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or ruin a town, but not so easy to resettle the one, or to restore the other to prosperity, when ruined; and Galway, once frequented by ships with cargoes of French and Spanish wines, to supply the wassailings of the O'Neills and O'Donnells, the O’Garas and the O'Kanes, her marble palaces handed over to strangers, and her gallant sons and dark-eyed daughters banished, remains for two hundred years a ruin; her splendid port empty, while her “hungry air" in 1862 becomes the mock of the official stranger.



CHARLES ANDERSON READ was born Nov. 10, 1841, at Kilsella House, near Sligo. He was intended for the Church, but at an early age he was apprenticed to a merchant in Rathfriland. He, however, continued his study of Latin, and under the instruction of his mother acquired a knowledge of Irish; when only about fifteen he contributed verses to the local journals. He became the proprietor of the business and for a short time success appeared to crown his adventure, and he married in 1862. But he gave assistance and credit to every one who appeared to be in difficulty, and only a year after his marriage he was obliged to close his doors. He gave everything he possessed to his creditors, and in the course of a few years, by dint of hard work and much personal privation, he paid them in full.

He now went to London and obtained a position in the publishing office of Mr. James Henderson, the proprietor of several popular periodicals. He retained his connection with this establishment till the end. His widow writes: "After his office hours, and only then, he followed his favorite pursuit of literature, not at that time, as formerly, for amusement, but of stern necessity.” In this manner he produced numerous sketches, poems, short tales, and nine novels, the most notable of the latter being Love's Service,' which appeared in The Dublin University Magazine. Indeed, it is his best novel, although less known than his · Aileen Aroon’or “Savourneen Dhee. lish.' In 1873 he became so ill that he took a voyage to Australia. He returned apparently restored to health, and resumed work with as much energy as ever, although he could scarcely be said to have ceased work, for during the voyage out and home he completed two tales and a metrical version of the Psalms of David. A series of stories from the classics for the young appeared in rapid succession in Young Folks, a periodical circulating over 100,000 copies weekly.

In 1876 he began the ompilation of The Cabinet of Irish Liter ture,' but did not live to complete it. He died at his residence, Thornton Heath, Surrey, Jan. 23, 1878.


“I cannot reach Sligo now before dark; that's certain," I muttered, as I hoisted my knapsack an inch or two higher, and began to cover the ground at my best rate. “ However, the sooner I get there the better."

Presently I reached a spot where four roads met, and while I stood doubtful which to take a gig driven by some one singing in a loud key overtook me. At sight of my

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lonely figure the gig was halted suddenly, and the driver ceased his song.

Ah, thin, may I ask, is your honor goin' my way?” said a full round voice. “It's myself that's mighty fond of company o' nights about here."

“I don't know what your way may be," I replied. “I wish to go to Sligo."

“Ah! thin, an' it's that same Sligo, the weary be on it, that I'd be afther goin' to myself," answered the driver. “But you honor looks tired-manin' no offinse—an' perhaps you 'd take a lift in the gig?

“ Thank you; I will take a lift,” I replied, as I stepped forward and sprang quickly to the seat. “ The truth is, I feel rather tired, as you say.”

“ An' has your honor walked far?” asked the driver as the gig rolled on towards the town.

“I've walked from Ballina since morning," I replied quietly.

“From Ballina! There, now, the Lord save us!” cried the man, as he half turned in his seat and gazed at me in astonishment. “Why, that's a day's work for the best horse in the masther's stables."

“ Your master must keep good horses, if I may judge by the one before us," I answered.

“ The best in all the county, your honor, though I say it. There isn't a gossoon in the three baronies but knows that."

“ Your master's a bit of a sportsman, then?

“Yes, your honor; an' if he'd stick to that, it's himself'd be the best-liked man from Ballina to Ballyshan

You wouldn't find a better rider or a warmer heart in a day's march. But thim politics has been his ruin with the people.”

Oh, ah! I have heard that Sligo is rather a hot place during elections," I replied. “But surely the people don't turn upon their friends at such a time?"

