absent, but daughters of his, whom I had not seen since childhood, recognised and welcomed us.  We had then travelled 150 miles, and fancied that, as no one could think of our making such a journey without walking one half-mile of road, we would be safe there for many days.  In this we were disappointed.  It was communicated to us next morning early that our persons were recognised, and that half the inhabitants of Dunmanway were by that time aware of our whereabouts.  It was added, that the people were venal and treacherous; a character which the inhabitants of that region of Cork invariably attribute to each other.  We remained a second and most of a third day, notwithstanding, and enjoyed ourselves heartily, although our little festivities had all the air of a wake.  We set out at length on the evening of the third day, having made one glorious friend, whose exertions afterwards tended mainly to secure my escape.  We had expected letters from home before we reached Dunmanway, and received them there on the day after.  They contained the concentrated and compressed agony of weeks, but no word of complaint or regret.  They also confirmed the intelligence which we had heard ere we set out, namely, that all our comrades were arrested, except Dillon, O’Gorman, and a few others, of whose fate we remained uncertain.  Certain friends of the family undertook to communicate with clergymen, near the seashore, who were supposed to be in a position to facilitate our escape, while we proposed to visit Gougane Barra and Ceimeneagh, and, if practicable, Killarney, before we returned to learn the success of their applications.  We followed the stream that passes Dunmanway for several miles through an almost inaccessible valley, until we reached the southwestern base of Shehigh, the highest mountain in the range which stretches between Mallow and Cape Clear.

Here we purchased some good new potatoes, butter, eggs and milk, on which we dined satisfactorily.  We then faced the mountain which we crossed near the summit, being desirous to gain Gougane Barra by the shortest possible route.  A steep ascent gives the traveller fresh impulses and an irrepressible desire to bound down at the other side.  It seems to spring from that principle of action and reaction pervading all nature.  At the northern base of Shehigh, after traversing some miles of bog, we found ourselves entering the pass of Ceimenagh.  Though that Pass had been recently immortalised in the unequalled verses of Denis Florence M’Carthy,[12] and I had learned to love a spot where echoes of minstrelsy so soft and passionate had found a “local habitation,” I was ignorant of its locality and entirely unprepared for the surpassing grandeur of the scene, which, in the full blaze of a harvest moon burst upon my view.  My comrade was even more startled than I, and we paused at every turn of that enchanting passage to gaze upon the masses of rock projecting over our heads hundreds of feet in the air, and casting their dark rude outlines