effectual stopper on their progress; they seized the arms of the Irish soldiers on the frontier, they sent up large parties of the States soldiery to prevent the crossing of hostile parties into British territory, and stationed war-vessels in the river for the same purpose.  Reinforcements being thus cut off from them, the victors of Limestone Ridge found themselves under the necessity of re-crossing the river to the American shore, which they did on the night of the 2nd of June, bringing with them the flags and other trophies which they had captured from the royal troops.

The first brush between the Fenian forces and the Queen’s troops inspired the former with high hopes, and with great confidence in their capacity to humble “the English red below the Irish green,” if only they could start on any thing like fair terms.  But now that the American government had forbidden the fight in Canada, what was to be done?  James Stephens answered that question.  He would have a fight in Ireland—­the right place, he contended, in which to fight for Ireland.  The home organization was subject to his control and would spring to arms at his bidding.  He would not only bid them fight, but would lead them to battle, and that at no distant day.  The few remaining months of 1866 would not pass away without witnessing the commencement of the struggle.  So he said, and so he swore in the most solemn manner at various public meetings which he had called for the purpose of obtaining funds wherewith to carry on the conflict.  The prudence of thus publishing the date which he had fixed for the outbreak of the insurrection was very generally questioned, but however great might be his error in this respect, many believed that he would endeavour to make good his words.  The British government believed it, and prepared for the threatened rising by hurrying troops and munitions of war across to Ireland, and putting the various forts and barracks in a state of thorough defence.  As the last days and nights of 1866 wore away, both the government and the people expected every moment to hear the first crash of the struggle.  But it came not.  The year 3867 came in and still all was quiet.  What had become of James Stephens?  The astonished and irate Fenians of New York investigated the matter, and found that he was peacefully and very privately living at lodgings in some part of that city, afraid to face the wrath of the men whom he had so egregiously deceived.  We need not describe the outburst of rage and indignation which followed on the discovery; suffice it to say that the once popular and powerful Fenian leader soon found it prudent to quit the United States and take up his abode in a part of the world where there were no Fenian circles and no settlements of the swarming Irish race.