“ They'd turn upon their own father, if he wint agin them,” replied the driver solemnly. “See now, here I am, drivin' the masther's own gig to town just be way of a blin', ye see, while he's got to slip down the strame in Jimmy Sheridan's bit of a boat. Ah, thim politics, thim politics!”


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“Oh, then, there's an election about to take place, I presume?"

“ Thrue for ye, your honor, thrue for ye,” replied the man dolefully. There niver was such a ruction in Sligo before, in the mimiry of man. Two lawyers a-fightin' like divils to see who's to be mimbir.”

“ Then I'm just in time to see the fun."

“Fun, your honor?echoed the man. “ It's not meself that 'id object to a bit of a scrimmage now an' agin. : But it's murther your honor'll see before it's all over, or my name isn't Michael O'Connor. Whist now! Did ye hear nothin' behin' that hedge there?

At this moment we were about the middle of a rather lonesome stretch of the road, one side of which was bounded by a high thin hedge. The dusk of the evening was fast giving way to the gloom of night.

“I-ah-yes, surely there is something moving there,I replied. “It's some animal, most likely."

“Down in the sate! down, for your life!” cried the driver, as in his terror he brought the horse to a halt.

-> His speech was cut short by a couple of loud reports. A lance-like line of fire gushed from the hedge, and one, if not two, bullets whizzed close past my ear.

As I sprang to my feet in the gig, the driver slid down to the mat, and lay there in a heap, moaning. hurt?I asked, as I strove to get the reins out of his palsied bands.

“I'm kilt, kilt intirely!” he moaned.

“ Aisy now, aisy there, your honor!” cried a voice from behind the hedge just as I had gained the reins. “ It's all a mistake, your honor, all a mistake!”

“Give the mare the whip! give the mare the whip!” cried the driver, as he strove to crawl under the seat; “ we'll all be murthered!”

Instead of taking his advice, however, I held the mare steady, while a man pressed through the thin hedge and stood before us, a yet smoking gun on his shoulder.

“What's the meaning of this?” I asked coolly, for the new-comer's coolness affected me. “ Did you want to murder a person you never saw before?

“I'm raale downright sorry, your honor,” replied the

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man, in just such a tone as he might have used had he trod upon my toe by accident; “but ye see you 're in Wolff O'Neil's gig, an' I took ye for him.-Where's that fellow Michael?"

As he said this the man prodded the driver with the end of his gun, while I-I actually laughed outright at the strangeness of the affair.

“Go away with ye, go away!” moaned the driver. “ Murther! thaves! murther!”

“Get up with ye, an' take the reins, you gomeril, you,” said the man, as he gave Michael another prod that brought him half out. “You ’re as big a coward as my old granny's pet calf. Get up, an' take the reins, or I'll”

“Oh, don't; there, don't say nothin', for the love of heaven,” cried the driver, as he scrambled into his seat again and took the reins in his shaking hands. “I'll do anythin' ye till me, on’y put that gun away.”

“There," replied the man, as he lowered the gun till its mouth pointed to the ground; “ will that plase ye? Now, tell me where's Squire O'Neil?”

“ He's in the town be this,” replied the driver. “O thim politics, thim politics ! ”

“ Hum; so he's managed to get past us, after all. Well, tell him from me, Captain Rock, that if he votes for the sarjint to-morrow, it's an ounce of lead out of this he'll be after trying to digest. Now mind."

“I'll tell him, captain, dear! I'll tell him," replied the driver, as he fingered the reins and whip nervously. “But mayn't we go on now? mayn't we go on?

“ Yis, whiniver the gentleman plases," replied the man. “An' I'm raale sorry, as I told your honor, I'm raale sorry at the mistake.”

Well, I'm pleased, not sorry," I replied, laughing, “ for if you 'd hit me it wouldn't have been at all pleasant. But let me advise you to make sure of your man next time before firing. Good-night.”

“ Good-night, your honor, good-night,” cried the man, as Michael gave the mare the whip, and sent her along at the top of her speed to the now fast-nearing lights of the town. In less than a quarter of an hour we had dashed through the streets and halted opposite a large hotel. Here Michael found his master, as he expected; and here

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