us at various distances. We
had the guidance of a young country lad of fine intelligence and true
fidelity, who was acquainted with every foot of bog and mountain for
miles around. We spent several days rather agreeably, perambulating the
ranges of hills between Kilfademore and Templenoe, embracing a district
about fifteen miles square. One night we slept in an empty cabin within
a field of Kilfademore House, a fine old mansion, belonging to the
father of Christabel,[15] the mountain poetess, which is now only
inhabited by the tenant of the farm, while the whole available military
and police force of the district were drawing their lines of
circumvallation around this old house, which, as soon as they made the
proper dispositions to prevent our escape, they burst into with the
stealth and precipitancy of a robber band.

We were most kindly received and cared for wherever our friend or his
guide bespoke a night's hospitality. But although we unquestioningly
reposed on the truth of all to whom our safety was committed, we felt
the circle of our armed foes was closing and contracting around us, and
it became indispensable to break through it. It was clear that our steps
were tracked, for every night a search was made for us in one or other
of the houses over which the influence of our friend extended. But our
information respecting their arrangements was always earlier and surer
than theirs concerning our movements. During this interval when,
although we travelled an average of fifteen miles a day, we considered
ourselves resting, we received the kindest attentions everywhere;
frequently finding a rude mountain cabin furnished with excellent beds
and every delicacy. But we pined to be more at large. We had interviews
with clergymen and others, 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