It is known to most people, at all familiar with the traditions of Ireland, that this village is one of her most classic spots.  There is deposited the celebrated Blarney stone, a touch of which imparts to the tongue of the pilgrim the gift of persuasion.  So famous has this stone become, not only in Ireland but in England, that the most plausible fluency is characterised by its name, which at once confers on such oratory the stamp of unapproachable eloquence.  It must be confessed, however, that in many instances “Blarney” conveys doubts of the speaker’s sincerity, as well as admiration for his capacity.  To see this talisman would be with me, on another occasion, an object of deep anxiety and most eager curiosity.  But I was compelled to forego the pleasure, by the fact that a police-barrack loomed in its immediate vicinity, and at the other side was posted a proclamation offering a reward for my person.  We could scarcely sleep, owing to the noise and bustle of the carmen, as they came and went, and loudly snored in various parts of our dormitory.  But we were allowed to rest until seven in the morning, when we took a hasty breakfast and departed.  It was a point with us never to walk along a road, and never to ask our way.  We were now travelling through an open corn country, and our progress was accordingly slow.  We felt, too, the necessity of not departing far from our intended route, and accordingly we called in occasionally to national schools to make the necessary observations on the maps.  Sometimes we examined the children, and sometimes the master; generally one of us was so employed while the other was noting down carelessly on the map the points of observation to direct our path.  We crossed the Lee undressed, near the village of “Cross,” and slept soundly in a churchyard on a neighbouring hill the name of which has passed from my memory.  We then directed our footsteps to a small village called Crookstown, situated in a romantic spot on a branch of the Lee.  We experienced much difficulty, and narrowly escaped detection, in entering this village, which is surrounded by beautiful country seats, through the grounds of some of which we were obliged to grope our way.  We obtained lodgings, after one or two fruitless trials, in a very comfortable house kept by a farmer.  The young family seemed to be rather tastefully educated, and we soon became fast friends.  We passed as whimsical tourists, and delighted our entertainers with glowing accounts of the scenery of Connemara, Wicklow and Kerry.  We remained with them two nights, on pretence of being engaged in sketching the enchanting views in the neighbourhood; and left, promising, that if we returned by the same road, we would delay a week.  Our destination was Dunmanway, near which a friend of mine lived, in whose house I hoped we might remain concealed, while means of escape would be procured somewhere among the western headlands.  A short journey brought us to this house.  My friend was