—Reilly\'s Adventure Continued—Reilly Gets a Bed in a Curious Establishment.

We now beg our readers to accompany us to the library of Sir Robert Whitecraft, where that worthy gentleman sits, with a bottle of Madeira before him; for Sir Robert, in addition to his many other good qualities, possessed that of being a private drinker. The bottle, we say, was before him, and with a smile of triumph and satisfaction on his face, he arose and rang the bell. In a few minutes a liveried servant attended it.

“Carson, send O\'Donnel here.”

Carson bowed and retired, and in a few minutes the Red Rapparee entered.

“How is this, O\'Donnel? Have you thrown aside your uniform?”

“I didn\'t think I\'d be called out on duty again to-night, sir.”

“It doesn\'t matter, O\'Donnel—it doesn\'t matter. What do you think of the bonfire?”

“Begad, it was a beauty, sir, and well managed.”

“Ay, but I am afraid, O\'Donnel, I went a little too far—that I stretched my authority somewhat.”

“But isn\'t he a rebel and an outlaw, Sir Robert? and in that case—”

“Yes, O\'Donnel; and a rebel and an outlaw of my own making, which is the best of it. The fellow might have lain there, concocting his treason, long enough, only for my vigilance. However, it\'s all right. The government, to which I have rendered such important services, will stand by me, and fetch me out of the burning—that is, if there has been any transgression of the law in it. The Papists are privately recruiting for the French service, and that is felony; Reilly also was recruiting for the French service—was he not?”

“He offered me a commission, sir.”

“Very good; that\'s all right, but can you prove that?”

“Why, I can swear it, Sir Robert.”

“Better still. But do you think he is in the country, O\'Donnel?”

“I would rather swear he is, sir, than that he is not. He won\'t lave her aisily.”

“Who do you mean by her, sir?”

“I would rather not name her, your honor, in connection with the vagabond.”

“That\'s delicate of you, O\'Donnel; I highly approve of your sentiment. Here, have a glass of wine.”

“Thank you, Sir Robert; but have you any brandy, sir? My tongue is as dry as a stick, wid that glorious bonfire we had; but, besides, sir, I wish to drink success to you in all your undertakings. A happy marriage, sir!” and he accompanied the words with a ferocious grin.

“You shall have one glass of brandy, O\'Donnel, but no more. I wish you to deliver a letter for me to-night. It is to the sheriff, who dines with Lord ———, a friend of mine; and I wish you to deliver it at his lordship\'s house, where you will be sure to find him. The letter is of the greatest importance, and you will take care to deliver it safely. No answer by you is required. He was out to-day, levying fines from Popish priests, and a heavy one from the Popish bishop, and I do not think, with a large sum of money about him, that he will go home to-night. Here is the letter. I expect he will call on me in the morning, to breakfast—at least I have asked him, for we have very serious business to discuss.”

The Rapparee took the letter, finished his glass of brandy, and disappeared to fulfil his commission.

Now it so happened that on that very evening, before the premises had been set on fire, Mary Mahon, by O\'Donnel\'s order, had entered the house, and under, as it were, the protection of the military, gathered up as much of Reilly\'s clothes and linen as she could conveniently carry to her cottage, which was in the immediate vicinity of Whitecraft\'s residence—it being the interest of this hypocritical voluptuary to have the corrupt wretch near him. The Rapparee, having left Whitecraft to his reflections, immediately directed his steps to her house, and, with her connivance, changed the dress he had on for one which she had taken from Reilly\'s wardrobe. He then went to the house of the nobleman where the sheriff was dining, but arrived only in time to hear that he was about to take horse on his return home. On seeing him preparing to mount, bearing a lantern in his hand, as the night was dark and the roads bad, he instantly changed his purpose as to the letter, and came to the resolution of not delivering it at all.

“I can easily say,” thought he, “that the sheriff had gone home before I came, and that will be a very sufficient excuse. In the meantime,” he added, “I will cross the country and be out on the road before him.”

The sheriff was not unarmed, however, and felt himself tolerably well prepared for any attack that might be made on him; and, besides, he was no coward. After a ride of about two miles he found himself stopped, and almost at the same instant the lantern that he carried was knocked out of his hand and extinguished, but not until he caught a faint glimpse of the robber\'s person, who, from his dress, appeared to be a man much above the common class. Quick as lightning he pulled out one of his pistols, and, cocking it, held himself in readiness. The night was dark, and this preparation for self-defence was unknown to his assailant. On feeling the reins of his horse\'s bridle in the hands of the robber, he snapped the pistol at his head, but alas! it only flashed in the pan. The robber, on the other hand, did not seem anxious to take his life, for it was a principle among the Rapparees to shed, while exercising their rapacious functions, as little blood as possible. They have frequently taken life from a feeling of private vengeance, but not often while robbing on the king\'s highway. The sheriff, now finding that one pistol had missed, was about to draw out the second, when he was knocked insensible off his horse, and on recovering found himself minus the fines which he had that day levied—all the private cash about him—and his case of pistols. This indeed was a bitter incident to him; because, in addition to the loss of his private purse and firearms—which he valued as nothing—he knew that he was responsible to government for the amount of the fines.

