MEMOIR OF HENNESSEY. 357 



CHAPTER XXXVIII. 



We sat down to dinner tite-d-tite, and although 

 both myself and my kinsman made an exertion to banish 

 unpleasant reminiscences, the evening was the most 

 sombre that I had yet passed. The happy party who 

 once tenanted our " merrie home " are never to meet 

 again. The otter-killer '* sleeps the sleep that knows 

 no breaking " — the Colonel has retired to his winter 

 quarters — the Priest's confessions call him from us 

 for a season — and some secret intelligence which reached 

 the Lodge over night has caused Hennessey to disappear. 



To gratify a strong expression of curiosity on my 

 part respecting the latter, my cousin told me the following 

 particulars of this singular personage : — 



" If ever man came into the world with the organ of 

 destructiveness surcharged, it was my unhappy foster- 

 brother. He was a lively and daring boy, and being 

 a favourite with my late father, had opportunities of 

 improvement afforded to him, which persons in his 

 sphere seldom can obtain. But Hennessey showed 

 little inclination for literary pursuits, the gun was more 

 adapted to him than the pen — and at fifteen, when but 

 a very indifferent scribe, he was admitted by the whole 

 population to be the best shot of his years that * ever 

 laid stock to shoulder.' Encouraged by my father's 

 partiality, from this period he led an idle, careless life, 

 and rambled over the country, breaking dogs, or amusing 

 himself with the gun and fishing-rod. 



" I was at the college when the first of his misfor- 

 tunes occurred. He had imprudendy ventured into 



