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The Whiteboys and their leaders left the cabin. An ancient crone, almost a reputed witch and certainly considered to be the oldest woman in the parish, hobbled after them, as far as the door, and threw her shoe after them, "for luck." Many a "God speed them" was breathed after that company of avengers, by young and fair women.

The party hurried across the bog to a farm which stood almost isolated; having, indeed, been reclaimed from the waste land, and withdrew their muskets from the turf-rick in which they were hidden. Some of them drew out pikes from the bog itself, in which they had concealed them. Stealthily, and across bypaths unknown to and inaccessible to the military, that wild gang pushed forward for the attack on Churchtown barracks.

CHAP. II.

THE CAPTAIN.

Silently and stealthily the Whiteboys proceeded to the scene of operation. Not a word was spoken-not a sound heard, except the echo of their footsteps whenever they got upon the high-road. It seemed as if the leader had bound them together, by some spell peculiarly his own, to yield implicit submission to his imperious and unquestioned will. Those who know how lively is the natural temperament of the peasantry in the south of Ireland must be aware of the difficulty of restraining them from loud-voiced talking in the open air; but now, not one of that large company spoke above his breath. Their leader's command was that they should keep silence; and his behest met with implicit obedience.

Who was that leader? The question involves some mystery, which we shall take leave to unravel. His birth would have secured him a very respectable sphere, if his wild passions, and the strong hand of all-powerful Circumstance (that unspiritual god) had not so far

"Profaned his spirit, sank his brow," that the ambition which, under happier auspices, might have aimed at the highest honours, was now content with an unstable dominion over a few wild, uncultivated peasants, who-like fire and water-might be excellent servants, but, with opportunity of domination, would as certainly be tyrannic masters. He who would rule the rude peasantry of Ireland must make up his mind to be governed by them, in turn, whenever his wishes and aims fall short of theirs. They go with him while his desires and designs run together with their own; but they speedily leave him behind if he once appear less pressing than themselves.

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The leader of the Whiteboys--the veritable Captain Rock," whom we have brought in bodily presence before the reader, was a man of

no common kind. His birth was respectablehis education good-his fortune had once been ample-his mind was full of varied and vigorous resources-he once had won favour and fame in the world's opinion; and few men, of any country, could compete with him in the personal advantages which spring from manly beauty of form and feature, activity of body, and a strength which defied over-exertion and fatigue.

The father of John Cussen was a gentleman of independent fortune. That is, he had a pretty good estate, and would have been in easy, or even affluent circumstances if he could have realized anything like the nominal amount of his rent-roll. But there were two drawbacks. Most Irish estates are subjected to such things as mortgages, which absorb certain annual amounts in the shape of interest, and most Irish tenants have an idea that they do their duty towards themselves by paying as little rent as possible. Still, though Mr. Cussen's estate was under the infliction of the two causes we have named, it yielded an income sufficient for his moderate wants. His children had died, one by one, in the very bloom and promise of their youth, until, out of a numerous family, only one son survived. This youth, possessing a mind more active and aspirations more ambitious than most of his class, disdained the ordinary routine of every-day life. It was not difficult to persuade his father to allow him into the world, the army being the only profession which that doting parent positively forbade him to think of. The lad, after wavering for some time, determined to become a surgeon, and proceeded to pursue his studies in Dublin.

It would be tedious to narrate into what a circle of extravagance, while thus engaged, the young man plunged-it would be painful to trace his progress from folly to vice. Sufficient for our present purpose to state that, by the time he received his diploma as surgeon, he had contrived to involve himself so deeply that his paternal property had to be burthened with additional mortgages to relieve him from his heavy embarrassments. Eager to snatch him from the haunts in which he had diminished his fortune and injured his health, and looking upon the military service as a good school of discipline, even if it were not free from peril to life and limb, his father overcame his scruples, forgave the past, and successfully exerted his influence to obtain for him an appointment as surgeon to one of the regiments which, just then, had been ordered to Belgium, as the re-appearance of Napoleon, whose triumphant progress from Elba to Paris

his eagle "flying from steeple to steeple until it alighted on the tower of Notre Dame"-had awakened the fear of Europe, and brought once more upon the stage

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of our arms there. His heart bounded with new and wild sensations when he thus partook of

"The triumph and the vanity,

The rapture of the strife,

The earthquake voice of Victory,

To him the breath of life."

chivalry of England to that last terrific charge which shook the imperial diadem from the brow of Napoleon. A gallant deed, even if it should somewhat violate the strict rules of military discipline, is not considered a very heinous offence by any commander; and while his Colonel hailed him as preserver, the brief neglect of his duty as surgeon was forgiven when com

But he had better fortune than merely to be-pared with his courage as soldier. hold the contest. He performed an act of heroism on the field, which not only gained him high and merited praise, but had a powerful effect upon his future prospects.

