“I know your family well,” returned our friend; “but, as I said before, be more on your guard, unless you know well the man you spake to. As for myself, I sometimes think it is the _Cannie Soogah_ and sometimes that it is not. Others say it's Buck English; but the Buck, for raisons that some people suspect, could never be got to join us. He wishes us well, he says, but won't do anything till there comes an open 'ruction, and then he'll join us, but not before. It's hard to say, at any rate, who commands us when we meet this way.” “Why so?” “Why the dickens need you ax? Sure it's not the same man two nights runnin'.” “But I have been only three or four times out yet,” replied his companion; “and, sure enough, you're very--right--they hadn't the same man twiste.” They had now reached the road under the Fort or Rath we have alluded to, and as there was no further necessity for any combined motion among them, and as every man now was anxious to reach home as soon as possible, their numbers diminished rapidly, until they ultimately dispersed themselves in all directions throughout the country. CHAPTER IV.--Mirth and Murder--A Tithe-Proctor's Office. The next morning, when our proctor and his family assembled at breakfast, their usual buoyancy of spirits was considerably checked by a report which had already spread over a great portion of the country, that a very industrious and honest farmer, who lived within about four miles of them, had been murdered in his own house the night before, by a party of fellows disguised with blackened faces, and who wore shirts over their clothes. The barbarous and brutal deed, in consequence of the amiable and excellent character of the man--who had been also remarkable for resolution and courage--had already excited an extraordinary commotion throughout the country. “Boys,” said Purcel, “I have been in C------m this morning, and, I'm sorry to say, there's bad news abroad.” “How is that, sir?” asked Alick,--“no violence, I hope; although I wouldn't feel surprised if there were; the country is getting into a bad state: I think myself the people are mad, absolutely mad.” “You both knew Matthew Murray,” he proceeded, “that lived down at Rathkeerin?” “Certainly, father,” said John; “what about him?--no harm, I hope?” “He was murdered in his own house last night,” replied his father; “but it's some consolation that one of the murdering villains is in custody.” “That is bad business, certainly,” replied John; “in fact, it's dreadful.” “It is dreadful,” said the father; “but the truth is, we must have the country, at least this part of it, proclaimed, and martial law established;--damn the murdering scoundrels, nothing else is fit for them. We must carry arms, boys, in future; and by d--n, the first man I see looking at me suspiciously, especially from behind a hedge, I'll shoot him. As a tithe-proctor I could do so without much risk.”