"Now ye may go back to Fireball "—Mr. Waddell's sobriquet among the peasantry-" an' tell him this is more of the typus, an' that we've an iligant coffin ready for himself any day he likes," says Myles Furlong, the leader, tapping the long yellow box on the lid. "See, it's nothing but stones that's in it at present, an' they're aisy turned out for a betther tinant." And so the yeomen, despoiled of muskets, swords, accoutrements, and horses, were left to find their way wherever they pleased, or wherever they were able.

The schoolmaster appeared quite as much alarmed as delighted at his deliverance; having an idea that, in addition to his previous offences, he would certainly be held responsible for this whole outrage and its consequences. The hilarity around him in the mob, while they conducted him away as in a triumphal procession, he sitting on the yellow coffin, with Myles Furlong before him whipping up the horse, had little response in his rueful face.

"Well, ov all the plans for risin' the neighbours, give me a coffin an' a couple of good keeners," observed Myles. "I see it thried in the north, an' it answered iligant: they all came like shot from every place anyway within hearin'. I think we could clear a fair now, boys."

Considering that about a thousand men were in the gathering, this was no rash supposition. A chorus of laughter greeted it; for the keening was all silent now that there was no longer any pretence to be served by the noise.

"So when I heerd tell, as I was serenadin' about Fireball's place, to find out what himself an' the yeos was goin' to do wid this poor man"-patting the schoolmaster's lank shoulder-" when I heerd tell he was to be sint to Wexford, Throth,' sez I to meself, I'll borry a coffin somewhere, an' rise the country;' an' so we did, grand, didn't we, boys? An' I defy 'em ever to have

heard a purtier keen than we gev 'em, an' thrated 'em very dacent, only to take the guns and soords of 'em."

"I'm sincerely obligated to all my kind friends," said the poor schoolmaster, with an effort at a bland bow. "I'm only sorry that I circumstantially needed their most amiable assistance on this unfortunate occasion; and I'll do my best, gintlemen, never to require your sympathetic and amiable assistance in this way agin.”

"How lovely he rowls the English off ov his tongue,” whispered a female admirer audibly. "It's long till you'd spake that iligant way, Shamus;" which made the addressed one sulky for the rest of the march.

Thenceforth Mr. O'Doherty had to be "in hiding." He could work for the society just as effectively as ever; nay, more effectively, because he required to keep up no appearances with reference to his hedge-school. The skulking life was not so agreeable to him; but his sense of self-importance was flattered by the deference paid to his scholastic acquirements, and by his real valué to the agents of the United Irishmen.

That organization was spreading extensively, not only in Wexford, but in many other counties hitherto untainted. It had assumed a much more dangerous phase of existence. The purchase of arms, and the training of its members to use them, were now avowed objects of the society. In one district the members had resolved that, "all money or subscriptions received for this society shall go to the use of buying pikes." In the county of Antrim were twenty-two thousand men enrolled, and possessed of a most formidable assortment of weapons, including even eight pieces of artillery. To this had the boasted confederacy of universal brotherhood come.

So cleverly was the conspiracy organized, that rapid communication between all the seditious of the kingdom could be effected by the committees of districts-baronial, provincial, and national—

as described in a former chapter; while the arrest, and even the confession of individual members, could scarce endanger more than themselves. But the greatest pains were taken to protect those members arrested; large sums were spent in their support, and in retaining counsel for their defence. This fact further maintained the unity of the society; for each conspirator felt himself under unseen protection and care.

CHAPTER XLV.

PER SLOW COACH.

In the long straggling High Street of the village of Doon, was one neat-looking little shop, which struck the passer-by as affording a most marked contrast to the other shops of the place. Whereas they were in perpetual disorder, unpainted and unwashed, with things for sale huddled helplessly in the windows, and but dimly visible through the dusty and fly-spotted glass, this single specimen was clean and orderly, bright as to brasses and panes, freshcoloured as to paint and scoured boards. The broad window contained a tastefully arranged assortment of goods for wearbeing callimancoes, shalloons, serges, Wildbore and Durant stuffs -materials unknown to our more modern dressers, but which did durable service in their own day. A miscellaneous selection of other desirable matters was also presented to view; the most ambitious piece of property being a lady's camlet riding-hood, which was set on a stand of eminence as the crown of all.

Early as the hour was this August day, when few beside the poultry were up and stirring, a deft woman's hand was shaking out and settling the stuffs before mentioned in the newly dusted

window. You could have told what sort of person that hand belonged to, without seeing any further: you would have guessed her to be an orderly, plump, natty person, with a comfortable, wellregulated mind. The face in the tight little white cap, which looked out after the hand, confirmed this character. It was a face accustomed to a quiet doing of duty, and ruffled by no breezes either of excessive mirth or any passionate feeling: a face which would keep its youth long in consequence, though Tabitha Taverner was now quite a middle-aged woman. But she had lived the even and peaceful life of the Friends from childhood, and reaped their reward of composure, mentally and physically.

A pretty girl, her daughter, was rolling lace on a card at the counter. A bald-headed man, her husband, was peering with spectacles over some letters and papers, apparently sorting them, and occasionally putting some into a soiled leather bag beside him. He was the postmaster of Doon, and was making up the mail for Dublin, to send by the coach passing through the village, and due presently.

It passed every second morning in those primitive times, returning every second evening, and was considered quite a recklessly rapid conveyance; for by its means people residing fifty miles off could reach the metropolis in a single day-an alarming innovation, dating back only a few years. Doctor Kavanagh intended to attempt the enterprise this morning, and rattled up the sunny street presently on his car, drawing as many of the inhabitants as were awake to their doors, with little regard to the purely personal consideration of attire; drawing likewise a following of little boys, some with sundry straws in their curly heads from the night's lair, and all with remarkably scant garments, of the kilt species; who raced after the car, uttering shouts of exhilaration, the most agile catching the back-rail, and getting lifted from the road for a few paces with a delightful swing; and the soft-hearted rector would

never allow a hind sweep of the whip to disturb their pastime, but weakly made as though he heard not.

"Here is friend Kavanagh, the minister," quoth Mrs. Tabitha from the window. "It grieveth me to see him growing infirm lately thee was saying, Ephraim, that he looked shaken-like. I fear me that his son is small comfort to his old age, with his newfangled notions like the French people."

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'Maybe so—maybe not," cautiously replied the postmaster, his lean finger between two piles of letters. "Thee hath a woman's tongue, Tabitha ;" which he intended to be reproof. "Good morning, friend," he said, as the rector entered the little shop. "Tabitha, find the minister a chair.”

"The coach is overdue," said Doctor Kavanagh, after the usual salutations; whereupon Ephraim drew a silver watch, little smaller than a tea-cup, from his fob, hauling it to the surface by a voluminous black string and seals, and affirmed likewise that the coach was overdue, by five minutes. This daily want of punctuality was one of the crosses in the orderly Quaker's life: nothing short of railway regularity could have satisfied him.

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"Great news from the Continent," said he in the pause: Lafayette is released from Olmutz." A characteristic of the cautious Ephraim was that he never would speak about Irish politics or current events. No news of the neighbourhood was to be looked for from him, rife as the people's tongues every day were with incidents of disturbance: he never seemed to know of houses burnt down by the disaffected or by the military; and the village might ring with outrage, and he remain serene in his neutrality. An opinion as to the merits of either party could never be extorted from him; but he was ready to talk of the foreign news-of what was going on in the Italian campaign or the French Directory, of the mutiny at Spithead, or of Nelson's unsuccessful attack on Teneriffe; but, of the forty soldiers of the Monaghan