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know that you are accounted a black sheep and that fills up the measure of your English blood-but think as you may the church must not be arraigned. Listen, the fiat was fixed and has gone forth; English and Irish Protestants, without distinction of age or the tottering helpless old, to whom the grave would soon give guiltless refuge -playful and joyous youth, looking to pluck the flowers of life through long returns of happy spring-vigorous manhood rejoicing in its strength-the blooming bride at the heretic altar, and the minister dispensing its false ritesthe matron instructing her children, their common fate the surer, if the book be the Bible and even the smiling infant reposing on the maternal bosom -all, all must perish." An uncontroulable humanity made the priest eloquent beyond his intention, and he who rebuked the feelings of his auditors, could not suppress his own. The slave of bigotry indulged for a moment in the liberty of nature-his bosom heaved convulsively-he covered his face with his hands; when he removed them, tears were visible-he resumed. "You, De Lacy, must fly; brother Denis, you may stay; your office will protect "Give me leave! God's my life!" passionately exclaimed the good old man. "What! stay to witness crimes and horrors which I could not prevent! no, never! I'll shake the dust from my feet against you, and would leave my curse behind, but that you sufficiently curse yourselves." "The church, brother, the church! you forget yourself," uttered the friar in an under voice. "Man! man!" replied Denis, "how came you to forget the church, in yielding thus to the claims of gratitude and humanity?" Therein," replied the Friar, "I have an account to settle with my conscience the conflict has been severe between opposing obligations before I took this step. It is that conflict that delayed the communication even to the eleventh hour-you must make good and rapid use of the twelfth. In it, even now, perhaps, the work of extirpation has commenced. Mark me-with all your powers of attention

you."

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mark me!-your own servants—your most favoured dependents-even he whose life you so recently saved along with mine, at the imminent hazard of your own-yes, even he, and all, are sworn to your death, and will redeem their oath if you do not immediately fly. I know, Mr. De Lacy, the state of your finances. I am a Franciscan, sworn to voluntary poverty, but the ample and extensive power of indulgences, which my Order confers upon me, is a source of riches of which I avail myself to pious purposes." Here the friar drew forth a large leathern purse-“ Take this, it will supply present wants, and here is a letter to the superior of our establishment in Brussels. Should you need further pecuniary assistance, present it; and here," pulling a volume from his pocket, "here is a book of emblems, which I got at Padua some twenty years ago. It has been my companion since— under the symbol of gratitude, write my name, and remember me.* Farewell, my son! If you will accept a blessing at these hands, I invoke it on your head. Farewell, brother Denisfly, fly De Lacy, you have not a moment to lose. Even now, mayhap, the assassin approaches, and his knife is uplifted against the bosom of his benefactor." A hasty and strong embrace terminated this awful and soul-harrowing conference. The friar departed, and they never saw him more.

For a brief space, De Lacy and his venerable friend were confounded by the imminent peril of their situation. The knowledge that their own house, servants and dependents were pledged to the league of blood, scarcely left to them the power to act or know what to resolve on. In this state of paralyzed indecision, Father Denis, addressing De Lacy, said, in a tremulous, but solemn, voice-" My son, let us pray!" Both sunk on their knees, and this short supplication proceeded from the good old man :—

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"O! God of power and mercy, look down, in this hour of peril, upon thy creatures, helpless in all but thy protection. Let thy strong arm lead us in safety, and prolong our lives to thy ser

vice; or, if it be thy blessed will that we shall perish, strengthen us in resignation to thy decrees, and in humble and confiding faith in the atoning merits of that holy Saviour who has set to us the example of suffering, and the forgiveness of our enemies."

The prayer was heard, and they rose from their knees, with somewhat of inspiration to energy and action. Father Denis had some small savings in money, his benevolence would not let them be much. His wardrobe, (excepting linen), was not cumbersome, and his books were few-a breviary, St. Augustine, and a Bible. His loved angle-rod, made by himself, and flies, were abandoned. De Lacy gathered up his family papers, portable articles of value, and his mother's jewels, among which were a diamond necklace, earrings, bracelets, and stomacher rose or brooch, which, if obliged to dispose of, would bring to him a very considerable supply. His heart had not yet fixed upon her to whom they should have been an heir-loom. All that could be carried away, was quickly packed in two large portmanteaus of the fashion of the time, and with which gentlemen were then wont to travel on horse-back, post coaches being not then known. With strong arm, De Lacy placed a package on either shoulder, and proceeded cautiously through the house, followed by his aged friend. The domestics were all in bed, and, notwithstanding the dreadful purpose that was to cloud the rising sun of the 23rd of October with horrors, unexampled in the darkest pages of history, they all slept-yes, O heavenly power, who hast made man a creature of such conflicting wonders they all slept !-their snorings were heard in passing their dormitory.

