The roads of Ireland at this period--if roads they could be called--were not only in a most shameful, but dangerous, state. In summer they were a foot deep with dust, and in winter at least eighteen inches with mud. This, however, was by no means the worst of it. They were studded, at due intervals, with ruts so deep that if a horse! happened to get into one of them he went down to the saddle-skirts. They were treacherous, too, and such as no caution could guard against; because, where the whole surface of the road was one mass of mud, it was impossible to distinguish these horse-traps at all. Then, in addition to these, were deep gullies across the roads, worn away by small rills, proceeding from rivulets in the adjoining uplands, which were; principally dry, or at least mere threads of | water in summer, but in winter became pigmy torrents that tore up the roads across which they passed, leaving them in the dangerous state we have described. As Reilly and his companion had got out upon the road, they were a good deal surprised, and not a little alarmed, to see a horse, without a rider, struggling to extricate himself out of one of the ruts in question. “What is this?” said Fergus. “Be on your guard.” “The horse,” observed Reilly, “is without! a rider; see what it means.” Fergus approached with all due caution, and on examining the place discovered a man lying apparently in a state of insensibility. “I fear,” said he, on returning to Reilly, “that his rider has been hurt; he is lying senseless about two or three yards before the horse.” “My God!” exclaimed the other, “perhaps he has been killed; let us instantly assist him. Hold this portfolio whilst I render him whatever assistance I can.” As he spoke they heard a heavy groan, and on approaching found the man sitting; but still unable to rise. “You have unfortunately been thrown, sir,” said Reilly; “I trust in God you are not seriously hurt.” “I hope not, sir,” replied the man, “but I was stunned, and have been insensible for some time; how long I cannot say.” “Good gracious, sir!” exclaimed Reilly, “is this Mr. Brown?” “It is, Mr. Reilly; for heaven's sake aid me to my limbs--that is, if I shall be able to stand upon them.” Reilly did so, but found that he could not stand or walk without' assistance. The horse, in the meantime, had extricated himself. “Come, Mr. Brown,” said Reilly, “you! must, allow me to assist you home. It is very fortunate that you have not many perches to go. This poor man will lead your horse up to the stable.” “Thank you, Mr. Reilly,” replied the gentleman, “and in requital for your kindness you must take a bed at my house tonight. I am aware of your position,” he added in a confidential voice, “and that you cannot safely sleep in your own; with me you will be secure.”