creature. The sad and solitary spirit of the
place seemed to centre in her. Roche
remarked, at first with surprise, that no visitors
ever came there; but, he soon grew accustomed
to their lonely life, and began to feel a
pleasure in it. It was pleasant, sitting beside
her in the long evenings, to fancy that he
had abandoned for ever the strife and
anxiety of his profession, and even the
ambitious hopes which had made his labours light
to him, to live with them in that quiet home,
which had outlived the storms of 'ninety-
eight.

Roche's visit to Killowen naturally
increased his affection for the young lady.
When the day of his departure drew nearer,
he frankly told her his circumstances, and
solicited her hand. She set before him, like
a noble girl, the injury that might result to
him in his profession from alliance with a
family considered as rebels by the government;
she reminded him that her brother
was rash and hotheaded, and that their
troubles might possibly be not yet over; she
prevailed upon him at last, to postpone the
marriage for a twelvemonth. On this
arrangement, made with the approval of her
brother, and on the understanding that he
was to return in the same season of the
following year, Roche bade her farewell, and
returned to Dublin to follow his profession.

The appointed twelvemonths had nearly
passed away, when one of those minor
outbreaks which, for many years, followed at
intervals the suppression of the Great Rebellion,
again involved the Howley family in
trouble. On the twelfth of July (the
anniversary of the Battle of the Boyne), a
party of the Society of Orangemen, which
had grown bolder than ever since the
triumph of the loyalists, assembled in the
town of Wexford, and marched across the
bridge, and through the principal streets, in
procession, carrying banners inscribed with
mottos offensive to the Catholics, and
preceded by musicians playing "Croppies, lie
down," and other tunes known to be
irritating to them. The Ribbonmen remained
in-doors; but it was whispered about
that it was intended to light bonfires in
the streets at night, and to burn in effigy
some of the favourite leaders of the United
Irishmen, who had suffered for their
treason; and it soon became known that a
riot would take place. The Orangemen, who
have since been found to be so mischievous a
body, were, in those days of party warfare,
openly encouraged by the authorities, and
looked upon as a useful barrier against the
revolutionary spirit of the common people.
No pains therefore, were taken to stop their
proceedings, and several frays ensued, in
which some lives were lost. One of these
occurred in the market-place, where a large
fire had been made. The attacking party
were at first beaten off, and the Orangemen's
bonfire had sunk into a great heap of embers,
glowing and rustling in the wind, when, a
man named Michael Foster, who was in the
act of raking the fire with a pole, was shot by
an unseen hand, and immediately fell forward
on his face. A few persons who were standing
near him (most of the Orangemen had
already dispersed), fled at the report of the
gun; before any of his own party
returned there, the head, and a portion of the
body, of the murdered man, were almost
consumed by the fire. There was then
a dead wall on one side of the market-
place, from an angle of which some persons
pretended to have remarked that the shot
was fired; however, in the hurry and bustle
of that night the murderer escaped.

Outrages had been committed on both
sides; but so strong was the prejudice of the
authorities in favour of the party who gave
the first provocation, that no Orangeman was
apprehended, while a great number of Ribbonmen
were taken, and lodged in prison; on
the following day, a diligent search was
made for others, who were known to have
been connected with the affray. The murder
of Michael Foster in the market-place, made
remarkable by the mystery attending it, and
the horrible circumstance of the burning away
of the head, was the subject of much investigation.
Little doubt was entertained that the
perpetrator had taken advantage of the riot,
to commit an act of personal revenge. The
conspicuousness of the victim, standing at the
moment in the glare of the red embers, had, no
doubt, enabled the murderer to take aim. That
it was the act of one man, and that the man
was satisfied with the result, was concluded
from the circumstance that the gun was only
fired once, and that the assassin or his party
did not rush forward as was the invariable
practice of the Irish in an affray.

Suspicion, casting about for some person
known to have a plausible motive for the
crime, was not long in finding a victim. It
was remembered that the murdered man had
been a witness against young Howley on his
trial; he was, moreover, said by some, to
have openly boasted of having with his
own hand cut down the father, at the fight at
Vinegar Hill. This clue was at once seized,
and, on the night following the Orange riot,
young Howley was arrested, and conveyed to
the gaol at Wexford.

Evidence, true or false, was quickly
procured against him. One of the Orange party
now came forward, and (for the first time)
stated, that as he stood near the angle of the
dead wall, on the night of the murder, he
heard a voice, which he recognised
immediately as that of Howley, exclaiming, "By
the Holy Ghost, I'll make a hole through
that villain!" Immediately after which, he
heard the report of a gun, and fearing that
there were many armed men of the Ribbon
party at hand, fled with others. Young
Howley admitted that he was at Wexford that
night, and that he carried his gun with him,