"We'll tache her better, captain,” said Pat; "we'll make an example of her, as the judges say in Ireland when they hang the lads. I'll give her a blow over the head, if you say so, handy like—or wring the chickens' necks—it's asy done."

“Pshaw, Pat—it's only your asses of judges that think examples of any use. If we hook one of the chickens, you know, Pat, she'll be glad to buy it back with the yallow shiners, boy, that's lodged safe in York-fifty a piece— share and share alike-my turn is it?-here's to you, boys—a short life and a merry one: I've charged 'em up to the mark,” thought he; and in raising the flask to his lips, it slipped through his hands and was broken to fragments.

"Ah, my men! there's a sign for us—we may cup and

have a worse slip than that 'tween the

the lip:' so let's us be off-come, Pat.”

“Shall I fetch 'em both, captain?"

"No, no-one is as good as a thousand. But stay, Pat. Drunk as they are,” thought Hewson, "I'll not trust them in the sound of the mother's screeches. First, Pat, let's have all ready for a start-tie up your bags, boys, come."

The men's brains were so clouded, that it seemed to Hewson they were an eternity in loading their beasts with their booty. Delay after delay occurred; but finally all was ready, and he gave the signal to Pat.

Pat now obeyed to the letter. He mounted the stairs, sprang like a tiger on his prey, and returned with Lizzy, already an unconscious burden, in his arms. One piercing shriek Hewson heard proceeding from Mrs. Archer's apartment, but not another sound. It occurred to him that Pat might have committed the murder

he volunteered; and exclaiming, "The blundering Irish rascal has kicked the pail over!" he once more ascended the stairs to assure himself of the cause of the ominous silence. Edward was in the adjoining apartment when Lizzy was wrested from her mother's arms. He was recalled by Mrs. Archer's scream; and when Hewson reached the apartment, he found Mrs. Archer lying senseless across the threshold of the door, and Edward groping around, and calling, "Mother!-Lizzy ! — where are you?-do speak, mother!"

A moment after, Mrs. Archer felt her boy's arms around her neck. She returned to a consciousness of her condition, and heard the trampling of the outlaws' horses as they receded from her dwelling.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Good vent'rous youth,

I love thy courage yet, and bold emprise.

"CAPTAIN !—Captain Lee! don't you hear that horn?" said Gurdon Coit, shaking our soundly-sleeping friend, Eliot.

66

'Yes, thank you, I hear it ;-it's daylight,

is it ?"

'No, no; but there's something to pay up Those devils you met

at Madam Archer's.

on the road, I doubt, are there-the lights have been glancing about her rooms this hour, and

now they've blown the horn-there's mischief, depend on't."

Why in the name of Heaven did not you wake me sooner?" exclaimed Eliot. "Rouse up these fellows-wake that snoring wretch on the settle, and we'll to her aid instantly."

The offensive snoring ceased as Coit whispered, "No, don't wake him-edge-tools, you know." He then proceeeded to wake the men from West Point, who were sleeping on the floor. Eliot, as they lifted their heads, recognised them - the one a common soldier, the other a certain Ensign Tooler-a man who had the most disagreeable modification of Yankee character; knowingness overlaid with conceit, and all the self-preserving virtues concentrated in selfishness, as bad liquor is distilled from wholesome grain. "Tooler, is that you ?" exclaimed Eliot “and you, Mason? up instantly!"