I did not discover, until long afterwards, the secret motive of my friend’s anxiety that I should pay the visit in question, though, at the time alluded to, I was quite coxcomb enough to suppose that it all arose from personal consideration.  It mattered little to me, however, to what the kindness was due; and, my leave having expired, I set off to the Endymion, of which I was then second lieutenant, with a firm resolution to avail myself of the first opportunity of visiting the persons to whom my excellent friend the doctor had given me an introduction.  I had been so frequently absent before, that I expected to be fixed on board for a long time to come, and was therefore agreeably disappointed to discover that my brother-officers had formed so many pleasant acquaintances at Burncrana, a town on the banks of the magnificent Lough Swilly, that they were quite willing to remain on the spot, and to take upon their shoulders the extra duty which my renewed absence imposed upon them.  I had only, therefore, to obtain the captain’s permission for a fresh run.  This was easily gained, for he was the most indulgent of mortals; and his only caution was, “Now, mind, don’t you be falling in love with any of these Irish girls.  It will be quite time enough for that when you are a post captain.”

I promised to attend to his advice, and set out in the highest glee, wishing for no better sport than to try the firmness of my resolutions on this head, though, it must be confessed, I was fully more inclined to follow the precept enjoined upon me by another friend, who, by way of improving the captain’s instruction, said,—­

“Do take care what you are about when you mix with those fair and fascinating witches, and never hold yourself as heart-safe, unless you are in love with at least two of them at once!”

Off I went; but it matters not whether the course steered was to the east or to the west after leaving Londonderry:  a letter of introduction in my pocket naturally determined my route; and, having hired a good stout horse, I strapped my valise behind, and set out on a fine summer’s evening in quest of adventures.  Yet I was in no respect prepared to find myself so soon in what appeared very like a field of battle.  I had not proceeded twenty miles before I came to a village surrounded by troops, and guarded at the ends of its few streets by loaded cannon, with lighted matches smoking by their sides.  A considerable encampment was formed on a slightly rising eminence near the village; and on the neighbouring ground, still farther off, might be seen large irregular groups of people, who, I learned, upon inquiry, were chiefly Orangemen, preparing for a grand ceremonial procession on this the 12th of July, the well-known anniversary of the battle of the Boyne.  In order to resist this proceeding on the part of the Protestants, an immense multitude on the Roman Catholic side of the question were likewise assembled, and all the roads converging towards that quarter were lined with parties of men carrying sticks in their hands, flocking to the expected scene of action.  The military had been called in to keep the peace, but the angry passions of the respective factions were so much roused, that even the precautions above described seemed hardly sufficient to prevent the threatened conflict.