appy about not being skinned. Before you are older
or wiser, dead or alive, you'll be skinned, I'll answer for it."

"Well, father, I'll go; but I expect there'll be a good deal of ground
to march over before I'm a general."

"And you've a good pair of legs."

"So I'm told every day of my life. I'll make the best use of them when
I start; but it's the starting I don't like, and that's the real truth."

The reader may be surprised at the indifference shown by Patrick at the
intelligence communicated by his father; but the fact was, Mr Patrick
O'Donahue was very deep in love. This cooled his national ardour; and
it must be confessed that there was every excuse, for a more lovely
creature than Judith McCrae never existed. To part with her was the
only difficulty, and all his family feelings were but a cloak to the
real cause of his unwillingness.

"Nevertheless, you must start to-morrow, my boy," said his father.

"What must be, must," replied Patrick, "so there's an end of the matter.
I'll just go out for a bit of a walk, just to stretch my legs."

"They require a deal of stretching, Pat, considering you've been twenty
miles, at least, this morning, over the mountains," replied the
Squireen. But Patrick was out of hearing; he had leapt over a stone
wall which separated his father's potato ground from Cornelius McCrae's,
and had hastened to Judith, whom he found very busy getting the dinner
ready.

"Judith, my dear," said Patrick, "my heart's quite broke with the bad
news I have to tell you. Sure I'm going to leave you to-morrow
morning."

"Now, Patrick, you're joking, surely."

"Devil a joke in it. I'm an ensign in a regiment."

"Then I'll die, Patrick."

"More like that I will, Judith; what with grief and a bullet to help it,
perhaps."

"Now, what d'ye mean to do, Patrick?"

"Mean to go, sure; because I can't help myself; and to come back again,
if ever I've the luck of it. My heart's leaping out of my mouth
entirely."

"And mine's dead," replied Judith, in tears.

"It's no use crying, mavourneen. I'll be back to dance at my own
wedding, if so be I can."

"There'll be neither wedding for you, Patrick, nor wake either, for
you'll lie on the cold ground, and be ploughed in like muck."

"That's but cold comfort from you, Judith, but we'll hope for a better
ending; but I must go back now, and you'll meet me this evening beyond
the shealing."

"Won't it be for the last time, Patrick," replied