ed the lantern, and muttering
maledictions on the weather, the road, and his? own politeness, he
issued forth to search after his treasure, an occupation which, with all
his perseverance, was unsuccessful; for when day was breaking, he was
still groping along the road, cursing his hard fate, and every thing
which had any share in inflicting it.

"The money is not the worst of it," said Lanty, as he threw himself
down, exhausted and worn out, on his bed. "The money's not the worst of
it--there was papers in that book, I wouldn't have seen for double the
amount."

Long after the old smuggler was standing out to sea the next day, Lanty
Lawler wandered backwards and forwards in the glen, now searching among
the wet leaves that lay in heaps by the way side, or, equally in vain,
sounding every rivulet and water-course which swept past. His search,
was fruitless; and well it might be--the road was strewn with fragments
of rocks and tree-tops for miles--while even yet the swollen stream tore
wildly past, cutting up the causeway in its passage, and foaming on amid
the wreck of the hurricane.

Yet the entire of that day did he persevere, regardless of the beating
rain, and the cold, drifting wind, to pace to and fro, his heart bent
upon recovering what he had lost.

"Yer sowl is set upon money; devil a doubt of it, Lanty," said Mary,
as dripping with wet,# and shaking with cold, he at last re-entered the
cabin; "sorra one of me would go rooting there, for a crock of goold, if
I was sure to find it."

"It is not the money, Mary, I tould you before--it's something else was
in the pocket-book," said he, half angrily, while he sat down to brood
in silence over his misfortune.

"'Tis a letter from your sweetheart, then," said she, with a spice of
jealous malice in her manner, for Lanty had more than once paid
his addresses to Mary, whose wealth was reported to be something
considerable.

"May be it is, and may be it is not," was the cranky reply.

"Well, she'll have a saving husband, any way," said Mary, tartly, "and
one that knows how to keep a good grip of the money."

The horse-dealer made no answer to this enconium on his economy, but
with eyes fixed on the ground, pondered on his loss; meanwhile Mrs.
M'Kelly's curiosity, piqued by her ineffectual efforts to obtain
information, grew each instant stronger, and at last became
irrepressible.

"Can't you say what it is you've lost? sure there's many a one goes by,
here,