“I say I'm not drunk; but I'm in a terrible passion at that treacherous scoundrel; but no matter, I saw something to-night--never mind, I say. “'There was an old prophecy found in a bog, Lillibullero, bullen ala; That Ireland should be ruled by an Ass and a Dog, Lillibullero, bullen ala; And now that same prophecy has come to pass-- Lillibullero, bullen ala; For Talbot's the Dog, and James is the Ass, Lillibullero, bullen ala.' “Never mind, I say; hang me, but I'll crop the villain, or crop both, which is better still--steady, Schomberg--curse you.” The same rut or chasm across the more open road on which they had now got out, and that had nearly been so fatal to Mr. Brown, became decidedly so to unfortunate Smellpriest. The horse, as his rider spoke, stopped suddenly, and, shying quickly to the one side, the captain was pitched off, and fell with his whole weight upon the hard pavement. The man was an unwieldy, and consequently a heavy man, and the unexpected fall stunned him into insensibility. After about ten minutes or so he recovered his consciousness, however, and having been once more placed upon his horse, was conducted home, two or three of his men, with much difficulty, enabling him to maintain his seat in the saddle. In this manner they reached his house, where they stripped and put him to bed, having observed, to their consternation, that strong gushes of blood welled, every three or four minutes, from his mouth. The grief of his faithful wife was outrageous; and Mr. Strong, who was still there kindly awaiting his safe return, endeavored to compose her distraction as well as he could. “My dear madam,” said he, “why will you thus permit your grief to overcome you? You will most assuredly injure your own precious health by this dangerous outburst of sorrow. The zealous and truly loyal captain is not, I trust, seriously injured; he will recover, under God, in a few days. You may rest assured, my dear Mrs. Smellpriest, that his life is too valuable to be taken at this unhappy period. No, he will, I trust and hope, be spared until a strong anti-Popish Government shall come in, when, if he is to lose it, he will lose it in some great and godly exploit against the harlot of abominations.” “Alas! my dear Mr. Strong, that is all very kind of you, to support my breaking heart with such comfort; but, when he is gone, what will become of me?” “You will not be left desolate, my dear madam--you will be supported--cheered--consoled. Captain my friend, how do you feel now? Are you easier?” “I am,” replied the captain feebly--for he had not lost his speech--“come near me, Strong.”