** Shane Bearna was a celebrated Rapparee, who, among his other exploits, figured principally as a horse-stealer.  He kept the stolen animals concealed in remote mountain caves, where he trimmed and dyed them in such a way as made it impossible to recognize them.  These caves are curiosities at the present day, and are now known as Shane Bearna’s Stables.  He was a chief in the formidable gang of the celebrated Redmond O’Manion.  It is said of him that he was called Bearna because he never had any teeth; but tradition tells us that he could, notwithstanding, bite a piece out of a thin plate of iron with as much ease as if it were gingerbread.

“Why, that you’ll hang yourself, and every man of us.”

“Nonsense, you cowardly dogs,” replied their leader indignantly; “can’t we lave the country?”

“Well, if you’re bent on it,” replied his followers, “we won’t be your hindrance.”

“We can break up, and be off to America,” he added.

“But what will you do with the Cooleen Bawn, if you take her?” they asked.

“Why, lave her behind us, afther showin’ the party creature the inside of Shane Bearea’s stables.  She’ll be able to find her way back to her father’s, never fear.  Come, boys, now or never.  To say the truth, the sooner we get out of the country, at all events, the better.”

The Rapparee and his men had moved up to the door of the old chapel already alluded to, whilst this conversation went on; and now that their dreadful project had been determined on, they took a short cut across the moors, in order to procure additional assistance for its accomplishment.

No sooner had they gone, however, than an individual, who had been concealed in the darkness within, came stealthily to the door, and peeping cautiously out, at length advanced a few steps and looked timidly about him.  Perceiving that the coast was clear, he placed himself under the shadow of the old walls—­for there was now sufficient light to cast a shadow from any prominent object; and from thence having observed the direction which the Rapparee and his men took, without any risk of being seen himself, he appeared satisfied.  The name of this individual—­who, although shrewd and cunning in many things, was nevertheless deficient in reason—­or rather the name by which he generally went, was Tom Steeple, a sobriquet given to him on account of a predominant idea which characterized and influenced his whole conversation.  The great delight of this poor creature was to be considered the tallest individual in the kingdom, and indeed nothing could be more amusing than to witness the manner in which he held up his head while he walked, or sat, or stood.  In fact his walk was a complete strut, to which the pride, arising from the consciousness of, or rather the belief in, his extraordinary height gave an extremely ludicrous appearance.  Poor Tom was about five feet nine in height, but imagined