of adventure. A Kentucky officer who had
served in the Mexican war raised a rifle regiment
for Kossuth, had them armed and equipped,
and was ready to sail if the Magyar had only
been able to make a beginning. I, William
Tompkins, knew the colonel of the regiment,
and have seen his commission from the ex-
Governor of Hungary.

Preparations were speedily and silently made,
and next morning at daylight, Manley and
Cockburn, with three friends, all armed to the
teeth, set out for Colonel Barwell's estate. All
of them wore cloaks or loose coats, to conceal
their weapons; and as they had kept their intention
secret, they expected to take the enemy
completely by surprise.

But the proverbial "little bird" carried the
news; in this case it was a black bird—namely,
Jake. In some mysterious way he heard of
what was going on, and at once came to me.

"Massa Bill, dere's trouble a brewin' for ole
Maasa Barr'l. Dat yer Manley an' Cockbun
is goin' to-morrer to fotch away Miss Cely, an'
to shoot de ole man if he gits in de way."

Jake, in common with all his race, had a
mortal contempt for "po'r white trash," and he
was rejoiced beyond measure when his master
came home victorious. "I 'spected he was done
shet* of dat po'r white-livered chap, an' dat
Miss Cely 'd be 'shamed of stoopin' to de low-
flung people for a man. Gor-a-mighty, I hope
ole massa 'll gib de whole crowd some lead to
fotch back wid 'em! Don't you, Massa Bill?"

* ln Kentucky, to be shut of a man is to be rid of
him.

I had not made up my mind.

"But, Massa Bill, wouldn't you now be a
frien' to ole massa, and jest ride over an' let him
know, so's they shan't jump on him onawares?"

"Me! Go sixteen miles at night! I think
I shall not interfere in the quarrel. Why don't
you go yourself? Mind, I don't tell you to do
it, nor advise you."

"Oh, massa, you'se sartin lawyer enough to
know dat nigger's word ain't good for noffin in
court; an' if dere's any trouble, ole massa
maybe 'll want to show that he knowed de rascals
was a comin'."

The astute Jake! To think that he was more
far-seeing than I, in my own field!

Notwithstanding, I kept my ground. I did
not see any reason why I should desire that
Manley, or even the hare-brained Cockburn,
should be shot. But Jake was bent on his
errand, and, after borrowing a dollar from me,
set out  and found some white man to accompany
him. I neither helped nor hindered.

A little after sunrise Miss Celia was making
her toilette, when she heard the tramp of horses;
she looked out of window and recognised her
lover and Cockburn. What she felt, I don't
pretend to say. For afterwards, when it became
a matter of great importance to know, she kept
her counsel. A remarkably intelligent and self-
possessed person she proved to be. But at all
events, she started up and ran down stairs in a
great fright to——-to inform her father? I did
not say so. For anything I know, she may
have intended to run to her lover's arms. But
in the hall her father was ready: his rifle on his
arm, a double-barrelled deer-gun in the corner:
powder, balls, buckshot, patches, and percussion-
caps in a chair at his knee. She had not time
to speak before he stepped forward, raised the
rifle, and said, "Keep off! Don't open my gate,
or I shall fire!"

"Don't shoot! Keep cool!" some one
answered.

The party were close together, and Manley, in
advance, was just opening the gate, a hundred
yards or so from the porch where the colonel
stood. The gate swung open, and the party
coolly came on.

"Once more!" shouted the colonel, "I warn
you!"

At the same instant the sharp crack of the
rifle was heard, and Manley fell off his horse.
His party responded with pistol-shots, but their
fire fell short, and only enraged their antagonist.
Quick as lightning he discharged a load of buck-
shot from the other gun, and winged two of
them; one was Cockburn, whose right arm fell
powerless at his side.

The horsemen now halted for parley. These
movements took place within ten seconds from
the time when Celia came down. It was not until
after Colonel Barwell had set down the second
gun, still smoking, by the door, that he became
conscious of his daughter's presence. She had
fallen to the floor and was grasping his knees
with cries and supplications. She did not obey
his stern order to go to her room, but still clung
to him, weeping convulsively.

The two unwounded members of the expedition
now dismounted and picked up the body of
their unfortunate chief.

"Bring him in," said the colonel. "Is it
peace or war?" he continued, as he rammed
down a ball in his rifle. "Let us understand
each other."

"Peace," was the reply.

Cockburn, meanwhile, and his wounded
companion, got off their horses with difficulty, and
fainted from pain and loss of blood before they
had gone ten steps. (I may as well state here
that amputation became necessary in both cases.)

Manley was brought into the hall and laid on
his cloak for a pillow. The colonel stood by
unflinchingly; not a muscle moved. His
daughter bent over the body in a paroxysm of
grief and, I dare say, of remorse. Manley
breathed feebly, but his eyes were shut in
insensibility. Presently he gave a groan, which
shook his whole frame; his eyes slowly unclosed.
"I told you!—we part—I die for you!
Farewell!" He was dead.

The colonel drew a deep breath. "This is a
sorry business, gentlemen," said he, "and I
hope you are satisfied with your share in it."

No one ventured to answer. Celia still sat
by the dead body, weeping and moaning.

The master of the house then called his
servants, and gave orders for the care of the