Having laughed heartily over the World, and no less heartily at the alarm of our host and hostess, we set out on our long journey, about four o’clock in the evening, under very heavy rain.  Our first effort was at the publichouse, already mentioned, where we again failed.  We had some bread and punch, while drying our clothes at the fire.  My comrade became very ill; but even this did not overcome the obstinate repugnance of the hostess to receive us.  We were compelled to leave at about nine o’clock; and having travelled some miles, ’midst cold and rain, my comrade shivering from fever and suffering, we determined to sleep in freshly-saved hay.  While making ourselves a resting-place in the hay, we were surprised by some countrymen, who recognised us as the persons who dined on a former evening, but were coldly received and rudely expelled.  Upon consulting with the women, who had seen us, they conjectured we were some of the fugitives, and followed for the purpose of inviting us to the hospitalities of their home.  We accepted the offer gladly, and were received by our friends of the former evening with the warmest welcome.  The principal apartment contained two beds, one of which was usually occupied by the man and his wife, and the other by their grown daughters.  They gave both up to us, treated us most kindly, and the whole family, men, women and children, watched over our sleep until morning.  The eldest son displayed considerable information and still greater energy of character.  He evinced the deepest interest in our fate, and accompanied us for several miles next morning.  It was Sunday; the cold and wet of the previous evening had given way to calm and sunshine; and we made rapid way along the slopes of the Comeraghs—­thence to the Knockmeldown mountains, having one main object in view—­to place the greatest distance possible between where we were to rest that night and where we had last slept.  The greatest difficulty we experienced was in passing deep ravines.  The steep ascent and descent were usually wooded and covered with furze and briars.  Far below gurgled a rapid and swollen mountain stream, which we crossed without undressing, and always experienced the greatest relief from the cold running water.  But toiling our upward way, through trees and thorny shrubs, was excessively fatiguing.  About three o’clock in the evening we reached the picturesque grounds of Mountmellary Abbey.  We had then travelled thirty miles of mountain without any refreshments.  The well-known hospitality of the good brothers was a great temptation to men in our situation, pressed by toil and hunger.  But we felt that we possibly might compromise the Abbot and the brethren, and determined on not making ourselves known.  We entered the beautiful chapel of the Abbey, and ascended the gallery while vespers were sung.  We were alone on the gallery, and had an opportunity of changing our stockings and wiping the blood from our feet.  We remained upwards of