to ask your honourable person to use a suspension of judgment till I elucidate my signification," said Mr. O'Doherty, with a shiver of his little spirit within him. cannot deny

“ I

"Listen to that, I cannot deny'-put that down, O'Brien: you see he admits it."

The unfortunate schoolmaster turned of a greenish hue.

"I beg your most honourable pardon," stammered he; "but -but- I didn't elucidate strictly what it was I couldn't deny. I meant to declare that I hadn't a thought of disrespectful disloyalty against his most noble Majesty George the Third--"