PEGGY NOWLAN.

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[John Banim, born 1800, died 1st August, 1842. native of Ireland, he successfully illustrated the character and history of his countrymen in a number of powerful novels. In conjunction with his elder brother, Michael, he produced the Tales of the O'Hara Family, which became very popular. His principal novels are: Croppy, a Tale of 1798; The Bio Writin'; Boyne Water: John Doe; and The Mayor of Wind-Gap. He also wrote the tragedy of Damon and Pythias. His writings deal with turbulent passions and incidents, but they are always interesting and elicit the sympathy of the reader. The following is from the O'Hara Tulis, second series.]

Late in the second morning of her journey, the coach upset within about a stage of Dublin, and Peggy Nowlan was violently thrown off, and deprived of sense by the shock. When she recovered, she found herself in a smoky looking room, dimly lighted by a single dipped candle of the smallest size. The walls were partly covered with decayed paper, that hung off, here and there, in tatters. There were a few broken chairs standing in different places, and in the middle of the apartment a table, that had once been of decent mould, but that now bore the appearance of long and hard service, supporting on its drooping leaves a number of drinking glasses, some broken and others capsized, while their slops of liquor remained fresh around them. Peggy was seated with her back to the wall; she felt her head supported by some one who occasionally bathed her temples with a liquid which, by the odour it sent forth, could be no other than whisky; and if she had been an amateur, Peggy might have recognized it as pottheen. "My God, where am I?" looking confusedly around, was her first exclamation. "You're in safe hands, Peggy Nowlan," she was answered in the tones of a woman's voice: "an' I'm glad to hear you spake at last."

Turning her head, she observed the person who had been attending her. The woman was tall and finely-featured, about fifty, and dressed pretty much in character with the room and its furniture; that is, having none of the homely attire of the country upon her, but wearing gay flaunting costume, or rather the remains of such; and there was about her air and manner a bold confidence, accompanied by an authoritative look from her large black eyes, that told a character in which the mild timidity of woman existed not. Yet she smiled on Peggy, and her smile was beautiful and fascinating. "How do you know me, good woman?" again questioned our heroine, for

we believe she is such. "Oh, jist by chance, afther a manner, miss; onct, when I went down to your counthry to see a gossip o' my own, the neighbours pointed you out to me as the comeliest colleen to be seen far an' wide; an' so, Miss Peggy, fear nothing;" for Peggy, as she looked about her, and at the woman, did show some terror; "an' I'm glad in the heart to see any one from your part, where there's some kind people, friends o' mine; an' for their sakes, an' the sake o' the ould black hills you cum from, show me the man that daares look crooked at you."

This speech was accompanied by such softness of manner, that Peggy's nervousness lessened. She gained confidence from the presence of one of her own sex looking so kindly on her, and though years had been busy with her fine features, looking so handsome too. Her next question was, naturally, a request to be informed how she came into her present situation. "You were brought here jist to save your life," answered the woman; "a son o' mine coming along the road from Dublin, saw the coach tumble down; he waited to give it a helping hand up again; and when it druv away"And has it gone off, and left me behind?" interrupted Peggy, in great distress. "Of a thruth, ay has it, my dear.” What then am I to do?" "Why, you must only stay where you are, wid me, until the day, and you're welcome to the cover o' th' ould roof, an' whatever comfort I can give you; and when the day comes we'll look out for you, Miss Peggy, a-roon. But, as I was saying, when the coach dhrew off again, my son was for hurrying home, when he heard some one moaning inside o' the ditch; an' he went into the field, an' there was a man lying, jist coming to his senses, an' you near him, widout any sense at all; an' when the man got better, my son knew him for an old acquaintance; and then they minded you, and tuck you up between them; an' sure here you are to the fore." "It is absolutely necessary I should continue my journey to-night," said Peggy. "If you're for Dublin, child, you can hardly go; it's a thing a friend can't hear of." Peggy reflected for a moment. Her usual caution now told her, what her first suspicions had suggested, that, in some way or other, the house was an improper one, and perhaps that good-nature had not been the only motive in conveying her to it. The woman's last words seemed to show a particular determination that she should remain. would be imprudent, then, to express a design to go away: she might be detained by force. Nor would she suffer herself to become affected

