Mrs. O'Carrol wrote a long and affectionate letter to her beloved son, in which she gently alluded to the necessity of his retrenching some of his expenses; expressing, too, a regret that his absence from his estate should have heen prolonged so much beyond the time originally proposed. This epistle also enclosed a note from his sister Henrietta, playfully entreating him to return, and enliven them with his society; accusing him of great barbarity in the brevity of his letters to his Irish home; when she had fully made up her mind to receive a voluminous correspondence from him, descriptive of his travels in Italy.

These last letters induced Fitzgerald to reflect upon the course he was pursuing, for he felt that his venerated and excellent mother, and his charming sister, did not deserve the neglect with which he had treated them. He therefore sat down, and wrote to them in the kindest manner, regretting his absence, described his daily pursuits (with the exception of the all-engrossing pursuit of Gabrielli), but did not fix on any definite period for his return to Ireland. To Mr. Donovan he applied for more money; adding, that if necessary it must be raised by mortgaging a part of the estate.

The infatuation of Fitzgerald increased; his house was filled with the artistes and musical professors, who preyed upon him without

remorse.

The splendid dresses worn by Gabrielli in every new character, were extravagantly paid for by O'Carrol; and yet, so blinded was he by his passion, that ruin, cureless ruin, never entered his imagination.

And now an event happened which gave a turn to the order of affairs.

A party, composed principally of foreigners, was made up to visit Mount Vesuvius: Fitzgerald accompanied them; a French military officer, a recent visiter to Naples, who was unacquainted with Fitzgerald, joined the party. They carried their wine and provisions with them.

After their curiosity had been satisfied with the usual ascent, they were very merry over their refection, rendered doubly refreshing by the fatigues they had previously undergone, and the champagne and lachrymæ-christi went round in abundance. The French officer sat next to Fitzgerald, who found him a sprightly agreeable person, and between the bumpers of wine which were passing, among other topics of conversation, the merits of the last new opera were discussed: the Frenchman was in raptures with the prima-donna: swore she was divine; and indiscreetly, in the abundance of his vanity, hinted to Fitzgerald that he stood rather high in the good graces of Gabrielli. He vivaciously informed Fitzgerald, that Gabrielli on the previous evening at the opera, wore a superb dress, and that a polite signor, who sat next to him in the parterre, (a lawyer, by name Balthazar Valdarno), had told him, "that all the costumes worn by Gabrielli on the stage, were furnished at the expense of un Inglese stupidezza,' at whom every body laughed."

Fitzgerald was for one moment astounded; in the next instant he dashed his goblet of aleatico into the face of the unlucky Frenchman. The natural result of this was a challenge; the friend who had in

vited the French officer to the party waited on Fitzgerald, on their return to Naples, to call him out; and O'Carrol immediately referred him to an Irish naval captain then in Naples, as his friend, with whom he was to make the necessary arrangements. Fitzgerald then went to seek Signor Balthazar Valdarno, either to make him prove the Frenchman guilty of a falsehood, or to bring Balthazar himself to account for having uttered the offensive words. But Balthazar was absent from home; in fact, he had heard of the affair, and at daybreak had started for Rome, where he pretended he had some law business of importance. The preliminaries were soon arranged between the Irish captain and the second of the French officer, who was a fierce Biscayan, with quick passions, and a romantic notion of honour. There never were two friends (if we permit ourselves to use the word) so little qualified by nature, even if it had been possible, to effect a reconciliation.

The parties met at an early hour on the following morning, on the height at the back of the castle of St. Elmo: and unsheathing their swords, commenced the attack.

It was soon evident to the seconds, that the French officer was the most practised fencer; and although Fitzgerald possessed skill and undaunted courage, he was only an amateur d'armes and bien opiniâtre, his opponent being a professed ferrailleur.

Fitzgerald received the point of the Frenchman's sword in the fleshy part of his arm; the wound, instead of disheartening, caused him to turn like a lion on his foe; but this proved fatal to him, for he lost his cool but determined manner of fighting, and rashly endeavouring to break down the guard of his adversary, and at once end the affair, he received from his quick-eyed enemy, a pass through the lungs-a second-and a third dreadful wound! The unfortunate Irishman fell forwards, with a choking rush of blood oozing from his mouth.

A few words will relate the sequel of this sad event. The French officer and his second hastily quitted the ground; and the Irish captain conveyed Fitzgerald in the carriage that had brought them to St. Elmo, to the residence of the wounded gentleman.

Here to the poignant sorrow of Michael O'Shea, after the best medical aid had been administered, poor Fitzgerald O'Carrol expired in the arms of his faithful servant, being just able to articulate a few words that his wish was to be buried at Manor Hamilton; when O'Shea in the bitter grief of his heart, howled the Irish death-wail over the corpse of his beloved master.

