anty.

"What do you mean?" said Mark, eagerly.

"Fill your glass. Take the big one, for it's a toast I'm going to give
you--are you ready? Here now, then--drink--

A stout heart and mind,
And an easterly wind,
And the Devil behind The Saxon."

Mark repeated the doggerel as well as he was able, and pledged the
only sentiment he could divine, that of the latter part, with all his
enthusiasm.

"You may tell him what you plaze, now," whispered Mary in Lanty's ear;
for her ready wit perceived that his blood was warmed by the wine, and
his heart open for any communication.

Lanty hesitated but a second, then drawing his chair close to Mark's, he
said--

"I'm going now to put _my_ life in your hands, but I can't help it. When
Ireland is about to strike for liberty, it is not an O'Donoghue should
be last in the ranks. Swear to me you'll never mention again what I'll
tell you--swear it on the book." Mary, at the same moment, placed in
his hand a breviary, with a gilt cross on the binding, which Mark took
reverently, and kissed twice. "That's enough--your word would do me, but
I must obey them that's over me;" and so saying, Lanty at once proceeded
to lay before the astonished mind of young O'Donoghue, the plan of
France for an invasion of Ireland--not vaguely nor imperfectly, not in
the mere language of rumour or chance allusion, but with such aids to
circumstance and time, as gave him the appearance of one conversant with
what he spoke on. The restoration of Irish independence--the resumption
of forfeited estates--the return of the real nobility of the land to
their long-lost-position of eminence and influence, were themes he
descanted upon with consummate skill, bringing home each fact to the
actual effect such changes would work in the youth's own condition,
who, no longer degraded to the rank of a mere peasant, would once again
assert his own rightful station, and stand forth at the head of his vast
property--the heir of an honoured name and house. Lanty knew well, and
more too, implicitly believed in all the plausible pretension of French
sympathy for Irish suffering, which formed the cant of the day. He
had often heard the arguments in favour of the success of such an
expedition--in fact, the reasons for which its failure was deemed
impossible. These he repeated fluently, giving to his narrative the
semblance of an incontestible statement, and then he told him that from
Brest to Dublin was "fifty h