We leave to the imagination of the reader, or to the experience of him who has quitted a paternal home for ever, to picture the emotions of De Lacy, as he glanced at the memorials of his childhood. The elaborately carved oak arm-chairs, nearly black with age, and which were wont to be occupied by his deceased parentstheir portraits, together with others of his ancestors, which he was forced to leave behind, in their places against the walls, the prey of infuriated barbarians. Those of his dear and honored father, and, if possible, still dearer

mother, seemed to look upon him as if intelligent of a pitying and last farewell, beaming a melancholy sympathy with his forlorn and exigent condition; but, when he entered his stable, to saddle two of his strongest and fleetest hunters, blame him not, child of feeling, if the greater pang of the heart was awakened by the low and affectionate whine of his sporting dogs, gathered around and jumping on him. To leave these fond and faithful animals (the companions of many a happy day's field sports), a prey to wanton cruelty or starvation, gave birth to a feeling so keenly painful as only to be conceived by the guiltless and good heart, and sensitive mind. There was also in the same stable, and in the next stall to him, a strong poney mare of the old Irish dun breed, which he was accustomed to ride short distances, and when paying visits. Mousey was quite a pet, took bread from her master's hand, followed him like a dog, and recognised his voice or step. She, poor animal, rose from a recumbent posture on De Lacy's entering the stable, whinnowed gently, and stretched her neck and head across the division of the stall as if to salute him—to leave her to be ridden, probably, to death, in promotion of deeds of cruelty and blood, inflicted an additional and severe pang upon his heart; but, leave her to the mercy of the savages, he mustno other choice was left him. patted her head, while the tears sprung to his eyes. He hastened to saddle the hunters, and seek relief in action and in danger. The portmanteaus strapped on behind the saddles, the horses were softly led out. Stealthily, and with the wish that the steeds were

He

shod with felt," they gained the outer gate, and both well armed; for even Father Denis made up his mind to the use of a pair of horse-pistols, if necessary. They mounted, and De Lacy departed from the home of his fathers. Oh! what depravation of the human heart, through the influence of fanaticism and bigotry, when the kind master, and benevolent, indulgent, and protecting landlord was thus forced to avail himself of the sleeping hour of his servants, to effect his escape from the murderer who claimed the service of God to sanctify worse than the crimes of demons.

The emigration of the Irish protestants in 1833, is not without the impulse of the savage and unpitying spirit of 1641; popery, although not arisen, en masse, to simultaneous and indiscriminate massacre, is selecting its victims in detail, and the blood of our pious and exemplary ministers of the gospel, cries to heaven for that vengeance which, sooner or later, will fall heavily on the evil-doers, and their instigators. There is another impulse to protestant expatriation in our day, the wicked avarice, and stultified blindness of landlords-these, too, will meet with correction.

De Lacy's residence was situated on the borders of the counties of Longford and Westmeath. As he and his preceptor rode onward with all the power and speed of their horses, they could perceive, as the daylight broke, groupes of peasantry collecting on the hills, and met smaller parties on the road, all preparing for the great commission of demonism to be opened on the following day. Father Denis's clerical garb and his answers to the interrogatories put to them, was the passport of both, and they reached Dublin in safety. Not a moment was lost in communicating with the government, against which duty of loyalty, De Lacy received no injunction from the friar, and which, if he had, he would have justly disregarded. His purpose was to have proceeded to the continent, and entered the military service, there flatteringly open to Irish gentlemen, while at home it was partially or altogether closed: circumstances changed his destination in a way which would appear romance, but that every day life furnishes instances of the fortunes of individuals being shaped and determined by combinations and contingencies equally strange and unlooked for. History ascribes to a man named Connolly or O'Connolly, as Clarendon calls him, the first discovery of the bursting

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forth rebellion, and the intention of the conspirators in the metropolis to possess themselves of the castle, its magazines, and the persons of the Lords Justices, Sir William Parsons, and Sir John Borlace. These functionaries, men of small parts, were incredulous to the mighty and impending danger, as was the Irish government in 1803, until De Lacy presented himself before them, and furnished corroboration, which commanded their attention and exertions.