With considerable difficulty he was able to remount his horse, and with a sense of stupor, which was very painful, he recommenced his journey home. After a ride of about two miles he met three horsemen, who immediately challenged him and demanded his name and residence.

“I am the sheriff of the county,” he replied, “and have been robbed of a large sum of money and my pistols; and now,” he added, “may I beg to know who you are, and by what authority you demand my name and residence?”

“Excuse us, Mr. Sheriff,” they replied; “we belong to the military detachment which government has placed under the control of Sir Robert Whitecraft.”

“Oh, indeed,” exclaimed the sheriff; “I wish to heaven you had been a little more advanced on your journey; you might have saved me from being plundered, as I have been, and probably secured the robber.”

“Could you observe, sir, what was the villain\'s appearance?”

“I had a small lantern,” replied the functionary, “by which I caught a brief but uncertain glance of him. I am not quite certain that I could recognize his features, though, if I saw him again—but—perhaps I might, certainly I could his dress.”

“How was he dressed, sir?” they inquired.

“Quite beyond the common,” said the sheriff; “I think he had on a brown coat, of superior cloth and make, and I think, too, the buckles of his slices were silver.”

“And his features, Mr. Sheriff?”

“I cannot exactly say,” he returned; “I was too much agitated to be able to recollect them; but indeed the dim glimpse I got was too brief to afford me an opportunity of seeing them with any thing like distinctness.”

“From the description you have given, sir,” said one of them, “the man who robbed you must have been Reilly the Outlaw. That is the very dress he has been in the habit of wearing. Was he tall, sir, and stout in person?”

“He was a very large man, certainly,” replied the sheriff; “and I regret I did not see his face more distinctly.”

“It can be no other, Mr. Sheriff,” observed the man; “the fellow has no means of living now, unless by levying contributions on the road. For my part, I think the scoundrel can make himself invisible; but it must go hard with us or we will secure him yet. Would you wish an escort home, Mr. Sheriff? because, if you do, we shall accompany you.”

“No,” replied the other, “I thank you. I would not have ventured home unattended if the Red Rapparee had still been at his vocation, and his gang undispersed; but as he is now on the safe side, I apprehend no danger.”

“It\'s not at all impossible but Reilly may step into his shoes,” said the cavalryman.

“I have now neither money nor arms,” continued the sheriff; “nothing the villain robbers could covet, and what, then, have I to fear?”

“You have a life, sir,” observed the man respectfully, “and if you\'ll allow me to say it—the life of a man who is not very well liked in the country, in consequence of certain duties you are obliged to perform. Come, then, sir, we shall see you home.”

It was so arranged, and the sheriff reached his own residence, under their escort, with perfect safety.

This indeed was a night of adventure to Reilly—hunted, as he was, like a beast of prey. After what had taken place already in the early portion of it, he apprehended no further pursuit, and in this respect he felt his mind comparatively at ease—for, in addition to any other conviction of his safety, he knew that the night was far advanced, and as the country was unsettled, he was not ignorant that the small military parties that were in the habit of scouring the country generally—unless when in the execution of some express duty—retired to their quarters at an early hour, in order to avoid the severe retaliations which were frequently made upon them by the infuriated peasantry whom they—or rather the government which employed them—had almost driven to madness, and—would have driven to insurrection had the people possessed the means of rising. As it was, however, he dreaded no further pursuit this night, for the reasons which we have stated.

In the meantime the sheriff, feeling obliged by the civility of the three dragoons, gave them refreshments on a very liberal scale, of which—rather exhausted as they were—they made a very liberal use. Feeling themselves now considerably stimulated by liquor, they mounted their horses and proceeded towards their barracks—at a quick pace. In consequence of the locality in which the sheriff lived, it was necessary that they should travel in a direction opposite to that by which Reilly and the priest were going. At all events, after riding a couple of miles, they overtook three infantry soldiers who were also on their way to quarters. The blood, however, of the troopers was up—thanks to the sheriff; they mentioned the robbery, and requested the three infantry to precede them as an advanced guard, as quietly as possible, stating that there might still be a chance of coming across the villain who had plundered the sheriff, intimating their impression, at the same time, that Reilly was the man, and adding that if they could secure him their fortune was made. As has always been usual in executing cases, of the law attended with peculiar difficulty, these men—the infantry—like our present detectives, had gone out that night in colored clothes. On perceiving two individuals approaching them in the dim distance, they immediately threw their guns into the ditch, lest they should put our friends upon their guard and cause them to escape if they could. Reilly could have readily done so; but having, only a few minutes before heard from the poor old priest that he had, for some months past, been branded and pursued us a felon, he could not think of abandoning him now that he was feeble and jaded with fatigue as well as with age. Now it so happened that one of these fellows had been a Roman Catholic, and having committed some breach of the law, found it as safe as it was convenient to change his creed, and as he spoke the Irish language fluently—indeed there were scarcely any other then spoken by the peasantry—he commenced clipping his hands on seeing the two men, and expressing the deepest sorrow for the loss of his wife, from whose funeral, it appeared from his lamentations, he was then returning.

