“Don’t you know,” replied Michael, “that that step would be my death warrant?  Once we join them we must remain with them, let what may happen.  No man laving them, unless he gets clear of the country altogether, may expect more than a week’s lease of life; in general not so much.  They look upon him as a man that has been a spy among them, and who has left them to make his peace, and gain a fortune from government for betraying them; and you know how often it has happened.”

“It is too true, Michael,” replied his brother, “for unfortunately it so happens that, whether for good or evil, Irishmen can never be got to stand by each other.  Ay, it is true—­too true.  In the meantime call on me to-morrow with liberty from Shawn to attend your meeting, and we will both go there together.”

“Very well,” replied his brother, “I will do so.”

The next night was one of tolerably clear moonlight; and about the hour of twelve or one o’clock some twenty or twenty-five outlaws were assembled immediately adjoining the spot where Charles Lindsay was so severely and dangerously wounded.  The appearance of those men was singular and striking.  Their garbs, we need scarcely inform our readers, were different from those of the present day.  Many—­nay, most, if not all of them, were bitter enemies to the law, which rendered it penal for them to wear their glibs, and in consequence most of those present had them in full perfection around their heads, over which was worn the barrad or Irish cap, which, however, was then beginning to fall into desuetude.  There was scarcely a man of them on whose countenance was not stamped the expression of care, inward suffering, and, as it would seem, the recollection of some grief or sorrow which had befallen themselves or their families.  There was something, consequently, determined and utterly reckless in their faces, which denoted them to be men who had set at defiance both the world and its laws.  They all wore the truis, the brogue, and beneath the cloaks which covered them were concealed the celebrated Irish skean or mid-dogue, so that at the first glance they presented the appearance of men who were in a peaceful garb and unarmed.  The persons of some of them were powerful and admirably symmetrical, as could be guessed from their well-defined outlines.  They arranged themselves in a kind of circle around Shawn-na-Middogue, who stood in the centre as their chief and leader.  A spectator, however, could not avoid observing that, owing to the peculiarity of their costume, which, in consequence of their exclusion from society, not to mention the poverty and hardship which they were obliged to suffer, their appearance as a body was wild and almost savage.  In their countenances was blended a twofold expression, composed of ferocity and despair.  They felt themselves excommunicated, whether justly or not, from the world and its institutions, and knew too well that society, and the laws by which it is regulated and protected,