had been in the beginning of the amusement;
sufficiently evincing that, although they might boast of the name
of victory, they had got a bellyful of beating; still there was hard
fighting.

"I mentioned, some time ago, that a man had adopted a scythe. I wish
from my heart there had been no such bloody instrument there that day;
but truth must be told. John O'Callaghan was now engaged against a set
of the other O's, who had rallied for the third time, and attacked him
and his party. Another brother of Rose Galh's was in this engagement,
and him did John O'Callaghan not only knock down, but cut desperately
across the temple. A man, stripped, and covered with blood and dust,
at that moment made his appearance, his hand bearing the blade of the
aforesaid scythe. His approach was at once furious and rapid, and I
may as well add, fatal; for before John O'Callaghan had time to be
forewarned of his danger, he was cut down, the artery of his neck laid
open, and he died without a groan. It was truly dreadful, even to
the oldest fighter present, to see the strong rush of red blood that
curvated about his neck, until it gurgled, gurgled, gurgled, and
lappered, and bubbled out, ending in small red spouts, blackening and
blackening, as they became fainter and more faint. At this criticality,
every eye was turned from the corpse to the murderer; but he had been
instantly struck down, and a female, with a large stone in her apron,
stood over him, her arms stretched out, her face horribly distorted with
agony, and her eyes turned backwards, as it were, into her head. In a
few seconds she fell into strong convulsions, and was immediately taken
away. Alas! alas! it was Rose Galh; and when we looked at the man she
had struck down, he was found to be her brother! flesh of her flesh, and
blood of her blood! On examining him more closely, we discovered that
his under-jaw hung loose, that his limbs were supple; we tried to make
him speak, but in vain--he too was a corpse.

"The fact was, that in consequence of his being stripped, and covered by
so much blood and dust, she know him not; and, impelled by her feelings
to avenge herself on the murderer of her lover, to whom she doubly owed
her life, she struck him a deadly blow, without knowing him to be her
brother. The shock produced by seeing her lover murdered, and the horror
of finding that she herself, in avenging him, had taken her brother's
life, was too much for a heart so tender as her