without intermission, until downright fatigue would render him unable to execute those surprising and perplexing leaps, which kept him, like another Antæus, from the ground. With this view, dreadful was the force he now applied to Skipdale. He seemed as if he would tear his very limbs asunder. At every bound of Murphy, the earth trembled under him; and, as his antagonist was whirled around, the swiftness and force of his feet striking the sods, tore them up and scattered the dust about, like the spray flying from a water-wheel. But Skipdale, as if aware of his opponent's intention to exhaust him, permitted himself, as much as possible, to be passive for a short time during an exertion which could not but cost Murphy a vast waste of strength. By this means, soon feeling himself tolerably recovered, he made an unexpected movement, which nearly entangled Murphy's legs and almost overset him. The bound by which the latter recovered his balance was like the shock of a thunder-bolt, and caused Skipdale to lose the grip of one of his hands. That instant Murphy closed with him at short hold, and grasped him, locking the loosened arm close to his side, with the force of a bear, round the waist. Skipdale's agility now availed him nothing. Murphy raised him from his feet, and overturning him, he fell with a dreadful crash, with his back upon the ground.

The air immediately rung with acclamations, and the stranger Murphy was unanimously hailed by the people as the victor of the well-contested day. The soldiers themselves, perhaps in some measure, from respect to the presence of their commander, yielded, without any apparent reluctance, to a decision which they could not well controvert.

After the first ebullition of the popular triumph was over, Lord Rosendale called for the wrestlers, in order to bestow on the conqueror the promised reward, and also to compensate the vanquished for the prolonged entertainment which his dexterity and strength had afforded the company. But the conqueror was no where to be found. The moment his victory was declared he had disappeared, and it seemed now in vain to search for him. Lord Rosendale, whose health was infirm, and who, therefore, began to feel the confusion which now prevailed among the multitude rather disagreeable, returned to the house; contenting himself with giving directions, that any of the people who might at any time see Murphy, would inform him, of his lordship's wish that he should call at Rosendale-house to receive his reward.

Q 2

CHAPTER XIV.

Bh! knave, ah! villain-would you kill the man,
And use such cowardly baseness for the purpose!
By Heaven, such treachery should be impaled;
'Tis fitting only for Italian ruffians,

That slay for wages at the midnight hour,
Making the deeds of Hell the trade they live by!

BASKET OF SCRAPS.

GREAT was the mortification of Skipdale at his defeat, and great was the hatred which he, in consequence, imbibed against his conqueror. The recompense and approbation which his own conduct had received from Lord Rosendale, did not in the least mollify his ill-humour; which was, during the evening, kept in perpetual excitement by the reiterated applauses and continued encomiums that the populace conferred on his antagonist. Murphy, himself, he conceived, had exhibited towards him, when he dashed him so furiously to the ground, more rage and animosity than the occasion required. He resolved therefore, if possible, to discover his enemy and be revenged. He accordingly consulted with some of his companions, to whom he

represented, that Murphy must undoubtedly be a papist, and had encountered him, on this occasion, merely to humble their party. This accorded too well with their own pre-conceived opinions and feelings not to be admitted, and they readily agreed to assist their serjeant in obtaining revenge.

It was a very beautifully clear and calm evening. The people had all retired to their several homes; and not a living creature was to be seen, nor a sound to be heard, where all had been so lately full of mirth, activity, bustle, and acclamation. The very air was so still, that not a breath stirred the luxuriant foliage of the groves; and yet it was not sultry, for a pleasant and inviting coolness was dispensed by the falling dews to the slumbering atmosphere.

Lord Rosendale's company had departed; and he himself, being fatigued with the amusements of the day, had withdrawn to repose. Frederick and Mr. Carlow remained alone. They walked out to enjoy the beauty of the evening, and the sweets of conversation, amidst those scenes where they had so often rambled, and which Frederick's late absence rendered him more than usually desirous to trace.

The moon was nearly at her full, and rode along the blue and unchequered expanse of the Heavens, in all that solemn and imposing majesty which

Homer so accurately describes. While the two gentlemen paused to gaze upon her, Mr. Carlow repeated the passage according to Pope's unrivalled translation:

As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night,
O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light;
When not a breath disturbs the deep serene,
And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene;
Around her throne the vivid planets roll,
And stars unnumbered gild the glowing pole;
O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed,
And tipt with silver every mountain's head;
Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise,
A flood of glory bursts from all the skies;
The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight,
Eye the blue vault and bless the useful light.
ILIAD, Book viii.

"Poetry never painted the scenery of such a night as this in more glowing and accurate colours," observed Frederick, as they walked in the direction of the old dilapidated castle of the M'Manuses. "Mark now the 'yellow verdure' which is shed on the dark trees that surround yon old building, and also the silver that tips its gray mouldering turrets, which from this spot almost look as if they were parts of the rocky peak of a mountain. Surely we may imagine that Homer recollected a