the drubbing a’ got, Sir Thomas; and, indeed, a’ don’t doubt, after all, but it was meant in kindness, as you say, Sir Thomas; and a’m sure besides, Sir Thomas, that it’s not every one you’d condescend to drub, and that the man you would drub, Sir Thomas, must be a person of some consequence.  A’ will send you up my claims as a magistrate some of these days—­that is, as soon as a’ can get some long-headed fellow to make them out for me.

“And have the honor to be, my dear Sir Thomas, your much obliged and favored humble servant.

“Periwinkle Crackenfudge.

“Sir Thomas Gourlay, Bart.”

CHAPTER XXIV.—­An Irish Watchhouse in the time of the “Charlies.”

Another subject which vexed the baronet not a little was the loss of his money and pistols by the robbery; but what he still felt more bitterly, was the failure of the authorities to trace or arrest the robber.  The vengeance which he felt against that individual lay like a black venomous snake coiled round his heart.  The loss of the money and the fire-arms he might overlook, but the man, who, in a few moments, taught him to know himself as he was—­who dangled him, as it were, over the very precipice of hell—­with all his iniquities upon his head, the man who made him feel the crimes of a whole life condensed into one fearful moment, and showed them to him darkened into horror by the black lightning of perdition; such a man, we say, he could never forgive.  It was in vain that large rewards were subscribed and offered, it was in vain that every effort was made to discover the culprit.  Not only was there no trace of him got, but other robberies had been committed by a celebrated highwayman of the day, named Finnerty, whom neither bribe nor law could reach.

Our readers may remember, with reference to the robbery of the baronet, the fact of Trailcudgel’s having met the stranger on his way to disclose all the circumstances to the priest, and that he did not proceed farther on that occasion, having understood that Father M’Mahon was from home.  Poor Trailcudgel, who, as the reader is aware, was not a robber either from principle or habit, and who only resorted to it when driven by the agonizing instincts of nature, felt the guilt of his crime bitterly, and could enjoy rest neither night nor day, until he had done what he conceived to be his duty as a Christian, and which was all he or any man could do:  that is, repent for his crime, and return the property to him from whom he had taken it.  This he did, as it is usually done, through the medium of his pastor; and on the very day after the baronet’s departure both the money and pistols were deposited in Father M’Mahon’s hands.