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he returned there with a cargo, with the crowd that gathered generally after nightfall, he there. The women went down used to give a preconcerted on their knees on the edge of signal, and his confederate his confederate the sheer precipice and with came out and brought him hands upheld to heaven word as to whether it was "prayed prayers" upon the safe to venture in, and also head of the traitor, and what piloted the lugger to her like those prayers were we can anchorage in the bay. On very surely guess. The first one of these occasions the con- shot from the cutter killed the federate chanced to be absent, lugger's helmsman, and thereand another man, a local car- with Hill seems to have yielded penter, came out in his stead. to Agnew's counsels and enHugh, distrusting either his deavoured to seek safety in good faith or his skill, refused flight. He had his cannon to employ him, and the carpen- thrown overboard to lighten ter in revenge made his way the craft-the spot where they across the mountains to Car- lie is known to this day-and rickfergus, where he knew the crowded on all sail. At first revenue cutter to be lying, and it seemed as if they might gave information that Hill and even yet be able to show the his lugger were at that moment cutter a clean pair of heels, but in Ballycastle Bay. the wind-always shifting and uncertain beneath high cliffs— dropped, so at least it would appear from an old "com'ally or ditty that was made to commemorate the fight, and whilst the lugger's sails hung slack, the cutter by a skilful tack bore down upon her, and her crew were compelled to surrender. The cries from the cliffs were "lamentable "-meaning not sad, but very loud and terrible, as the throng collected there saw the craft that was manned by their sons. and brothers boarded by the revenue men. She was conveyed as a prize to Greenock, one can only conjecture why, but there Hugh Hill and his men were tried and sentenced to transportation to America. The carpenter who had wrought the mischief received SO many threatening letters, adorned with skulls and coffins and other devices, that he deemed it

The cutter forthwith set sail with forty men on board, and surprised the smuggler still at anchor. The wind was light and the chance of escape seems to have been remote. Hugh Hill, against the advice of his second in command, a man named Agnew, also belonging to the district, resolved boldly to give battle. The lugger carried some small cannon, and her crew were all armed. News of the cutter's approach and of the impending fight soon spread, and from all sides the people flocked in to watch it, till the streets of the little

were thronged "as if it was a Lammas Fair day," that being the great yearly gathering of the locality. It was beneath the towering cliffs that rise at the western end of the bay that the hostile craft closed in upon each other. The heights above were black

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salubrious to make a midnight course and lost no time in flitting in the same direction giving information in the right to which he had carried his quarter, and the reward was news, and his native place thus secured. knew him no more. Hugh Hill returned after many years to be present at his father's deathbed, but the times were changed, his old home had lost its charm, and he did not long remain there.

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Stilling, however, was carried on in more modest fashion, not only in the glens, but even within the little town itself, long after the stirring days of Hugh Hill. But few of the houses in those days possessed pumps and wells of their own, and one enterprising citizen who desired to carry on illicit distillation in all secrecy in his cellar, feared the attention that he might attract if he were to provide himself with such a luxury as a private water supply. He therefore arranged to have the water led in secretly by wooden pipes from a spring in a neighbour's backyard. The workman who carried out the work under cover of the darkness was solemnly sworn to silence, but he knew full well for what purpose the water was required, and he hankered after the handsome reward that was offered to any one who would reveal the whereabouts of a still. One night, therefore, whilst his wife was busied about the house, he set up the tongs in the chimney corner, arrayed it in his hat and jacket, and talking to it like a friend, proceeded to tell it all particulars of the work on which he had been engaged. His wife overheard the dis

It is supposed traditionally that no fox has his dwelling in Ulster. None the less there have ever been keen Nimrods there, hunting puss with much zest, even over the heathery heights and along the beetling cliffs of the rugged Antrim coast. Amongst the notabilities of the hunt in those old days were two ancient sea-dogs who had seen service in the French wars, and being by age and infirmity precluded from more active participation, hunted on wheels, driving each their tandem over the old roads that ran unfenced and with undeviating directness, innocent of curves. or or gradients, up and down the steepest hills. Their homes were some half-dozen miles apart, and on one occasion they agreed for a wager each to start in a post-chaise at an appointed time, and to drive by different roads. the Diamond of Coleraine, whoever arrived first at the inn there to be the winner. One of them started to the moment, watch in hand, having first promised the postilion a goodly reward if he should win the race,- -an intimation to which he only responded by a touch of his cap, and by setting off at a pace that betokened his resolve to win the promised guerdon. The long main street of Coleraine came into view with no sign therein of the rival equipage. "Drive like the very d-1, and we've won," roared the old sea captain from the window.

Down the street they tore, its occupants scattering like chaff before them, and drew up with a prodigious clatter at the inn door, when the postboy, turning in his saddle with a broad grin, said "I'm first here; I've won the wager and your bounty too."

The master of that northern pack, whilst in his full vigour and prime, was struck with mortal illness. Knowing that his days were numbered, he gave orders for his own funeral, and decreed that it should resemble as little as possible the usual solemn and mournful procession to the grave. The sad day came, and all the countryside gathered to do the late master honour. The hearse The hearse stood at the door, horsed with four mettlesome black steeds, and when the signal to start was given, it went away at full gallop. The drivers of the long train of vehicles, from stately carriages to humble jauntingcars, who had expected the ordinary slow pace of such occasions, were constrained to lash their horses to keep up, and the mourners on foot were left running and gasping far behind. For seven miles, without slackening of speed, the wild cavalcade went, and it was only a scanty remnant that stood at the last by the open grave beneath the old weatherbeaten church, hard by the cliffs and the Atlantic, where the master had elected to lie.

