eaving the garrison with all the honours
of war; and, 'faith, the sheriff was only too glad to comply.'

'Bob Mahon is certainly a bold fellow, and never hard pushed, whatever
you may do with him.'

'Bob Mahon!' said I: 'what of him?'

'Keatley has just been telling how he held the jail of Ennis for four
weeks against the sheriff. The jailer was an old tenant of his, and
readily came into his plans. They were victualled for a long siege, and
as the place was strong they had nothing to fear. When the garrison was
summoned to surrender, they put a charge of No. 4 into the sub-sheriff,
that made him move to the rear; and as the prisoners were all coming
from the assizes, they were obliged to let him have his own terms if he
'd only consent to come out. So they gave him twelve hours' law, and a
clear run for it? and he's away.'

This was indeed a very quick realisation of Father Tom's prediction, and
I joined in the mirth the story elicited--not the less readily that I
was well acquainted with the principal actor in it.

While the laughter still continued, the door opened, and a young
barrister stole into the room and whispered a few words into the ear of
the counsel for the prisoners. He leaned back in his chair, and pushed
his wine-glass hurriedly before him.

'What, Collinson!' cried the attorney-general, 'have they agreed?' 'Yes,
sir--a verdict of guilty.'

'Of course; the evidence was too home for a doubt,' said he, filling his
glass from the decanter.

A sharp glance from the dark eye of the opposite counsel was the only
reply, as he rose and left the room.

'Our friend has taken a more than common interest in this case,' was
the cool observation of the last speaker; 'but there was no getting
over Hanlon's testimony.' Here he entered into some detail of the trial,
while the buzz and confusion of voices became greater than ever. I took
this opportunity of making my escape, and joined Mrs. Rooney, who a
short time before had retired to the drawing-room.

Mrs. Paul had contrived, even in the short space since her arrival, to
have converted the drawing-room into a semblance of something like an
apartment in a private house--books, prints, and flowers, judiciously
disposed, as well as an open pianoforte, giving it an air of comfort and
propriety far different from its ordinary seeming. She was practising
Moore's newly-published song of, 'My from this world, dear Bessy, with
me,' as I entered.

'Pray, continue