butive justice. As it was, not one single murder stained their hands throughout that general insurrection.* Long before noon of the following day, Castle Blayney was garrisoned by Eman Oge with his stout Farney men, and Blayney's troopers, "in durance vile," marvelling much, it may be, at the unlooked-for mercy shown them, especially as they had wounded some few of the insurgents before the castle was given up. Lord Blayney's wife and children were also captured, but he himself escaped to Dublin Castle with the news. It was understood among the chiefs that, for the present at least, Sir Phelim O'Neill was to act as commander-in-chief of the Ulster forces. As the head of the O'Neills he deemed himself entitled to the office, and flung himself with right good will into the stormy arena where his duties called him. Had he been a man of finer or more tender feelings, it would then have been a painful task, for but few days before he had laid in the grave the once-beloved wife of his youth. The terror of the approaching event, with all its fearful contingencies and possibilities, had hastened the progress of disease, and the gentle, but too timorous spirit of Lady O'Neill had fluttered out of its mortal tenement just in time to avoid the tumultuous warfare which so long after convulsed her native province. She was borne to the grave amid the loud wailing of her kinswomen from the plains of Iveagh, followed by a long and imposing array of O'Neills and Magennises, the latter headed by her two brothers, Sir Con and Bryan Magennis. Sir Phelim's mourning was not from his heart-his wife had latterly been more of a restraint on his actions than anything else, and such being the case he viewed her death at that particular juncture as a capital stroke of good luck. When her coffin was placed amongst the mouldering remains of her lordly ancestors in far Iveagh, and the tomb of the Magennises shut her for ever from his view; when he * All Protestant historians admit that during the first week of the rebellion-that is to say, in the first glowing outburst of recovered liberty, not one individual was put to death by the Irish. It was only when murders and massacres perpetrated on themselves drove them to it, that they adopted a system of retaliation. re knelt in prayer with her brothers and other near relatives for a short space before quitting the graveyard, his quiescat in pace" was breathed in all sincerity, for internally he added, "now, indeed, may I rest in peace, or rather do in peace that which it behoves me to do for myself and others! The great dread secret which gives me present rank and future riches came never to your ear. I kept that from you, Nora! because I knew it would neither gladden your heart nor smooth your last journey! God rest you, then, Nora Magennis! heaven to you this day-name and fame to me, and freedom to all our race! Up, brothers, clansmen of Iveagh!" he shouted, starting to his feet, "grief and affection have had their hour-now for freedom and revenge!" Anger was at first mingled with surprise on the faces of Nora's kinsmen, as they slowly arose and blessed themselves after their devotions. Even his own friends and followers looked surprised at the sudden, and, as it appeared, indecorous change in Sir Phelim's manner. Sir Con Magennis, after eyeing the other sternly for a moment, at last spoke: "Your words were more seemly, methinks, at another time. Neither the hour nor the place befits such discourse." "Nay, Sir Con Magennis, you shall hear what I have to say, and then judge if the tale be not one for churchyard bounds-ay! by my sacred hopes, it is one to make the dead clansmen of Iveagh start from beneath our feet, into vengeful life, their eyes charged with heaven's lightning to blast and burn the whole treacherous brood of robbers and murderers!" "Sir Phelim O'Neill," said the elder Magennis coldly, "we would have, if it so please you, this fresh count in the indictment-of what nature may it be that we are called on to hear it over our sister's dead body, as one may say?" O'Neill, folding his arms, wrapped his long cloak around him, and turned on his interlocutor an eye wherein his natural impetuosity struggled with the stern coldness which he deemed most fitting the occasion: "You pledged your word, Sir Con Magennis, to join us with all your clan so soon as Tyrone came in person to head the northern army-did you, or did you not?" 'Surely I did, and with God's help, I mean to do what I said I would do-at the first news of the Earl's landing on Irish ground the banner of Magennis is flung to the breeze." "Chieftain of Iveagh," said O'Neill in a voice hoarse with suppressed passion, "that news will you never hear the son of the great Earl will you never lay eyes upon. 'How so, man!-speak out and tell us what your words-your looks portendwhat of Tyrone ?" "They have murdered him, Con Magennis! The Sassenach has put him out of the way in the nick of time-oh! doleful news for me to tell!" A cry of horror escaped from every listener, but Magennis by a sign commanded silence: "Murdered him-did you say?—when? where?-they dare not -no, by St. Columb! they dare not." "I tell you they did-choked like a dog was he in his bed by night-yea, even in Brussels, where of late he had been awaiting the summons home!" "Sir Phelim O'Neill! are you suresure that this maddening news is true?" "As sure as that yon sun is clouded in the heavens. The carrier who brought me the sad tidings from Rory O'Moore in Dublin is still under my roof-you may see and speak with him when you list." Magennis made no answer, but the convulsive working of every feature, and the swollen veins on his white forehead, told a tale of mighty passion, beyond the power of words to express. "Your hand, O'Neill !" he faltered out after a pause of deep meaning; "who talks of delay now is an enemy to our just and holy cause-t -the axe is ready-before God it shall be laid to the root of the accursed tree ere many days go by. Brother!-kinsmen! what say ye?-shall we longer hug our chains?-shall we longer pocket wrongs and insults?