Indeed, the justices were not greatly to blame in not yielding ready credence to O'Connolly: his character was such as to preclude the confidence of any but the most ignorant, credulous, and unreflecting; he was a liar even to a proverb; intriguing, scheming, and tergiversating: what he said one day, or the opinion he maintained, he would, on the next, unsay, or contradict, with an audacity that bore down common sense before it,-he would do anything to obtain money but rob on the highway, and for that he had not physical courage. What he did let out respecting the conspiracy to seize the castle, (which, indeed, was all that he knew) escaped him in a fit of drunkenness. Borlace considered it due to De Lacy to make him the bearer of despatches to the Lord Deputy, then in London, communicating to him those events.

The demoniacal spirit of the Irish insurrection, as briefly described by Friar Mac Carthy, was by this time in full practical confirmation. Its character needs no exaggeration from the powers of fiction, and from the novelist we refer our readers to the historian, Hume.

A universal massacre commenced of the English, now defenceless, and passively resigned to their inhuman foes. No age, no sex, no condition was spared. The wife weeping for her butchered husband, and embracing her helpless children, was pierced with

them, and perished by the same stroke. The old, the young, the vigorous, the infirm, underwent a like fate, and were confounded in one common ruin. In vain did flight save from the first assault: destruction was every where let loose, and met the hunted victims at every turn. In vain was recourse had to relations, to companions, to friends: all connexions were dissolved, and death was dealt by that hand from which protection was implored and expected. Without provocation, without opposition, the astonished English, living in profound peace and full security, were massacred by their nearest neighbours, with whom they had long upheld a continual intercourse of kindness and good offices." The pike was in active and exterminating service, and there were, no doubt, in that terrible day, ferocious and sanguinary ruffians, with steeled hearts, who made merit of furnishing the handles from their own plantations!

We turn from this horribly revolting picture of debased nature, and human depravity and pursue our narrative.De Lacy and his friend proceeded to London, and the former lost no time in presenting himself to the Earl of Leicester, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, then in London, and delivering his despatches. What followed thereon, in respect to Ireland, is matter of history. There was, at that moment, in the British capital and popular temper, much to grieve our emigrants as to political prospects, and alarm them for their personal safety. Puritanism and republicanism were progressing together, and combining their influence on the public mind, both were opposed to the kindred authorities of episcopacy and monarchy; and the popular hatred of popery did not prevent the mobs from insulting with opprobrious terms, or even assailing churchmen in the streets. The spirit of the republican and leveller, gaining ascendancy in the House of Commons, was caught up by the populace. The Lords, because of their exclusive position in society, and supposed or imputed attachment to the throne and existing sovereign, were accustomed to be designated by the contemptuous epithets, "Rotten Lords, &c. That some, as in our own day, were false and rotten to their political duty, may not be doubted, and it is not VOL. I.

improbable but that tumultuary assemblages of the people were made use of as instruments towards ultimate objects, by the republican party in both houses of parliament-such wicked agency to power and change has not grown obsolete.

While De Lacy was making arrangements to his future adventurous course in life, it behoved him and Father Denis to observe caution and privacy as much as possible. The English suspected of Popery were objects of distrust and hate, but the Irish, under the circumstances of the moment, were peculiarly so. They lodged in the neighbourhood of the Temple, within the Bar, and, except on lenten days, when they literally fasted, were accustomed to dine at an adjacent tavern. It was a great resource to Father Denis's quiet and retired disposition, to saunter in the Temple gardens, and occasionally, in a yet lingering sunny hour, to sit on one of the seats, reading his favourite St. Augustine or the Bible; thus doubly armed against political observation, according as the character of the observer chanced to be. He was thus occupied one day, when a respectable looking personage, having in his hand a newspaper, the mean and scanty predecessor of the public press of our times, seated himself on the same bench. As he read to himself, the exclamations “horrible! devilish!" frequently escaped him; then turning full upon Father Denis, he said, "Have we

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not cause, Sir, to thank God that we are not Irish?" Give me leave, Sir," answered the Father, "it is fitting that we thank God for all things, but I am an Irishman." The good old man was thrown off his guard, his nationality overcame his prudent reserve. exclamations and observation of the stranger appeared to have been provoked by details of the atrocities and cruelties of which Ireland was then the the scene.

