ed to the want of reason, and from which, we presume, the term
"innocent" has been applied in an especial manner to those who are
remarkable for the same defect.

Having uttered the words we have just recited, he started off at a gait,
peculiar to fools, which is known by the name of "a sling trot," and
after getting out upon the old road he turned himself in the direction
which Willy Reilly and his party had taken, and there we beg to leave
him for the present.

The old squire felt his animal heat much revived by the warmth of the
frieze coat, and his spirits, now that the dreadful scene into which he
had been so unexpectedly cast had passed away without danger, began to
rise so exuberantly that his conversation became quite loquacious and
mirthful, if not actually, to a certain extent, incoherent.

"Sir," said he, "you must come home with me--confound me, but you
must, and you needn't say nay, now, for I shall neither take excuse nor
apology. I am a hospitable man, Mr.--what's this your name is?"

"My name, sir," replied the other, "is Reilly--William Reilly, or, as
I am more generally called, Willy Reilly. The name, sir, though an
honorable one, is, in this instance, that of an humble man, but one who,
I trust, will never disgrace it."

"You must come home with me, Mr. Reilly. Not a word now."

"Such is my intention, sir," replied Reilly. "I shall not leave you
until I see that all risk of danger is past--until I place you safely
under your own roof."

"Well, now," continued the old squire, "I believe a Papist can be a
gentleman--a brave man--a man of honor, Mr. Reilly."

"I am not aware that there is any thing in his religion to make him
either dishonorable or cowardly, sir," replied Reilly with a smile.

"No matter," continued the other, who found a good deal of difficulty
in restraining his prejudices on that point, no matter, sir, no
matter, Mr.--a--a--oh, yes, Reilly, we will have nothing to do with
religion--away with it--confound religion, sir, if it prevents one man
from being thankful, and grateful too, to another, when that other
has saved his life. What's your state and condition in society, Mr.--?
confound the scoundrel! he'd have shot me. We must hang that fellow--the
Red Rapparee they call him--a dreadful scourge to the country; and,
another thing, Mr.--Mr. Mahon--you must come to my daughter's wedding.
Not a word now--by the great Boyne, you must. Have you ever seen my
daughter, sir?"

"I h