insolent sneer as he thought over the false security of those within; and that proud banner whose lazy folds scarce moved with the breath of morning, “How soon may we see a national flag replace it?”--were the words he muttered, as he resumed his way as slowly as before. A few minutes after brought him in front of the College. All was still silent in that vast area, along which at noon-day the wealth and the life of the city poured. A single figure here appeared, a poor miserable object in tattered black, who was occupied in affixing a placard on the front of the Post-office. Mark stopped to watch him--there seemed something sad and miserable in the lot of this one poor creature, singled out as it were to labour while others were sunk in sleep. He drew near, and as the paper was unfolded before him, read, in large letters, the words “Capital Felony--£500 Reward”--and then followed a description of John Barrington, which in every particular of height, age, look, and gesture, seemed perfectly applicable to Talbot. “Then, sorra one of me but would rather be tearing you down than putting you up,” said the bill-sticker, as with his arms folded leisurely on his breast, and his ragged hat set sideways on his head, he apostrophized his handiwork. “And why so, my good fellow,” said Mark, replying to the words. He turned round rapidly, and pulling off his hat, exclaimed, in an accent of unfeigned delight--“Tear-an-ages, captain, is it yourself? Och! och! no,” added he, in a tone of as great despondency--“it is the black horse that deceived me. I beg your honor's pardon.” “And you know this horse,” said Mark, with some anxiety of manner. The bill-sticker made no answer, but carefully surveyed Mark, for a few moments from head to foot, and then, as if not perfectly satisfied with the result of his scrutiny, he slowly resumed the implements of his trade, and prepared to move on. “Stop a moment,” said Mark, “I know what you mean, this horse belonged to----” and he pointed with his whip to the name on the placard. “Don't be afraid of me, then, for I am his friend, perhaps the nearest friend he has in the world.” “Av you were his brother, you don't like him better than I do myself. I'll never forget the night he got his head laid open for me on the bridge there beyant. The polis wanted to take me up for a bit of a ballad I was singing about Major Sirr, and they were hauling me along through the gutter, and kicking me at every step, when up comes the captain, and he sent one flying here, and the other flying there, and he tripped up the chief, calling out to me the whole time, 'Run for it, Dinny--run for it like a man; I'll give you five minutes fair start of them any way.' And he kept his word, though one of them cut his forehead clean down to the bone; and here I am now sticking up a reward to take him, God pardon me”--and the poor fellow uttered the last words in a voice of self-reproach, that actually brought the tears into his eyes.