was without whiskers, a circumstance which caused a wound on the back part of his jaw to be visible, and one-half of the left-hand little finger had been shot off in defence of his church and country, according to his own account.  This was a subject however, upon which he always affected a good deal of mystery when conversing with the people, or we should say, he took care to throw out such oracular insinuations of what he had suffered in their defence, as, according to their opinion, almost constituted him a martyr.  In size he was somewhat above the middle height, compact, and exceedingly well built.  His chest was deep and his shoulders powerful, whilst his limbs were full of muscular strength and great activity.

Having thus given a portrait of his person, it only remains that we describe his costume as he appeared on the Sunday in question, and we do so because it may be right to inform our readers, in the outset, that one of his peculiarities was a habit of seldom appearing, for any lengthened period, in the same dress, or indeed in the same locality.

On this occasion he had on a pair of tight buckskin breeches, top-boots and spurs—­for he mostly went on horseback—­a blue body-coat, with bright gilt buttons, a buff cassimere waistcoat, and a very fashionable hat.

The cravat he wore was of green silk, and was tied in a knot, which might be understood by the initiated as one that entitled him to their confidence and respect.  Our readers may not be surprised at this, for, unfortunately so high and bitter have party prejudices and feelings in our disturbed country run, that the very dress has been often forced to become symbolic of their spirit and existence.

The chapel green, as we have said, was covered by the great bulk of the peasantry who were waiting the arrival of the priest.  Here was a circle in which stood some rustic politician, who, having had an opportunity of getting a glimpse at some newspaper of the day, was retailing its contents to a greedy circle of listeners about him.  There again stood some well-known storyteller, or perhaps a live old senachie, reciting wild and stirring legends to his particular circle.  Some were stretched indolently on the grass, or lying about the ditches in the adjoining fields, but by far the greatest and most anxious crowd was assembled under the tree against which Buck English—­for by this name was he known—­leaned.  We should say here, however, that he was not called Buck English, because his name was English, but in consequence of his attempts at pronouncing the English tongue in such a manner as he himself considered peculiarly elegant and fashionable.  The man’s education was very limited, indeed he had scarcely received any, but he was gifted at the same time with a low vulgar fluency of language which he looked upon as a great intellectual gift, and which, in his opinion, wanted nothing but “tip-top prononsensation,” as he termed it, to make it high-flown and gentlemanly.