Three weeks had scarcely elapsed, when the closed shutters of the old hall at Manor Hamilton, bespoke the desolation, and announced the mourning of its inmates.

The Irish captain had written to Mr. Donovan, beseeching him to break the dreadful intelligence to the bereaved mother and sister. He added also, with a naïveté perfectly characteristic, “that his friend, Fitzgerald O'Carrol, had died like a gentleman, and he begged that he might be buried like a Christian."

It was on an evening late in autumn, that the neighbouring cottagers listened to the passing bell; and as its iron dismal sound vibrated on the blast, a hearse drawn by black horses, slowly ascended the hill. Men, women, and children, followed it up the hill to the hall-door of Manor Hamilton: the men assisting in carrying the

coffin which contained the remains of their beloved young landlord into his once paternal home, preparatory to its being conveyed to the final resting-place. The women wept and howled-the children looked on in wistful wonder: and every one envied Michael O'Shea the honour he had in bringing home his dead master.

The funeral was attended by the whole population for miles around. There is a much stronger feeling created in Ireland at the burial of a benevolent landlord than is evinced in any other part of the world, and the circumstances under which Fitzgerald O'Carrol had died, caused a very powerful sensation.

As a man of business, Mr. Donovan had made every search for a will. Previous to the period that Fitzgerald quitted Manor Hamilton for Italy, his agent had repeatedly urged him to leave some testamentary document behind. The gay and thoughtless Irishman only replied, "'Faith now, and if by any accident I should slip out of this world, my mother will take care of dear Henrietta."

Fitzgerald O'Carrol was a bachelor; all the other male branches of his family were extinct, consequently there was no "heir at law" to the estates; so, as "next of kin," it was thought advisable by Mr. Donovan that Mrs. O'Carrol should take out letters of administration.

Donovan first closely questioned Michael O'Shea on the subject of any will having been made in Italy. O'Shea admitted after much examination, that he had once witnessed the signature of his late master to a paper (the agent's flesh crept at this), and so had a lad of Naples, his fellow-servant, one Jack O'Mally, but that Jack had afterwards told him that it related only to a wager about the Neapolitan horse-races. (Giacomelli had been artfully instructed by Balthazar Valdarno to impress this fact on the simple Irish valet.)

"Two witnesses to a horse-race wager," inwardly muttered Mr. Donovan.

After considerable anxiety and much foreboding of mischief, which, however, he did not communicate to Mrs. O'Carrol, he prepared the necessary forms for her administering to the estate. The repeated extravagances of Fitzgerald had completely drained it of ready money, and Mr. Donovan, as agent, had advanced more cash than he could afford. Mr. Donovan, therefore, opened negotiations with some of the banking firms of the principal towns in Leitrim, in the hope of raising funds, but he was unsuccessful.

In the mean time, a lengthened and dismal winter dragged slowly on. The usual festivities of Christmas were disregarded at the hall. The master, the rash but beloved master, the soul and spirit of the customary hospitality, was extended in the cold tomb. The only approach to cheerfulness was before the kitchen fire on the winter nights, where Michael O'Shea used to describe the mangia maccaroni, or maccaroni eaters of Naples, to his fellow servants.

"But Mich, darlin'," inquired Shelah Sullivan, the laundry-maid, "what's this Mac-an'-crony?"

"I don't exactly know what it is," replied O'Shea, "but some of it is white and flat like long bandages or tapes, and others is round, with a little hole running through it like bacca-pipes made aisy, as the man says in the play, and they boil it and sell it at every corner of the streets and the courts, and the pe-attzers. Devil a knife or fork is

there, they take up a handful of mac-an'-crony in their naked fistes, open their mouths like young birds waiting for worms, and then slip down their throats a string of the stuff as long and as wide as a horse's belly-band."

"And what sort of tree does it grow on?" asked Shelah.

"Och, I never seed it growing," said O'Shea; “I think it is a kind of sea-weed, and comes from out of the Bay of Naples."

The spring at last arrived; and the sheltered valleys of Manor Hamilton and Dromahair put forth their verdure, and the vegetation on the kindly soil no longer suffered from the influence of the rushing gales across the billows of the mighty Atlantic. Mrs. O'Carrol and Henrietta rode out, and their appearance was kindly greeted by the peasantry, whose salutations were simple and heartfelt.

This was the first gleam of cheerfulness the mother and daughter had experienced for many months, and their gentle spirits were mildly elated. Henrietta was the earliest to feel the re-action of her mind, and to discover that the thoughts which had darkened her hours could be dispelled. This agreeable soothing sensation communicated itself to the more matured parent. They returned home, invigorated by the air, and comparatively happy.

