der his surveillance.

CHAPTER XIV.--Reilly takes Service with Squire Folliard.

Reilly led a melancholy life after the departure of the pious bishop. A
week, however, had elapsed, and he felt as if it had been half a year.
His anxiety, however, either to see or hear from his _Cooleen Bawn_
completely overcame him, and he resolved, at all events, to write to
her; in the meantime, how was he to do this? There was no letter-paper
in the farmer's house, nor any to be procured within miles, and, under
these circumstances, he resolved to pay a visit to Mr. Brown. After some
trouble he was admitted to the presence of that gentleman, who could
scarcely satisfy himself of his identity; but, at length, he felt
assured, and asked him into the study.

"My dear Reilly," said he, "I think you are infatuated. I thought you
had been out of the country long before this. Why, in heaven's name, do
you remain in Ireland, when you know the difficulty of escape? I
have had, since I saw you last, two or three domiciliary visits from
Whitecraft and his men, who searched my whole house and premises in a
spirit of insolence that was, most indelicate and offensive. Hastings
and I have sent a memorial to the Lord Lieutenant, signed by some of the
most respectable Protestant gentry in the, country, in which we
stated his wanton tyranny as well as his oppression of his Majesty's
subjects--harmless and loyal men, and whom he pursues with unsatiable
vengeance, merely because they are Roman Catholics. I certainly do not
expect that our memorial will be attended to by this Administration.
There is a report, however, that the present Ministry will soon go out,
and be succeeded by one more liberal."

"Well," replied Reilly, "since I saw you last I have had some narrow
escapes; but I think it would be difficult to know me in my present
disguise."

"I grant that," said Mr. Brown, "but then is there nothing to be
apprehended from treachery?"

"I think not," replied the other. "There is only the farmer and his
family, with whom the bishop and I harbored, who are aware of my
disguise, and to that number I must now add yourself."

"Well," replied Mr. Brown, smiling, "I do not think you have much to
apprehend from me."

"No," said Reilly, "you have given me too many substantial proofs of
your confidence for that. But I wish to write a letter; and I have
neither pen, ink, nor paper; will you be good enough to lend me the use
of your study for a