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by her fears, lest she might incapacitate her- | self for escaping by stealth. Prompted by growing suspicion, she stole her hand to her bosom to search for her purse; it was gone: and Peggy became confirmed in her calculations, though not more apparently shaken by her fears. "I had a small hand-basket," she said, "containing a few little articles, and my money for the road; it's lost, of course, and I am left penniless; if I go to the spot where the coach fell, maybe I could find it." "We can go together," said the woman, if you are able to walk so far." Peggy had made the proposal, not in hopes of recovering any thing, but that she might be afforded a chance of walking away; if, indeed, the story of the coach having driven on proved to be true. Now, however, she was, in consistency, obliged to accept the attention of her officious protector; and the woman and she walked to the road along a narrow, wild lane, on each side of which a few old decayed trees and bushes shook their leafless branches in the wintry wind, while the footing was broken and miry, and overgrown by weeds and long grass. seemed to have been a winding avenue to the house she had left, once planted with rows of trees, when the mansion was better tenanted and in better repair, but which had disappeared from time to time beneath the axe or the saw of the marauder.

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Arrived at the spot required, she commenced a seemingly careful search; but, finding nothing, returned at the continued urgency of the woman, who linked her closely, to the house they had quitted. Ere Peggy re-entered she took a survey of the fabric: it was, like everything around it and within it, a ruin. She could see that it had been a good slated house, two stories high, but that in different places the slates were now wanting; indeed she trod, near the threshold, upon their fragments, mixed with other rubbish. Some of the windows were bricked up, some stuffed through their shattered panes with wisps of straw and old rags; and of the lower ones, the shutters, which were, however, attached to the wall, outside strong iron bars, hung off their hinges, and flapped in the blast.

Again entering the room in which she had first found herself, two men appeared seated. Peggy, in something like the recurrence of a bad dream, thought she recognized in one of them the air and figure of the person who, on a late and fearful occasion, had stood so near her in the Foil Dhuiv. But as she did not feel herself entitled to draw any certain deductions from feature, complexion, or even dress,

Peggy, after a moment's faltering pause, struggled to assure herself that this misgiving was but a weakness of her agitated mind, and firmly advanced to the chair she had before occupied. The second man was very young, his person slight, and twisted into a peculiar bend and crouch as he sat; his face pale and sharp, resembling that of the woman who called herself his mother; and in the sidelong glance of his cold jetty eye there lurked a stealth, an inquiry, and a self-possession, as, in reply to Peggy's curtsy and her look of observance, he, in turn, observed her, and gave, slowly and measuredly, his "Sarvent, miss." He and his companion sat close to the drooping table. Two of the glasses that had been capsized now stood upright, and were frequently filled from a bottle of whisky, of as one might augur from the smell-home manufacture. The person whose first view had startled Peggy, made more free with the beverage than the other; the pale young man visibly avoiding the liquor; but often filling for his friend, and urging him to drink bumpers.

"Go, Phil, my boy," resumed the old woman, addressing the pale lad, “take Ned and yourself up-stairs; an' the bottle wid you; you must have the hot wather, when it's ready, and the sugar along wid it: this young woman and myself 'll stay together."

Phil arose, taking the bottle and glasses; he was sidling out of the room before his com. panion, when, at a renewed signal from the woman, he hung back, allowed the other to stagger out first, and then he and she paused together, beyond the threshold of the room, in the passage, where Peggy could hear them exchange a few earnest though cautious whispers. "An' now, Peggy Nowlan," resumed the woman, coming back and reseating herself, "as you don't seem to like the whisky, you must have whatever the house can give you." "I would like some tey, ma'am." "Then, sure enough, you'll get it; we won't be long lighting the fire an' biling the wather, and we'll take our tey together."

