“Ah!” he exclaimed, on recovering his gravity, “it is no wonder, my dear Julia, that you should not know me. Since I went out to shoot with Mogue Moylan, yesterday morning, I have gone through many strange adventures.” “What!” she exclaimed, with evident symptoms of alarm and vexation, “Frank M'Carthy!” and, as she spoke, the remarkable conversation which she had had with Mogue Moylan, and the information he had given her with respect to M'Carthy's connection with the Whiteboys, instantly flashed upon her, accompanied now by a strong conviction of its truth. “Explain yourself, Mr. M'Carthy,” she exclaimed, in a tone of voice which indicated anything but satisfaction. “How am I to account for this unbecoming disguise, so much at variance with your habits of life and education?--perhaps I should not say your habits of life--but certainly with your education. Have you, too, been tempted to join this ferocious conspiracy which is even now convulsing the country?” “No wonder you should ask, my dear Julia,” he replied; “but really the incidents, which have caused me to appear as you see me, are so strange, and yet so much in keeping with the spirit of the times, that I must defer, until a more convenient opportunity a full account of them.” “Do so, sir,” she replied quickly; “allow yourself full time to give the best possible explanation of your conduct. I probably have put the question too abruptly; but, in the meantime, you will have the goodness, either to go on before me, or to fall back, as I presume, you will grant that it is neither delicate nor becoming for me, who wear no disguise and am known, to be seen at such an hour holding conversation with a Whiteboy.” The impropriety of the thing struck him at once, and he replied, “You are right, Julia; but I perceive that something has given you offence; if it be my appearance, I tell you that I can afford you a satisfactory explanation. Proceed now--I shall remain here for a time;--whether with black face or white, I should not wish it to be supposed that we held a clandestine meeting at this hour.” She then bowed to him with more formality than she had probably ever used, and proceeded home at a quicker pace. She had just turned an angle of the road, and got consequently out of sight, when he heard a strong, but sweet and mellow voice singing the fine old Irish song of the Cannie Soogah, or Jolly Pedlar; and, on looking behind him, he perceived that worthy person approaching him at a tolerably rapid pace. The pedlar had no sooner glanced at M'Carthy than he grasped his tremendous cudgel with greater firmness, and putting his hand into his breast, he pulled out a pistol, and with these preparations approached our friend, still continuing his song, with the same careless glee, and an utter absence of all fear. “'I' m the rantin' cannie soogah'-- “God save you, neighbor! you forgot to wash your face this mornin'.”