_. Having allowed him
time to recover from what we felt must be his stupendous wonder and
delight, we ventured to enquire "what he thought of _that_?" Whereupon,
sinking his arms to the elbows in the pockets of his Petersham, and
doubling himself in two, as if seized with a cramp in the stomach, he,
after a short altercation with himself, replied in a tone that made our
very teeth to chatter--"No, I never--yes--now I think on't--there
is--there is one slip of wilderness in Crim Tartary as _bad_, as to _howl_
at least, but this beats it out in the _whinstone_."

Over this howling desert, then, we beg to present to our readers Mr Curly
Cahill travelling slowly, about dusk, a month or two after the occurrence
which took place in the preceding chapter. He was warmly muffled in his
great-coat or _loody_, and mounted on a very high-boned horse, whose
hoofs, with many interjections of stumble, made the only noise that broke
the dismal stillness around. The summit of the mountain passed, the
traveller began to descend the southern side, when, after proceeding a few
hundred yards, his steed _toed_, and tumbled the rider over its head as
softly as if it were his favourite mode of alighting. Mr Cahill, having
taken a few minutes' time for reflection, on his face and hands, quietly
arose, threw the bridle over his arm, and proceeded to walk the very short
remnant of the journey. Turning aside to a miserable hovel on the road, he
unbolted the half-door, fastened his rein to the latch, and with a
_Dhieu-a-uth_, or "God save you," entered the hut. It was in darkness,
save where around a large fire that was flickering half-smothered in its
own ashes, sat three men, at a little table, sharing between them a mug of
poteen whisky, the only vessel on the table, or probably in the house.

"How long you wor entirely!" said one of the men (who did not move)
knocking the ashes out of his pipe, as the traveller entered.

"The baste thravelled badly," replied Curly; "besides, I waited for the
fall of the evenin,' as I was loth to be seen comin' the road."

"Well, an' what's on?" asked another. "Be quick--we're not easy here so
close to the road, and it'll be pitch-dark with us across the bog."

"Well, then," said Cahill, "the long an' the short of it is this--they're
back from Dublin at the Glebe agin. The Capting has sure word from _her_
that she'll be ready to go away with him to-morrow night at twelve. Let ye
get three more good boys an' w