There were some embers dimly gleaming in the blackened fireplace, to which the woman added wood and chips, that, by blowing with her mouth, as she knelt, soon blazed; and, according to her promise, a dish of tea, not badly flavoured, was manufactured, of which, with much seeming hospitality and kindness, the hostess pressed her young guest to partake. Peggy felt thankful, and strove to compel herself to feel at ease also: but, amid the smiles and blandness of her entertainer, there were

lected, and observant. With much grumbling, and many half-growled oaths, the drunken fellow seemed to insist on doing something that the lad would not permit, and at length Peggy heard an allusion to herself. "Go to sleep, Ned; you're fit for nothing else to-night; there's your bed, I tell you," said the young man, forcing him to it. "I s I say, Master Phil, stoopid, I'll have one word with that wench before I close a winker," replied Ned; "that wench, I say-hic!-what I picked up on the road; and why the devil should I bring her but to chat a bit with her? Your house isn't fit for much better, you know, Master Phil; and, my eyes but-" "Lie down, you foolish baste," interrupted his companion, pushing him down on the straw. "I'll stand none of that nonsense neither," continued the ruffian, scrambling about; "and it's no use talking; I'll see her, by -; I'll see the wench as I brought to this house: and don't you go to tell me, now, as how it's all a hum, and that I brought no such body into it; I'm not so cut but I remember it: so fair-play, Master Phil; she must be accounted for: none of your old mother's tricks will do, now. I am not to be done, by first and last, that's my word: hic! -I'll—hic!" and he lay senseless. The pale young man watched him like a lynx, until, after some moments, his growling changed into a loud snore, and there was no doubt but he slept soundly. Then he stepped softly to him, knelt on one knee, took out of his breast a large pistol, thrust it under his own arm, and finally emptied his pockets of a purse and some crumpled papers, Arising, with continued caution, he glanced over the latter close by the candle, and Peggy saw his features agitated. The next moment he stole out of the room, barred the door outside, and she heard his stealthy step, betrayed by the creaking boards, about to pass her chamber.

At this moment, however, another step,Peggy supposed that of the woman,-met his from the lower part of the house, and both stopped just at her frail though well-secured door. Well?" questioned the woman, in a sharp whisper: "you pumped him? and soaked him? and touched the lining of his pockets? Did we guess right?" "We did, by answered the young man; "the rascal has peached, by the ; his very shuffling with me showed it at once; but here's the proof: here's an answer from Mr. Long to his offer to put him on his guard against the swag at Long Hall this blessed night; and here's another letter, from Lunnon, closing with another offer of his to set the poor private for the Bow Street bull-dogs."

They had, during these words, been perhaps speaking to each other at some little distance; for their whispers, now that Peggy supposed them to have come close together, were lost on her aching ear, though she still heard the hissing sounds in which the conversation was carried on. A considerable time elapsed while they thus stood motionless outside her door: at length they moved; seemed about to part; and, at parting, a few more sentences became audible. "Go, then," said the woman, "an' let us lose no time: nothing else can be done; poor Maggy is to be saved from the treachery of the Lunnon sneak, if there was no one else consarned in the case; speed, Phil; make sure o' the hornhafted Lamprey that you'll find on the dresser: I'll meet you at his dour with a light and a vessel. Are you sure he sleeps sound enough?" There is only the one sleep more that can be sounder," replied Phil; and Peggy heard them going off.

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In panting terror she listened for their steps again passing her door: nor had she to listen long. Slowly and stealthily, and with heavy breathings, or a suppressed curse at the creaking boards, they separately came up. In a moment after she heard them undo the fastenings of the inside room, and, fascinated to the coming horror, as the bird is to the reptile's glance, her eye was fixed to a chink, ere the light they carried afforded her a renewed view of the victim's chamber.

The woman first entered, bearing the candle in one hand and in the other a basin which held a cloth. Her face was now set in the depth of the bad expression Peggy had seen it momentarily wear below stairs; and she was paler than usual, though not shaking or trembling. The lad followed, taking long and silent strides across the floor, while his knife gleamed in his hand, and his look was ghastly. They made signs to each other. The woman laid down the candle and the basin, and tucked up the sleeves of her gown beyond her elbows, She again took up the basin, laid the cloth on the floor, stole close to the straw couch, knelt by it, and held the vessel near the wretch's head. Her companion followed her and knelt also. He unknotted and took off, with his left hand, the man's neckcloth. As it was finally snatched rather briskly away the wearer growled and moved. He never uttered a sound more.

Peggy kept her eye to the chink during the whole of this scene. She could not withdraw it. She was spell-bound; and perhaps an instinctive notion that if she made the slightest change in her first position, so as to cause the