who discussed various projects of escape.  Among the rest, it was proposed to my comrade to accompany a lady—­who was about leaving for London—­in the dress and character of a servant-maid.  He was well fitted for such disguise, being extremely young and having very delicate features.  Besides this, he was supposed to be dead, having received a slight wound in the skirmish at Ballingarry.  He obstinately refused to adopt the disguise, but consented to that of a servant boy.  When the matter was finally arranged, it was proposed to us to sleep at Templenoe, on the north side of Kenmare Bay, where he was to be furnished with suitable clothes.  Since the commencement, I did not feel the same sense of desolation as when these arrangements were completed, and an hour was appointed for his departure next morning.  It was on the evening of the 23rd of September.  We spent the day with one of the noblest of fellows.  He had beds brought far into the neighbouring mountains, where he remained with us for the night.  A cloud of sadness, and I believe chagrin, enveloped all my senses.  I could not help feeling myself utterly abandoned.  It seemed fated that even from the most kindly efforts my unfortunate position utterly excluded me.  Stephens sang as usual, and endeavoured to rally me; but my mind had set in impenetrable gloom.  One idea was uppermost with me, namely, that within the circle that was then drawn around me, there was no further possible safety.  We parted before daylight, and I immediately determined on my own course.  It was this:  to assume the disguise of a clergyman and attempt to cross to France.  The trials at Clonmel were approaching, and I concluded that they would engross the entire attention of Government, and would even require the presence of the whole corps of detectives who were acquainted with my person and were then on my track.  I communicated my intention to the friend to whose hospitality I was then indebted.  He combatted it with great earnestness, and could not be persuaded of its practicability.  I, however, persevered, and he offered to place a horse, upon which he set great value, at my disposal.  Just as we made our final arrangements and had despatched a messenger to Kenmare to provide the disguise, Stephens returned, wet, weary and hungry.  He was in the worst spirits:  but the case admitted of no delay.  The lady with whom he was to travel had to stay one day in Cork, and to overtake her there was the only chance left.  There was only one possible way to effect this—­to give him the horse and let him ride on to Cork.  I at once agreed, and he immediately set off.  The loss of the horse imposed on me the difficulty of a journey on foot to Cork, and this rendered the assistance of a man to carry my disguise—­who would take a different route from myself—­indispensable.  Our friend who, in giving his favourite horse to Stephens, told him to try and sell him in Cork and put the money in his pocket, provided me with another horse and car, by which my baggage was to be brought about forty miles.  Having settled all preliminaries, he conveyed me to a cabin on the hills, where he provided an excellent dinner, and left me to my musings.