ly death between you."

"Why, my dear Smellpriest--" exclaimed the wife.

"Don't call me Smellpriest," he replied, interrupting her; "my name is
Norbury. But it doesn't matter--it's all up with me, and I know it
will soon be all down with me; for down, down I'll go. Strong, you
hypocritical scoundrel, don't be a persecutor: look at me on the very
brink of perdition for it. And now the only comfort I have is, that I
let the poor Popish bishop off. I could not shoot him, or at any rate
make a prisoner of him, and he engaged in the worship of God."

"Alas!" whispered Strong, "the poor man is verging on rank Popery--he is
hopeless."

"But, Tom, dear," said the wife, "why are you displeased with me, your
own faithful partner? I that was so loving and affectionate to you?
I that urged you on in the path of duty? I that scoured your arms and
regimentals with my own hands--that mixed you your punch before you went
after the black game, as you used to say, and, again, had it ready for
you when you returned to precious Mr. Strong and me after a long hunt.
Don't die in anger with your own Grizzey, as you used to call me, my
dear Tom, or, if you do, I feel that I won't long survive you."

"Ah! you jade," replied Tom, "didn't I see the wink between you
to-night, although you thought I was drunk? Ah, these wild-goose
chases!"

"Tom, dear, we are both innocent. Oh, forgive your own Grizaey!"

"So I do, you jade--my curse on you both."

Whether it was the effort necessary to speak, in addition to the
excitement occasioned by his suspicions, and whether these suspicions
were well founded or not, we do not presume to say; but the fact was,
that, after another outgulp of blood had come up, he drew a long,
deep sigh, his under-jaw fell, and the wretched, half-penitent Captain
Smellpriest breathed his last. After which his wife, whether from
sorrow or remorse, became insensible, and remained in that state for a
considerable time; but at length she recovered, and, after expressing
the most violent sorrow, literally drove the Rev. Mr. Strong out of the
house, with many deep and bitter curses. But to return:

In a few minutes the parties dispersed, and Folliard, too much absorbed
in the fates of Reilly and Whitecraft, prepared to ride to Sligo, to
ascertain if any thing could be done for the baronet. In the meantime,
while he and his old friend Cummiskey are on their way to see that
gentleman, we will ask the attention of our readers