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At this instant, stranger at their

A regiment was

heard, and a fearful contest took place in the crowded streets of the city. The alarm-bell was immediately rung, the riot-act read, and the drums of the military called to action. a party of rebels, with the young head, moved towards the Castle. ordered to attack them; but such was the fury of their charge, that the soldiers were dispersed on the first onset. They had now gained the Castle-walls, and sword in hand the stranger, followed closely by the cottager and his son-in-law, mounted the ramparts. This last was shot dead at the first attack, and the other two separated from each other by the violence of the struggle. Numbers at length prevailed; the rebels were eventually subdued, their commander imprisoned, while the cottager was almost the only one who escaped. For days subsequent to the battle, he continued wandering about the streets in hopes of encountering the stranger, with whose fate he was yet unacquainted.

As the hour of trial approached, he resolved to enter the hall of justice, and boldly endeavour to address him. The conviction of the rebels had in part commenced; a deep silence prevailed, and a young man was busy in his defence. He was of a noble and commanding aspect, with a countenance shaded by the gentlest melancholy.

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But his voice-it struck immediately to the agonized feelings of the cottager, and convinced him that. the person he now beheld, was the stranger of his fancy-the Emmett-the patriot of his country. He denied the charge of treason with the most impassioned eloquence, and sighed while he recalled the memory of the girl he loved, but whom he had given up in his superior attachment to his country. He wept, but he wept not for himself; and the tears that had never fallen for his own misfortunes, stole down his faded cheek, when he reflected on the miseries he had entailed on the poor associates of his rebellion. For himself he sought not pardon; but he supplicated the mercy of the judge for the wretched he had misled, and concluded with that affecting appeal to posterity, which can never be forgotten. "Let no man write my epitaph; for as no man who knows my motives dare vindicate them, let not prejudice or ignorance asperse them; but let them and me repose in obscurity and peace, and my tomb remain uninscribed, till other times and other men can do justice to my character." Even this appeal failed of its effect; he was condemned to die the death of a traitor, and his execution was ordered for the ensuing Monday.

The evening before his death, while the workmen

were busy with the scaffold, a young lady was ushered into his dungeon. It was the girl whom he so fondly loved, and who had now come to bid him her eternal farewell. He was leaning in a melancholy mood against the window-frame of his prison, and the heavy clanking of his chains smote dismally on her heart. The interview was bitterly affecting, and melted even the callous soul of the jailor. As for Emmett himself, he wept, and spoke little; but as he pressed his beloved in silence to his bosom, his countenance betrayed his emotions. In a low voice, half choked by anguish, he besought her not to forget him; he reminded her of their former happiness, of the long-past days of their childhood, and concluded by requesting her sometimes to visit the scenes where their infancy was spent, and, though the world might repeat his name with scorn, to cling to his memory with affection.

At this instant the evening bell pealed from the neighbouring church. Emmett started at the sound; and as he felt that this was the last time he should ever hear its dismal echoes, he folded his beloved still closer to his heart, and bent over her sinking form with eyes streaming with affection. The turnkey entered at the moment: ashamed of his weakness, he dashed the rising drop from his eye,

and a frown again lowered on his countenance. The man meanwhile approached, to tear the lady from his embraces. Overpowered by his feelings, he could make no resistance; but, as he gloomily released her from his hold, gave her a little miniature of himself, and with this parting token of attachment, imprinted the last kiss of a dying man upon her lips. On gaining the door, she turned round, as if to gaze once more on the object of her widowed love. He caught her eye as she retired, it was but for a moment; the dungeon door swung back again upon its hinges, and as it closed after her, informed him too surely that they had met for the last time on earth.

With the earliest peep of dawn numerous detachments of cavalry paraded the streets of Dublin, and a file of soldiers were stationed on the scaffold. As the heavy bell from the prison tolled the appointed hour, the criminal, arrayed in a suit of mourning, made his appearance on the platform. He bowed to the populace with serenity, but smiled with ineffable contempt, while the executioner approached to draw the cap over his face. "Away with your mockery," he passionately exclaimed; "do you think that the soldier who has braved death in the field, fears to meet it on the scaffold?" The man, terrified by his indignant countenance,

hesitated to perform the office, but dashing the cap from him, threw the rope around the neck of his victim. A deep silence reigned throughout the multitude, broken at intervals by the muffled drums of the soldiers, and the distant roar of artillery, that announced the commencement of the tragedy. At this moment, the eyes of the sufferer rested on the cottager, who by dint of persuasion and artifice had contrived to force himself opposite the scaffold. Emmett sighed as he beheld him, smiled faintly in token of recognition, and pointing upwards, signified that it would not be long before they should both meet again in heaven. All was now ready for the execution, which awaited only the fatal signal. It was given by the officer stationed on the scaffold, and soon the heavy trampling of the horse-guards, and the doubled roll of the war-drums, announced that Emmett-the noble-minded, but misguided Emmett-had met with the fate of the brave.

On the failure of the rebellion, the cottager, secure from the inferior part he had acted, hastened to return home. The cruelties he had so lately witnessed had hardened his natural moroseness, and poverty, augmented by despair, had inspired him with the feelings of a dæmon. The road to his cottage lay near the cavern where he had first been seduced from his allegiance. He paused for an instant as

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