-shall the blood of our slaughtered kindred longer cry to heaven unavenged?" A shout of execration, both loud and long, resounded through the graveyard, and each stout clansman grasped his skene, and muttered a stern vow, as Bryan Magennis bent his knee before his brother and chief, and swore from that day forward to wage unceasing war against the common enemy. "Home, then," cried the chieftain of Iveagh, "home, friends and kinsmen all, and speed ye in making all things ready -fare you well, O'Neill!-men of TyrOwen, fare ye weil !-God give us all stout hearts and strong arms to fight His battle and our own!-send me word, Sir Phelim, when the day is fixed on-as early as you will, let it be-and, on the faith of Magenuis, you shall hear of me and mine full soon!" So the chieftains parted, each declining the other's proffered hospitality; even the funeral festivities then deemed indispensable were for that time laid aside. Magennis kept his word, for in less than twenty-four hours after the receipt of Sir Phelim's fateful message, news was brought to the assembling clans that "NEWRY WAS TAKEN BY SIR CON MAGENNIS.' The words were like an electric shock, animating the tepid and the dull, giving life and warmth to the cold and passionless, and sending a thrill of hope through the hearts of all. At midnight the beacon of freedom blazed on the hilltops, and by the morning light the stout clansmen of the north were trooping in armed bands over highway and by-way to the place appointed for the general muster, viz., the plain in front of Kinnard Castle. It was a clear frosty day, and the sun shone down on the crusted earth with a brightness seldom seen in that season of "melancholy days." But more cheering than autumn's rare sunbeam to the roused spirit of the clansmen was the snow-white flag so proudly floating from the castle-keep with the Red Hand of the O'Neills emblazoned on its centre. That time-honoured banner was ever a sign of hope to the tribes of Ulster, but that generation had never before seen it flung in defiance to the breeze. Now, as band after band arrived, it was the first object on which their eyes rested, and the joyful "Lamh dearg aboo!" echoed far over hill and valley, at every fresh recognition of the well-loved ensign-and the stalwart head of the O'Neills, "Stout Phelim," as the clansmen loved to call him, stood just without his courtyard gate, surveying with a proud and swelling heart the everincreasing multitude from which he was to form an army of offence and defence. Near and around him stood some half dozen of the principal gentlemen who had already arrived, all habited like himself in the Celtic garb, with the addition of a green scarf encircling the waist, and hanging almost to the knee in graceful folds. Tirlogh O'Neill was not amongst this group, but his burly form might be seen bustling here and there amongst the clansmen, his red face glowing with excitement, as he grasped the hand of friend and neighbour, and welcomed each with exuberant glee. Every moment some fresh arrival called forth a shout of welcome, and as chieftain after chieftain joined the group in the shadow of the old gateway, the air rang with his proper war-cry, caught up from mouth to mouth by way of welcome. Only portions of the different clans, however, followed those leaders to the muster, the others remaining for the present with the Tanist, or chief man on their own soil, to secure as many of the strong places as possible, and take what spoils they could from the enemy. But long before the sun began to decline there was hardly a clan that had not sent its quota to swell Sir Phelim's army. O'Reillys were there from far Breffni, McMahons from Uriel, headed by the gallant Eman, stout Maguires from the lake shore, O'Cahans * Lough Erne, around whose broad bosom lay the ancient domains of the Maguires. from the hills of Derry, O'Hanlans from the plains of Ardmacha, and tall McKennas from the song-famed "Green woods of Truagh," but as yet the banner of Magennis was nowhere to be seen, the men of Iveagh were still wanting. It was just when their tardiness was beginning to be noticed that a solitary horseman was seen spurring swiftly over the waste from the western country. Coming near he was quickly recognized as a follower of Magennis, but the anxious inquiries addressed to him as he sped his way towards the castle-gate were all met by the single question of "Where may Sir Phelim O'Neill be found?" Once in the chieftain's presence, he was not slow in delivering his message: "The Magennis greets you well, Sir Phelim, and sends you word by me, that if he and his are backward in showing themselves here, it is because they were not idle all day at home-the men of Iveagh were up betimes this morning, and have taken Newry from the enemy!" It was then that the shout of "Magennis for ever!" went up into the air from thousands of manly voices, and the wild war-chorus had not yet died away amongst the neighbouring hills, when Sir Phelim gave the word: "Let us march to Dungannon-that and Charlemont shall be ours before to-morrow's sun sets!" And so they were. Stout Phelim kept his word. CHAPTER IV. "Amid their joyous merriment, a cloud sails slowly o'er the sun! "If it feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge!" SHAKSPEARE'S Merchant of Venice. O N that memorable night when the beacon of war" was flaming in triumphal brightness on the hills of Ulster, and a whole province awoke into life, and the activity which springs from sudden hope, while the chieftains of the north were exulting in the gushing enthusiasm of the people, how did it fare with their equally-devoted friends in Dublin? O'Moore, and Maguire, and McMahon were all there in person to direct and carry out the hazardous design-the success of which would be almost a guarantee for the ultimate triumph of their cause. They were well acquainted with the state of affairs in the Castle, and knew that skill and caution more than force were required for its capture. They had, therefore, wisely abstained from making their intention known within the city, except to the few gentlemen whose honour and patriotism