The coroner for the district, who was also a J.P., dwelt at the head of one of the Antrim glens, whose windings offered safe security for many illegal practices long after the

strong arm of the law had suppressed them elsewhere. The potheen distilled in these mountain fastnesses had, from the nature of its manufacture, a flavour of peat-smoke and bogwater that, in the opinion of connoisseurs, rendered it far superior to what was known as "Parliament " or duly bonded whisky, and the worthy coroner did not suffer either his official or his magisterial position to hinder him from enjoying the highly-prized liquor that was distilled, so to say, at his own door. One morning, after having laid in a supply of this "mountain dew" from a band of stillers with whom he stood on a friendly footing, the footing, the coroner had occasion to drive down to the little town on business. He had no sooner arrived there than he was assailed by the police to sign warrants for the arrest of the very men with whom he had had commercial dealings but an hour before. A sudden and violent attack of gout in the coroner's right hand rendered him, however, quite incapable of holding a pen, though not of driving, for he forthwith returned at furious speed up the glen, standing up in his gig and crying aloud to the winds of heaven, "The police are coming! The police are on their way up!" Needless to say, when the police did arrive, it was to find the nest deserted and the birds flown.

On one occasion, whilst the gentlemen of our party were visiting at a house in the neighbourhood, they were invited to attend a cock-fight

which had been organised on a large scale. The coroner's residence, owing to its secluded position, was deemed the most desirable place for the battleroyal to take place, but none the less, having regard to his judicial position, it was thought prudent to hold the contest at night. When our party gained the house, after a long and difficult approach up a rugged road in the dark, the voice of the master was heard within proclaiming that, a large sack of potatoes having by mistake been placed against the halldoor, entrance must be sought by the back of the premises. Once indoors, however, they found banked-up turf-fires and the best of good cheer, as well

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numerous company already assembled. The cockfight took place in the roomy, low-ceiled kitchen, the birds fighting in the middle of the floor, the spectators gathered round the walls, whilst light was provided by four barefooted wenches squatting in the corners, each holding aloft a torch made of blazing bog-fir. It was broad daylight before the battle was ended and the last chanticleer had crowed his victory over his rivals.

The house in which our party were being hospitably entertained stood high up, on the very edge of the cliffs. The first news that greeted its owner upon his return in the sunshine of the early morning was the unpleasing intelligence that one of his best milch cows, in endeavouring to secure some specially tempting morsel of herbage, had fallen over the verge

and been dashed to pieces upon the rocks below. The disaster being irretrievable, the houseparty determined at any rate to extract some amusement therefrom, and a carefully worded message was sent up the glen to the coroner, their entertainer of the previous night, to apprise him that a lamentable fatality had occurred, and a valuable life been lost over the cliffs. The coroner arrived without loss of time, and was received by the whole company with faces of portentous length and gloom.

"We had best view the scene of the catastrophe," said the host, as he led the way down the winding cliff-path. "There she lies, my precious Mollie," he exclaimed, when on rounding an angle of the rocks they came upon the mangled remains of the cow. The coroner proved equal to the occasion.

"Very sad, very sad indeed," he murmured sympathetically, without moving a muscle of his face. Then, turning to the guests, and to a group of grinning stable - hands and hangers-on who had followed the party down, he empannelled a jury on the spot, and proceeded to take evidence in all proper form. There was no difficulty in arriving at a verdict, and the coroner entered in the records with the proper formalities that Mollie Mcame by her death through falling over the cliffs, that no one was to blame for the accident, and he claimed and received the fee due to him for holding an inquest.

J. M. CALLWELL.

TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN.

BY ALFRED NOYES.

VII. FLOS MERCATORUM.

FLOS MERCATORUM! On that night of nights,
We drew from out our Mermaid cellarage
All the old glory of London in one cask
Of magic vintage. Never a city on earth-
Rome, Paris, Florence, Bagdad-held for Ben
The colours of old London; and, that night,
We staved them like a wine, and drank, drank deep!

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"Twas Master Heywood, whom the Mermaid Inn
Had dubbed our London laureate, hauled the cask
Out of its ancient harbourage. 'Ben," he cried,
Bustling into the room with Dekker and Brome,
"The prentices are up!" Ben raised his head
Out of the chimney-corner where he drowsed,
And listened, reaching slowly for his pipe.

"Clerk of the Bow Bell," all along the Cheape

There came a shout that swelled into a roar.

"What! Will they storm the Mermaid?" Heywood laughed, "They are turning into Bread Street!"

Down they came!

We heard them hooting round the poor old Clerk

"Clubs! Clubs! The rogue would have us work all night! He rang ten minutes late! Fifteen, by Paul's!"

And over the hubbub rose, like a thin bell,

The Clerk's entreaty-"Now, good boys, good boys,
Children of Cheape, be still, I do beseech you!

I took some forty winks, but then

A roar

Of wrathful laughter drowned him-"Forty winks!
Remember Black May-day! We'll make you wink!"
There was a scuffle, and into the tavern rushed
Gregory Clopton, Clerk of the Bow Bell,-

A tall thin man, with yellow hair a-stream,

And blazing eyes.

"Hide me," he clamoured, "quick!

These picaroons will murder me!"

I closed

The thick oak doors against the coloured storm
Of prentices in red and green and ray,
Saffron and Reading tawny. Twenty clubs
Drubbed on the panels as I barred them out;
And even our walls and shutters could not drown
Their song that, like a mocking peal of bells,
Under our windows, made all Bread Street ring :-

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