It has become necessary, in order to a clear and chronologically¹ arranged exposition of events to return for a little while to our melancholy² young friend, Edmond O'Connor, who, with his faithful squire³, Larry Toole, following in close attendance upon his progress, was now returning from a last visit to the poor fragment of his patrimony⁴, the wreck⁵ of his father's fortunes, and which consisted of a few hundred acres of wild woodland, surrounding a small square tower half gone to decay, and bidding fair to become in a few years a mere⁶ roofless ruin. He had seen the few retainers of his family who still remained, and bidden them a last farewell, and was now far in his second day's leisurely⁷ journey toward the city of Dublin.

 

The sun was fast declining among the rich and glowing clouds of an autumnal evening, and pouring its melancholy lustre⁸ upon the woods and the old towers of Leixlip, as the young man rode into that ancient town. How different were his present feelings from those with which he had last traversed the quiet little village—then his bright hopes and cheery fancies had tinged⁹ every object he looked on with their own warm and happy colouring; but now, alas¹⁰! how mournful the reverse. With the sweet illusions he had so fondly cherished had vanished all the charm of all he saw; the scene was disenchanted now, and all seemed coloured in the sombre and chastened

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