they had had too many and convincing proofs to doubt. Their plan was well devised, and promised fair for success. A hundred chosen men were to enter the city by ten different gates on the following day, which, being market-day, the ingress or presence of so small a number would attract no attention. While the citizens were engaged about their market-business the all but unguarded gates of the old fortress were to be taken by the several small parties appointed for the task, under the leadership of the chieftains already named, with Colonel Plunket and Colonel O'Byrne. Arms were secretly provided, and hid away in safe places ready for use. The leaders of the enterprise had all supped together at Lord Maguire's lodgings in Castle Street, and although each one strove hard to appear gay, or, at least, easy in mind, still the effort was too visible, and the attempt was, consequently, unsuccessful. It was hard for men with such a perilous step before them to drown the thought of the coming morrow, with all its dread possibilities, in the sense of present enjoyment. Failure was not to be thought of-the thought would have been too dreadful-success they did and would anticipate, rejecting with scorn all the chances that lay against them, with a spirit worthy their heroic blood, and the noble cause in which they had embarked, suppressing, as it rose within them, every thought of the personal danger to be incurred. Yet, even in that final hour, when their daring scheme was drawing to its completion, and all had girded their loins with strength and courage for the neck-or-nothing venture, the distinctive features of their respective characters patriotic, with a certain dash of chivalry in his composition that served to soften and refine his outward bearing, especially in the presence of ladies. He, too, had noticed the, to him, unaccountable depression of Maguire, but, unlike McMahon, he was touched by a sadness with which he yet could not sympathise-his own heart revelled in the thought that the work of liberation for the country and the people was so soon to commence, and that he was to aid in striking the first blow. He had an intuitive sense of delicacy, however, that prevented him from making any allusion to a feeling which he plainly saw was involuntary, and he more than once restrained McMahon by a look or a sign when that gentlemen seemed disposed to address his lordship in terms more candid than polite. were broadly marked and clearly visible. for all in all, O'Byrne was a fair specimen. O'Moore was still calm and collected, of an Irish chieftain of that day, highearnest, firm, and full of that high-spirited, straightforward, honest and souled confidence which springs from a consciousness of innate resources and capacities yet undeveloped, together with a strong conviction of supernatural aid and assistance. Maguire, on the other hand, though apparently devoted heart and soul to the success of the cause which he stood pledged to advance by every means in his power, still showed symptoms, involuntary on his part, of a nervous anxiety as to the result (shrinking, as it were, from the approach of actual peril), which was little in keeping with his usual character. Men were wont to speak of Lord Maguire as a young nobleman who lacked prudence and was noways given to calculation, who, in short, had suffered a large portion of his patrimony to slip through his fingers, because and by reason of his reckless habits. It was passing strange; and the bold brave chieftain of Uriel, who had known Maguire from earliest boyhood, found it hard to believe him the same man, or to repress the words of contemptuous surprise which ever and anon rose to his lips as he marked the unwonted paleness, not to say agitation, of his friend from Fermanagh. O'Byrne, a tall, broad-shouldered mountaineer, of some thirty odd years, with a frank and cheerful countenance, hale, hearty, and good-natured, was the very beau-ideal of a dashing, daring, highhanded soldier, little disposed to harm others without special good cause, and just as little likely to bear wrong or insult tamely. A genuine Milesian was Hugh O'Byrne, proud yet not stern, brave even to rashness, seldom pausing to calculate results, warm and impulsive in all his feelings, somewhat apt, at times, to give offence by over-free speech, yet always willing to make reparation when conscience or good sense convinced him of having erred. Independent of the manifold wrongs sustained by his own family at the hands of robber-rulers, O'Byrne's generous heart bled for the woes of all his nation, and if his was not the fierce, insatiable ardour wherewith Phelim O'Neill threw himself into the struggle, his hostility to the foreign oppressors was none the less strong or determined. Take him Still As for Plunket, he sat looking from one to the other through half closed eye-lids, a singularly humorous smile on his thin features, mingled at times with the slight est possible expression of contempt, for Richard Plunket, although a patriot at heart, and, moreover, a zealous Catholic, was still a Norman by descent, and as such looked down upon "the mere Irish " with a sense of superiority which in his case, however, was good-natured and rather patronising than otherwise. he had quite enough of Norman superciliousness to enjoy in a sly way what he justly termed "the old Milesian crustiness and thin skin" of his companions. Notwithstanding all that, Richard Plunket was a man of honour and probity, clearheaded and far-seeing, who deserved well of his countrymen as being the first man of English blood who joined the ranks of the native Irish in that memorable struggle for freedom. His first adhesion was owing to the influence of O'Moore, between whom and himself a strong and sincere friendship had been growing for years. Connected by family ties, and pretty nearly of the same age-they had been boys together, and in their case, at least, the distinction of races was obliterated, and the feuds of past times voluntarily forgotten. The high-bred descendant of the princes of Leix had many friends within the English Pale, but |