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A FENIAN ROMANCE. An Irish paper weaves a pretty little romance out of an incident in connection with the landing of the Fenian des- peradoes near Durgaryan. Among those who landed, after struggling through the surf, was" a. man of middle age, of particularly military aspect, and unexceptionable manners," and who, it was evident, "possessed at once resolution, presence of mind, and sensibility." James, the novelist, could not have drawn a better hero. His first act, however, unfortunately for his fame, was to skedaddle" towards Youghal, in the hope that his career as a revolutionist might not be cut short by those peculiarly unimaginative and zealous protectors of the peace, the constabulary police. But in this hope he was doomed to disappointment, as he soon found they were on his track. Still for a time he set them at defiance. Having a frame hardened to iron by three years' campaign, and having learned pedes- tnanism under a hard master, Sherman, he was not so easily captured, and soon outstripped his pursuers. Thinking they had abandoned the chase, he entered a cottage in the fields, and, sinking exhausted on a seat, begged some food, at the same time throwing a sovereign to the old woman, who was the sole in- habitant of the hut. A basin of sour milk and a little bread were soon at his service but scarcely had he tasted a mouthful when, looking from the doorway, he perceived the police advancing slowly but surely. ( The fugitive in this dilemma appealed to his aged hostess, who, quickened by. an additional bribe, provided her guest with BOrn) clothes of her son, a labourer. These were doni-ed with little atten- tion to nicety of arrangement, a few artistically applied streaks of soot from the chimney begat a new com- plexion, and stuffing his own apparel into an empty pot, which he hung over the ashes, the stranger, clad in his wretched attire, seated himself at his unfinished meal, and waited calmly the coming of his pursuers, who soon entered, panting and eager. The little limits of the hovel were soon explored, but no prey was hidden. The pot alone was not investigated. It was too small for even a dwarf. The sturdy-looking fellow, dark-faced and dirty, who sat and devoured in the shadow of the ill-lighted space, was subjected to strict examination both of eye and tongue, but neither in his homely brogue nor his dress was there anything to excite suspicion of his statement that he was the heir of the mansion returned from his work to his dinner. In short, so well did he act his part that the police left the cottage completely baffled, and, believing from his reply to a question put by one of them, that the man they were in quest of had passed on, their exit left him somewhat more at ease, which he improved by inquiring of his ancient entertainer concerning a family who some years bsfore had lived some miles off. They were all dead or gone long ago. Bad times had come on them, their farm had been taken and given to others the father had perished in a distant workhouse; and the children had been scattered. Their memories had vanished. The hunted man laid his head on his hands and burst into tears. He had hoped to have met even one at least of his relations beside the old hearth, and he found not one. He had not heard from his family since the outbreak of the great civil war, and did not expect to light on a desolate home. Well, mother," said he, since there are no friends to meet me I must trust my enemies." So saying, he threw off his disguise, resumed his own apparel, and, quitting the cottage, returned again towards Dungarvan. In the town he was met by a constable, to whom he yielded him- self.



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