the nearest way; and turning to me, he said:  “You must not go in the same direction, for every yard of it is set.  Follow my son,” he said, and turning to the boy, he named several points in the path whereby he should conduct me.  “Lead Mr. Doheny safely,” he concluded, “and remember you are the son of ——.”  In utter astonishment I inquired how he knew me, and he answered by waving his hand in the direction of the boy, who had bounded off and was scarcely perceptible above the tall heath.  I soon overtook him, and as we went along, I learned that my two companions during the night were also evading the law’s pursuit.  One of them he described as having killed a man by accident, and ever after leading, the life of a “poor wild goose.”  I made no doubt but this was he whose spirit seemed so heavily laden.  We had a couple of terriers of the truest breed, whose sudden discovery of a badger interrupted our conversation and impeded our journey.  The young hunter became delirious with joy.  His encouraging cries to the dogs were broken outbursts of wildest rapture; and when the game took shelter in his inaccessible den, he would dash himself against the rocks with the same reckless vehemence as his dogs, who, in their rage, attempted to bite away the hard mountain stones.

He left the spot with the utmost reluctance, after venting an oath of vengeance against the head of the poor badger, to which he promised sure destruction on the occasion of their next meeting.  We quickly descended in the direction of Gougane Barra, where he parted from me, indignantly refusing a half-crown which I offered him.

Once more I found myself on the slopes of Shehigh, in sight of Lough Lua.  My immediate object was to place myself in communication with my lady friend at Dunmanway.  I was extremely anxious to see her.  I wanted to procure through her some things to complete my costume as a disguised priest, and finally I expected to learn through her some news of my family.  With the view of seeing her in the safest retreat, I determined to conceal myself in a wood belonging to a Mr. O’Leary, at a place called Coolmountain.  I endeavoured to gain the friendship of a man in the neighbourhood, of whom I had learned the highest character for probity.  It was necessary to confide in him fully; for his fidelity to his employer might induce him to betray me, if he suspected that my flight was occasioned by moral guilt.  He did not disappoint me.  At once he entered into all my plans, and immediately sent his wife with a message to Dunmanway.  The distance was about six miles; and the utmost caution was necessary, for the police authorities, baffled in all their calculations, concerning my retreat, and deceived in every word of the information they were able to purchase, had determined on making simultaneous searches in all quarters of the country, so that scarcely a house remained in this vicinity that had not the honour of a domicilary visit.  My friend, too,