It is provided, by military discipline, that the surgeons of the different regiments shall not actively take part in any engagement on the field. This is a wise provision, for the safety-the lives of many depend upon the security of even a single surgeon; and it would be inconvenient, to say the least of it, if, when his aid were required, the surgeon had allowed his ardor to hurry him into the peril of the field. Cussen was sufficiently near to witness the greater part of the contest on the day of Waterloo; and it was not without difficulty that he controlled the strong overwhelming desire to plunge into the midst of the contest-more like a series of single encounters than any battle since the days of Poictiers and Agincourt-and participate in the peril and the glory of the mighty battle. As he stood outside the tent which had been temporarily pitched for the use of the medical staff, in the rear of one of the British positions, he observed an English officer, mounted on an unmanageable horse, bearing him along with an impetuous speed, which, being wounded in the bridle-arm, he could neither control nor check. In full career followed a French cuirassier, who had nearly overtaken him. One moment, and his uplifted sword would have struck the helpless man to the ground. Cussen rushed forward. literally tore the Frenchman from his saddle by main strength, and, wresting the sword from his hand, instantly gave him a death-wound. Quick as thought, turning from the fallen foe, and bounding forward with an agility which he had acquired on his native hills, he followed the swift horse, and succeeded, with a strong and overmastering grasp, in checking his speed. He then discovered that the life thus doubly saved was that of his own Colonel; and he received the assurance that the service thus rendered would not soon be forgotten.

He dressed the Colonel's wounds, and resumed his position in the rear. But inaction was terrible to one whose spirit had been awakened by the exciting scenes around him. Nearer and nearer became his involuntary approach to the centre of the plain in which the actual contest was proceeding. At last, unable any longer to resist the passionate impulse which shook his frame, he mounted on one of the thousand war steeds which were galloping wildly on the battlefield, caught the eye of the officer whom he had rescued, dashed forward to join in the melee, and fought side by side with him, when the "Up guards and at them" of Wellington urged on the

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The war ceased. "Othello's occupation was gone." The battalion in which Cussen had served was reduced, and, with many others, he was thrown upon the world. While he was uncertain what course he should pursue, he received a very pressing invitation from his late Colonel, and, accepting it, proceeded to the veteran's country seat in Hampshire.

Cussen was what old crones-who are the best judges of such things-would call "a very personable man:" he had received a good education; he had distinguished himself in the greatest battle of the time; and, above all, he had saved the life of the gallant officer whose guest he now was. What wonder, then, if, before he had been quite a month at Walton Hall, the bright eyes of Miss Walton beamed yet brighter when he smiled upon her. The lady was in the noon of youth-not decidedly lovely, perhaps, but that most charming of all charming creations, a thoroughly English beauty. She might not dazzle, but she would certainly delight. It was impossible to see and not admire her. Besides, she had been well educatedcarefully rather than brilliantly-and, above all, while there was a dash of romance in her character, she was so pure in heart and thought, that the very novelty of such purity threw a spell of enchantment upon the fevered passions of Cussen, and, for the first time in his life, his heart was subdued into a tenderness which contrasted strangely, but not unpleasantly, with the wild tumults-rather of sense than soul-which, in former days, he had been wont to dignify by the name of Love.

When he ascertained that such was the con

dition of his own feelings he became anxious to learn whether Alice Walton was affected in like manner. They appeared to have been pretty much as he desired, for, kissing that fair cheek, which

"Blushed at the praise of its own loveliness,"

and whispering hope to her anxious ear, he proceeded to explain to her father all that he hoped and feared-to solicit his sanction for the love which, but just confessed to each other, had suddenly been matured, by that confession, into a passion at once deep and ardent.

Have we not said that Alice Walton was an only child? What other result, then, can be anticipated than the actual one--the approval of Cussen's avowal, without many difficulties being raised. It is questionable whether, on that evening a happier group could have been found anywhere within the limit of "merry England." The old soldier, pleased with the opportunity of keeping

his gallant preserver with him, while he was, "the Rubicon of the cup." At first, while this

also securing the happiness of his daughter: the young man, gratified with his conquest, proud of the personal and mental endowments of his lady-love, and firmly resolved never to give her cause to repent the trusting affection which her guileless nature had formed for him; and the maiden, with the day-dream of love making an atmosphere of joy around her, and her heart gently indulging in glad anticipations of a happy future. Well is it that Woman's heart can thus luxuriate in imagination, for in too many cases the romance of their love is far brighter than the selfishness and worldliness of Man will allow its reality to be.