The

"Is it not unaccountably strange, Sir," added the stranger, "that a religion which its divine founder gave to his creatures, as the bond of peace and universal love, should be converted into the instrument of discord, hatred, and persecution?" It would be strange," replied the Father, "if the corruption of our nature did not reconcile the anomaly; the grace of God must pre

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pare the heart for the reception of truth, and the comprehension and practice of Christian charity, or the seeds of the gospel fall upon barren ground." "Then what a difference there is between the physical and moral soil of your country. Your priesthood are esteemed among the most learned in Europe; why is it that their mental cultivation produces to their country nothing but bitter fruits-the apples of Asphaltites?"

Because that it is not their country, but is governed by strangers." "When was it better governed? And why call your brethren of five centuries strangers?"

"What made them our brethren? the sword."

"It is the common introduction of nations to each other-it is in the wise dispensations of providence, and like the rod of the preceptor, hated by the pupil whose intellect it cultivates and interest it advances."

"We wanted no master." "True; you had them before Henry's invasion even to a curse. Your toparchs, your priests, your prejudices, and your brutal passions."

"God help us," groaned the Father, "the last curse is upon us still."

"Civilization is neither simultaneous nor voluntary. The sun does not shine with equal heat upon all parts of our globe at the same time. Civilization is a boon from the conqueror; an infliction only when resisted."

"Leave us our country and our religion, and let us civilize ourselves."

"Yes; had the Romans so left us here in Britain, we might still have our druids, our human sacrifices, and our painted bodies; where would be the arts and their noble monuments which surround us? What has your religion done for your country? Blood and massacre are bad evidence to civilization and Christianity. IRELAND MUST BE CONQUERED AGAIN."

"God in his mercy avert from my unhappy country the punishment which her crimes so loudly call for; no Christian can excuse her now."

This was the only reply of Father Denis, and after some further colloquy of no interest, they separated. In the course of the conversation the stranger learned about the simple priest and De Lacy all that was initiatory to further information. For some days

after, he occasionally frequented the tavern resorted to by our emigrants, and contrived to get into such easy and unreserved conversation, as to satisfy himself fully of their characters, and political principles; while on them, his manners and accordant sentiments made a favourable impression. One evening just as the stranger was departing, he slipped into De Lacy's hand a note, and hastily disappeared. Its contents were "Sir, if you will meet me at Durham Stairs, by eight of the clock to-morrow morning, and commit yourself to my guidance, I will afford you an opportunity of approving the loyal devotion which appears to form so strong a feature in your character. You must be silent to your aged friend, and ask no questions before the waterman. I claim your confidence and will not abuse it."

The perusal of this note gave birth to various and deeply interesting conjectures in De Lacy's mind. No man possessed more personal courage, but the extraordinary circumstances of the times, and the excited and rancorous spirit of party, reasonably dictated caution. He could not tell but that the stranger might be a parliamentary agent, and himself and companion suspected of being dangerous emissaries of the tottering court. Half the night was passed in anxious indetermination; he was restricted, too, from communicating with his aged friend on the subject; however, besides his natural disposition to adventure, the appeal in the stranger's note to "his devoted loyalty," prevailed, and, ere he closed his eyes, his mind was made up to meet the stranger and the events of the morrow. He was at Durham stairs, a slip or access to the Thames, at the appointed hour, and found the stranger waiting for him: few words were exchanged; they entered a barge, or sculler, and the expert and merry waterman, pulled lustily at his oars, and sped his way up the Thames, like an arrow from a bow. Late as it was in the season, this noble river, although less magnificent than his native Shannon, engaged on either side of its banks, the admiring attention of De Lacy. The ancient and venerable piles-the yet enduring monuments of England's glory, and connected with her religion, her laws, and her kings; the palaces of her nobles, the villas of her