On entering the library, their customary sitting-room, they found Mr. Donovan pale, and with an expression of something exceedingly distressing on his countenance. On inquiry as to what had happened, he evaded their questions, but with evident embarrassment. At length, being compelled to answer, he told them that in the process of taking out the administration in the name of Mrs. O'Carrol, a strange claim had been made on the estate; and it appeared that Fitzgerald O'Carrol had executed a will in Italy, which now had by some extraordinary means come to light.

This intelligence did not startle Mrs. O'Carrol and Henrietta so much because they felt convinced that their own high-minded Fitzgerald's love, duty, and honour, would be their protection: but they were certainly at a loss to account for the perturbation of Mr. Donovan. The kind old agent had not the nerve to explain the contents of a letter he had just received from a law firm in Dublin (with which he was concerned in occasional business), but he told the ladies that the affair was pressing, and unlooked for, and that he must start for Dublin that very day, and that they should hear from him on his arrival. To prevent any further inquiries he hastily bade them farewell. When he arrived at his own home he closed his office door, and with a sigh again read over the subjoined letter.

"Dear sir,

"Dublin, April 18th, 1774. "Dame-street.

66 As your Dublin agents, we have received a letter, by date 7th of this month, from Messrs. Grasper, Mc Murdo, and Tater, solicitors, No. 1, Nick's-court, Dublin, to this effect;

"The last will and testament of the demised Fitzgerald O'Carrol, Esq., of Manor-house, Manor Hamilton, in the county of Leitrim, Connaught, Ireland, Great Britain,

"In the case of Virginia Honoria Gabrielli, &c. &c. &c. claimant, May.-VOL. LXII. NO. CCXLV.

D

setteth forth and showeth accordingly, that the above-named Fitzgerald O'Carrol, of, &c. &c. &c., did, on the 7th of May, 1773, duly execute a will and testament, in the city of Naples, &c. &c., wherein he hath formally BEQUEATHED HIS HEART to the aforesaid Virginia Honoria Gabrielli, her heirs, executors, or assignees; and in case of noncompliance by the heirs, executors, or assignees of the aforesaid Fitzgerald O'Carrol, Esq., &c. &c. &c., if the same individual HEART (to be taken from the body of the aforesaid Fitzgerald O'Carrol) should not be delivered to the aforesaid Virginia Honoria Gabrielli, then and there immediately only; the aforesaid Virginia Honoria Gabrielli, her heirs, executors, administrators, assignees, (or personal attorney,) shall have due and unqualified power to claim on the estate or estates of the aforesaid Fitzgerald O'Carrol, &c. &c. &c. &c., the sum of TEN THOUSAND POUNDS.'

The letter went on to state that Mr. Donovan's correspondents had waited on Messrs. Grasper, Mc Murdo, and Tater, and had seen the strange will, which was duly attested, signed, and sealed, and begged Mr. Donovan's immediate advice and attention to the affair, as the firm of Grasper, Mc Murdo, and Tater was rather renowned for sharp practice.

Donovan was completely unnerved by this epistle; he, however, arranged his affairs so that he could leave home for a week or ten days, and he started with a heavy heart for Dublin. His only hope as he travelled, was that he might discover some flaw or some forgery, for he could scarcely believe it possible that Fitzgerald O'Carrol would have put his signature to such a will.

Two or three days after the departure of Mr. Donovan, a stranger arrived at the Shamrock, the principal inn of the town of Manor Hamilton, attended by a servant lad, in a foreign livery. He was a dark, shrewd-looking person, well dressed, but with a sinister expression of

eye.

The folks of a little country town are always inquisitive about strangers, and many a conjecture was formed "as to whom or what he might be, and where he came from."

The

He spoke English, but not fluently, and with a foreign accent. landlord of the inn, a sagacious Patlander, remarked that he required "soup" daily, and that he wanted "fried liver," was surprised that there were neither "vermicelli" nor "maccaroni" in the larder, and that he had asked if they had a bird in that country called the "beccafico." Mr. Hoolagan, the host of the Shamrock, was puzzled, but with great Irish presence of mind replied "He could furnish a duck or a goose, which was a pretty eating bird, seeing his customer was a "furriner," and mayhap had never tasted them in Connaught fashion, baked with potatoes in their insides."

Speaking of potatoes too, Hoolagan could not believe his eyes when he saw the stranger and his "futman" eat potatoes cold, sliced with beetroot and mixed as a salad; and these "furriners" had not been fixed in their quarters three days before all the Lucky (Lucca) oil of the town of Manor Hamilton was used up. But the greatest wonderment of all to Mr. Hoolagan and his gossips, both male and female, was, that neither master nor man would drink "a taste of whisky."