hen I received
an official notification from the Colonel, directing me to proceed to
Kilrush, then and there to afford all aid and assistance in suppressing
illicit distillation, when called on for that purpose; and other similar
duties too agreeable to recapitulate. Alas! Alas! Othello's
occupation: was indeed gone! The next morning at sun-rise saw me on my
march, with what appearance of gaiety I could muster, but in reality very
much chopfallen at my banishment, and invoking sundry things upon the
devoted head of the Colonel, which he would by no means consider as
"blessings."

How short-sighted are we mortals, whether enjoying all the pump and state
of royalty, or marching like myself at the head of a company of his
Majesty's 4_th.

Little, indeed, did I anticipate that the Siberia to which I fancied I
was condemned should turn out the happiest quarters my fate ever threw me
into. But this, including as it does, one of the most important events
of my life, I reserve for another chapter.--

"What is that place called, Sergeant?"--"Bunratty Castle, sir,"

"Where do we breakfast?"--"At Clare Island, sir."

"March away, boys!"

CHAPTER II.

DETACHMENT DUTY--THE BURTON ARMS--CALLONBY.

For a week after my arrival at Kilrush, my life was one of the most
dreary monotony. The rain, which had begun to fall as I left Limerick,
continued to descend in torrents, and I found myself a close prisoner in
the sanded parlour of "mine inn." At no time would such "durance vile"
have been agreeable; but now, when I contrasted it with all I had left
behind at head quarters, it was absolutely maddening. The pleasant
lounge in the morning, the social mess, and the agreeable evening party,
were all exchanged for a short promenade of fourteen feet in one
direction, and twelve in the other, such being the accurate measurement
of my "salle a manger." A chicken, with legs as blue as a Highlander's
in winter, for my dinner; and the hours that all Christian mankind were
devoting to pleasant intercourse, and agreeable chit-chat, spent in
beating that dead-march to time, "the Devil's Tattoo," upon my ricketty
table, and forming, between whiles, sundry valorous resolutions to reform
my life, and "eschew sack and loose company."

My front-window looked out upon a long, straggling, ill-paved street,
with its due proportion of mud-heaps, and duck pools; the houses on
either side were, for the most part, dingy-looking edifices, wi