Some arrangements which were to be made respecting his family property, and a natural desire personally to communicate his favourable prospects to his father, required that Cussen should proceed to Ireland for a short time. We pass the parting, one of those which "press

The life from out young hearts" the endearing caresses-the gentle beseechings for full and frequent letters-the soft promises as to faithful remembrances-the whispers of that mutual love upon which a few brief months would put the seal-and the farewell, which, although dewed with tears, had little of sorrow in it. All these may be imagined.

was done in secret, the gentry, his neighbours, made many efforts to arrange his affairs, to liberate him from pecuniary involvements, to lead him to the practice of his profession. Each proffered kindness was rejected; and he sat, another Timon, by his desolate hearth, with his household gods shivered around him.

This could not endure, for men cannot live without society. By degrees Cussen returned to the haunts and the companionship of men. Had he kept within the pale of his own class all might still have been well. But a change had passed over his spirit. He fancied that scorn sat upon the lip and glanced from the eye of every one more wealthy than himself; and thus, pride governed the man which poverty had barbed. He shunned the society of those to whom, in all save wealth, he had been and still might be the equal, and he found a consolation in the company of those who, remembering his birth (and in no place is that more esteemed than in Ireland,) would consider him their superior, even if, like them, he had to till the earth for a bare subsistence. Thus, by a process which was certain though slow, Jolin Cussen, once the pride of the highest circles of fashion and wealth in his native country, gradually sunk into the associate of the ignorant and excitable peasantry.

Death is the great leveller, but there are two others-excess and guilt. In Cussen's case one Cussen arrived in Ireland just in time to see was the consequence of the other. Mixing with his father die-just in time to learn that the the peasantry-then, as now, dissatisfied with course of early extravagance, in which he himself their poverty, and cagerly anxious for any change had indulged, had reduced their estate to a which promised better days and fairer fortunes nominal income, the greater part of its produce-Cussen soon became so familiar with that being swallowed up by interest payable to the morgagee, who, from time to time, had advanced sums of money upon the property. He frankly communicated this unpromising aspect of affairs to Colonel Walton, and received the kindest promises of such full and immediate assistance as would relieve the estate from its embarrassments. But ere these brighter prospects could be realized, these liberal promises fulfilled, "the ninth wave of human misery" swept over his heart. Then came a sad reverse. Alice Walton and her father met with a sudden and awful death. By an accident, the origin of which was never ascertained, their house was consumed by fire, and father and daughter perished in the flames.

The

much-suffering and easily-excited class as to be thoroughly identified with their feelings. His mind, too, had lost the well-adjusted balance which restrains man within proper limits; and, hating oppression, believing that the peasantry were grievously wronged, and retaining something of the gallant spirit of his better days, he allowed himself to be seduced into the secret and illegal association of the Whiteboys. homage which the members of that body paid to his birth and education gave him more satisfaction than, at first, he had ventured to own even to himself. It was soothing to his pride to find himself looked up to by any class. The energy of his character returned; and, assuming strong and unquestioned command over the peasantry, he became one of the most dreaded and powerful leaders of the disaffected. Quick at resources, powerful in strength, and superior in capacity, his influence over his followers became very great. Entire obedience was given to his commands; and, as in the present instance, when he undertook to lead the attack upon Months passed by, and, bowed down by the Churchtown barracks, his presence was deemed torpor of despair, John Cussen was a broken-sufficient to ensure the success of an enterprize. hearted man. At last came a reaction, and he awoke to the sad reality of life. Better far, if he had ever remained unconscious or despairing. He might have been miserable, but he would have been ree from guilt. Gradually, seeking a Lethe for his sad thoughts, he learned to pass

The cup of misery overflowed. Very bitter did Cussen find the draught. Hopes blighted --the golden promise of his youth destroyedall that made life worth living for was gone. Amid the maddening whirl of such contending emotions, no wonder if his mind reeled beneath the shock.

In all this, however, it is scarcely doubtful that John Cussen's actions were not those of a person whose mind was sane. His sorrows had touched his brain, and this was the vent which preventd actual insanity.

