the military movements of the time. After the regiment had been quartered at the town of —— for some months, Smyth obtained a week's leave of absence from the commanding officer, having received a pressing invitation to visit a gentleman's family, to whom he had letters of introduction, and who resided more than twenty miles from ——. This town bordered on a very wild, hilly moorland track of country, then, and perhaps now, the refuge of numerous bands of smugglers, and then also a hiding-place for a number of unfortunate people with arms in their hands. The road—if such it could be called—to his friend's house ran principally along the borders of this territory, though it sometimes diverged into it for several miles. However, matters had been tolerably quiet in the immediate district about —— for some time, and he resolved to go, especially as there was capital sporting at L——. It is unimportant to enter into a narration of all his sporting feats—how many birds he bagged, or how many salmon he caught, or ought to have caught, had it not been for some "untoward" occurrence, specifying the exact weight of the missing fish to an ounce—as fishermen generally do. On the fourth afternoon after his arrival, a letter was put into his hands, (just as the cloth was drawn, and the party were going to discuss the superlative merits of some genuine poteen,) which the servant said had been brought by a man, who waited in the hall. It was from Colonel ——, and briefly stated that peremptory orders had just been received from head-quarters, that all officers absent on leave should instantly return to duty. This was a disagreeable piece of intelligence, particularly at that hour, but necessitas non habet legem, as Dr. Birch used to tell our hero at school—the orders were imperative. Long and loud were the laments and remonstrances of the party, we are assured. After ordering Dart to be saddled, the Lieutenant stepped into the hall to have a moment's survey of the bearer of the letter, who the Colonel informed him in a postscript was a man well acquainted with the country, and would safely guide him back to ——. He found a tall, lumbering sort of fellow, one of the "finest pisantry in the world," whose appearance was not much in his favour. He started on seeing Smyth, who fancied that he discovered something deeper in the glance of his eye than his bogtrotting bearing first betokened. But it was only transitory; the fellow had a straight-forward story to tell, and of course Colonel —— would send a trustworthy messenger. Dart was soon ready at the door, and away they marched on their journey to ——. Five and twenty miles across a country—and such a country on an autumn night, was not a very cheering prospect. The guide did not belie his active appearance, but though Smyth repeatedly endeavoured to keep up a conversation, he seemed to shrink from inquiry, and went doggedly on his way, returning at last merely monosyllabic replies when addressed.

It was an autumnal evening;—the sky looked wild and stormy, though the air was densely still, and save when a momentary breeze swept by, as the night was setting in, a general hush prevailed. A general character of intense loneliness pervaded the district they were traversing. Now and then a mountain stream would flash along the bosom of a valley and relieve the mind of the traveller; but rocks and mountains, heaths and dreary wilds succeeded with unwearying sameness. Time was creeping on. After passing over this wild, irregular district they at last entered into a dark valley, which seemed of some extent. The Lieutenant thought that he had been certainly led a very different route to his friend's house, from that which his guide was now leading him, and as the gloom was increasing, he seriously expostulated with the man on the subject. He replied that five miles were saved by cutting across the moors, on which they would enter after clearing the valley. A shade of suspicion now crossed over the Lieutenant's mind. There was something remarkable in the man's silence, and he resolved when they entered on the moors to put spurs to his horse and leave the rest to fate. The road which had been on the ascent for some time, now became exceedingly bad, and indeed almost impassable. Large masses of rock were scattered over the path, and deep hollow chasms, the effect of the violent storms which descend in these wilds, were continually endangering both horse and man. At length they began to descend. The moors lay at the foot of the hill. On this side, however, the road became worse and worse, and the night darker, so that although Dart had hitherto avoided danger with the remarkable sagacity which horses possess in such cases, his rider was obliged to descend, and lead the way himself. The Lieutenant had not gone far before he was suddenly felled to the ground by a blow aimed from behind. The violence of the shock fell principally on his shoulders, though there was no doubt his assailant had intended it for his head. He was a powerful and active young man, and a desperate struggle commenced between them. They continued for several minutes in this death-wrestle, during which time they had imperceptibly drawn close to the edge of tremendous precipice which bounded the road. Smyth already heard just below them the wild screaming of some ravens, who had been disturbed by the encounter; when he made a desperate effort on the very brink of the precipice—tore from his assailant's murderous grasp—and in another instant there was a void before him; a wild shriek of despair arose in the night blast, as the wretch bounded from crag to crag—and then there was a death-like stillness.

Smyth paused not to reflect. Dart was no where visible. He, therefore, descended as fast as possible, and after one or two falls occasioned by his impatience and the darkness of the night, at last entered on what appeared to be a vast moor. In a short time the moon rose. Two immense parallel masses of dense clouds stretched across the entire horizon; the upper limb of the planet, of a deep crimson, was alone visible betwixt them, and shed a sombre light over the waste. He thought he had seldom seen any thing so impressive; combined with the low moaning of the night-breeze, which rose and sank at intervals, with a wild and wailing murmur. The light was so indistinct that he could discover nothing of his horse, and in the lawless state of the country no time was to be lost in getting to a place of safety. But, the direction?

After wandering on for several miles, he at last struck on a path, and following it a short way, his attention was attracted to a glow of light, which rose just before him, on what appeared to be the surface of the moor. He cautiously advanced several steps, and perceived that the light rose near the edge of a declivity, and the noise of human voices was now distinctly apparent. Little doubt could exist that it was a haunt either of smugglers or insurgents, with the description of some of which the situation accurately corresponded. It would have been more prudent to have instantly retreated; but the organ of inquisitiveness was, we presume, very fully developed in Smyth; he stepped forward a little to have a better survey of the locale, when the ground or rather turf roof of a sort of outhouse, suddenly gave way under him, and he gently descended among some hay, with which the place was nearly filled. It may be supposed his curiosity received a sudden check by this adventure. An imperfectly constructed partition divided him from the party whose voices he had heard aloft. You might have heard his heart beat for two or three minutes, as it was very probable that the noise of his fall would have disturbed the inmates—but the conversation went on in the same monotonous tone.

"Och, Brine Morrice, avic, sure an that thief o' the worl', Will Guire, hasn't been after letten' the soger-officer com' over him?"

"Bad