THE IRISH ASSASSIN. DARK was the night, and bleak blew the wind, as the guilty O'Donnel, the mention of whose name instilled dread wherever it was heard, paced to and fro with cau- tious steps in the front of a splendid mansion, situate in Sackville Street, in the City of Dublin; a deathlike silence prevailed, and nought but the shrill signings of the gale occured to interrupt the gloomy broodings of his anguished mind. Approach! Approach ! he cried in a voice of smothered rage, thou cursed villain, whose blasted machinations have for ever destroyed the fame and the family of my forefathers, and let the last existing branch of that once proud and distinguished clan finish the catalogue of his crimes, of which thou hast been the primary cause, by sheathing his trusty weapon in thy blackened heart, in which as been engendered all those hell born schemes of mischief that have made him the wretch he is! At that moment, a person whose outward appearance bespoke him of the middling order of life, approached, and ran quickly up the few stone steps that led to the hall-door. before which O'Donnel had been anxiously watching. He had lifted his hand to the knocker, and was about to give the accustomed rap, when he was seized by the sinewy arm of O'Donnel, who instantly plunged a poignard into his side, and exclaimed with savage exultation : “ that, to thy heart, thou fiend of Hell, and by this," repeating his thrusts, "be the manes of murdered innocence appeased!' A hollow groan was the only sound that escaped the stranger, who fell sense- less against the railings. O'Donnel contemplated his dreadful work for a few moments with a steady gaze,
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