There was

"method in his madness," how

ever, for when he entered upon this wild and guilty career, he took care that his sphere of action should be remote from that part of the country in which he was best known. On all expeditions which he led (chiefly for the purpose of procuring fire-arms) he suited his dress to that of his companions, and so complete was the disguise, that none could recognize John Cussen in the dreaded "Captain Rock," who scattered terror wherever he moved. The remarkable fidelity which the Irish peasantry make it at once a matter of duty and pride to pay to their leaders against the law was his chief protection. They kept his secret well; and none of the gentry of the county had even a suspicion that Cussen, whom they still considered as in their own rank, was mixed up in any mannerfar less as a leader-with the Whiteboy movements which so much alarmed them.

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dazzling meed of fame is hers, the crown of deathless bays;

while the rumour of her name through distant scenes extends,

Her heart is centred in her home, her father, and her friends.

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On the Graves of Two Unfortunate Lovers.

8

ALL THINGS SMILE ON ME.

(Written on hearing a young Lady express a deep

sense of happiness.)

Past are the hours of weeping,
The shades of grief are gone;
New pleasures around me creeping,
Bequeath me joy alone.
Each day brings forth a morrow,
Bright as the last could be;
God's hand hath banished sorrow-
All things smile on me.

I roam in the woods at even,
Beneath the bright spring sky;
And the lovely Queen of Heaven
Has a smile in her silver eye.
I see it in Luna's beaming,

In the stars the welcome see-
In waking and in dreaming,
All things smile on me.

I stroll by the gushing river,

And there is the vision too; For the rippling waves seem ever To smile in their robe of blue. Then wandering on delighted, It comes from the foaming sea, With joy and the billows freighted— All things smile on me.

I see it when silent praying,
In the Christian's blest abode ;
About Christ's gospel playing,

Then 'tis the smile of God!
I see it when, grief beguiling,
I fall on my bended knee;
Ah! then 'tis the angels smiling-
All things smile on me.

Wave, flower, and tree, and heaven,
In the peaceful smile unite;
And each dark thought is driven
Back into faded night.
Pray God to grant me power

Thus happy e'er to be;

To say with each new-born hour

All things smile on me.

A. T. PECQUEur.

POEM FOR A PICTURE GALLERY.

BY MARIA NORRIS.

Ennobling art! What words of mine
Can tell the things my fancies twine,
When all my eager senses thrill,
And drink in beauty to the fill;

When love, and sympathy, and praise,
To strangely silent pleasure raise,
Every olden memory

In my spirit flitting by,

When bright and holy thoughts are wove
Beside the pictures that I love!

The sense poetic moves the breast,
Which rises, falls in sweet unrest;
Like prisoned dove, the busy heart
Flutters and stirs itself; in part
To see its secret thoughts laid bare,
And shining out in colours fair;

In part because the conscious soul
Says, "Keep thy fancies pure and whole;
Look on yon pictured saint, and trace
The quiet beauty of the face,

With shadowy hair that clustering clings
About the head in graceful rings.

Look on yon mimic solitude;

And fancy what its painter's mood,
When slow before his thirsty sight
Its nascent beauties rose to light.

No world-wise maxims ruled him then!
In innocence a child again,

In judgment man; before his gaze
How brightly grew those golden rays!
How freshly shone the holy face
Replete with loveliness and grace."

No world-wise maxims ruled him then!
Look on that leafy scene again;
No sordid motives could intrude,
Profaning that green solitude;
Surely the suminer winds are there,
Making music soft and rare;
The trees their belfry, and they ring
To bid us all be worshipping.

Oh thou! whoe'er thou be, if heaven
To thee the painter's art have given,
Let no wrong thought thy canvass strain,
No strong temptation breathe again
Its poison to a soul like mine,
That answers every touch of thine!
Let actions good, and great, and wise,
Woman's beauty, azure skies,
Flowing rivers, waving trees,
Purple hills and storm-white seas,
Or the scene with beauty rife
That calls the poet's work to life,
As the sculptor's kiss of old

Sent rushing life through lips stone-cold;
Let these thy fiery spirit move,
And charm the world they may improve.

Remember! these thy works live on

When thou from earth be lost and gone;
Artist! while every kindling sense
Shall own thy hand's omnipotence,
Let thy survivors, as they gaze,

With veneration mingle praise;

And softly murmur joyfully,

For heaven he lived, for art and me! 5th April, 1849.

ON THE GRAVES OF TWO UNFORTUNATE LOVERS.

BY THE HON. J. A. MAYNARD.

Oh! rest, ye quiet loving hearts,
Beneath the sod;

No more the tear-drop starts,
Ye are with God!

One soul in two fair bodies-ye
Did live in woe;

But now ye wander blest and free
In robes of snow!

No more shall fate ye now divide,
O, stricken doves!
Ye calmly moulder side by side,
Blest in your loves!

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