“We have nothing to apprehend, here,” said Reilly; “this poor fellow is in sorrow, it seems—God help him! Let us proceed.”

“Oh!” exclaimed the treacherous villain, clapping his hands—[we translate his words]—“Oh, Yeeah. Yeeah! (God, God!) what a bitther loss you\'ll be, my darlin\' Madge, to me and your orphan childher, now and for evermore! Oh, where was there sich a wife, neighbors? who ever heard her harsh word, or her loud voice? And from mornin\' till night ever, ever busy in keepin\' every thing tight and clane and regular! Let me alone, will yez? I\'ll go back and sleep upon her grave this night—so I will; and if all the blasted sogers in Ireland—may sweet bad luck to them!—were to come to prevent me, I\'d not allow them. Oh, Madge, darlin\', but I\'m the lonely and heartbroken man widout you this night!”

“Come, come,” said the priest, “have firmness, poor man; other people have these calamities to bear as well as yourself. Be a man.”

“Oh, are you a priest, sir? bekase if you are I want consolation if ever a sorrowful man did.”

“I am a priest,” replied the unsuspecting I man, “and any thing I can do to calm your mind, I\'ll do it.”

He had scarcely uttered these words when! Reilly felt his two arms strongly pinioned, and as the men who had seized him were | powerful, the struggle between him and them was dreadful. The poor priest at the same moment found himself also a prisoner in the hands of the bereaved widower, to whom he proved an easy victim, as he was incapable of making resistance, which, indeed, he declined to attempt. If he did not possess bodily strength, however, he was not without presence of mind. For whilst Reilly and his captors were engaged in a fierce and powerful conflict, he placed his fore-finger and thumb in his mouth, from which proceeded a whistle so piercingly loud and shrill that it awoke the midnight echoes around them.

Page 65-- Dashed up to the Scene of Struggle

This was considered by the dragoons as a signal from their friends in advance, and, without the loss of a moment, they set spurs to their horses, and dashed up to the scene of struggle, just as Reilly had got his right arm extricated, and knocked one of his captors down. In an instant, however, the three dragoons, aided by the other men, were upon him, and not less than three cavalry pistols were levelled at his head. Unfortunately, at this moment the moon began to rise, and the dragoons, on looking at him more closely, observed that he was dressed precisely as the sheriff had described the person who robbed him—the brown coat, light-colored breeches, and silver buckles—for indeed this was his usual dress.

“You are Willy Reilly,” said the man who had been spokesman in their interview with the sheriff: “you needn\'t deny it, sir—I know you!”

“If you know me, then,” replied Reilly, “where is the necessity for asking my name?”

“I ask again, sir, what is your name? If you be the man I suspect you to be, you will deny it.”

“My name,” replied the other, “is William Reilly, and as I am conscious of no crime against society—of no offence against the State—I shall not deny it.”

“I knew I was right,” said the dragoon. “Mr. Reilly, you are our prisoner on many charges, not the least of which is your robbery of the sheriff this night. You must come with us to Sir Robert Whitecraft; so must this other person who seems your companion.”

“Not a foot I\'ll go to Sir Eobert Whitecraft\'s to-night,” replied the priest. “I have made my mind up against such a stretch at such an hour as this; and, with the help of God, I\'ll stick to my resolution.”

“Why do you refuse to go?” asked the man, a good deal surprised at such language.

“Just for a reason I have: as for that fellow being Willy Reilly, he\'s no more Willy Reilly than I am; whatever he is, however, he\'s a good man and true, but must be guided by wiser heads than his own; and I now tell him—ay, and you too—that he won\'t see Sir Robert Whitecraft\'s treacherous face to-night, no more than myself.”

“Come,” said one of them, “drag the idolatrous old rebel along. Come, my old couple-beggar, there\'s a noose before you.”

He had scarcely uttered the words when twenty men, armed with strong pikes, jumped out on the road before them, and about the same number, with similar weapons, behind them. In fact, they were completely hemmed in; and, as the road was narrow and the ditches high, they were not at all in a capacity to make resistance.

“Surrender your prisoners,” said a huge man in a voice of thunder—“surrender your prisoners—here are we ten to one against you; or if you don\'t, I swear there won\'t be a living man amongst you in two minutes\' time. Mark us well—we are every man of us armed—and I will not ask............