was, a day or two
after reaching the camp of Lord Ormonde, sent off to the West to drill
some of the newly-raised levies there. It was now six years since he had
begun to take an active part in the war, and he was between twenty-one
and twenty-two. His life of active exertion had strengthened his
muscles, broadened his frame, and given a strength and vigor to his tall
and powerful figure.

Foreseeing that the siege of Dublin was not likely to be successful,
Harry accepted his commission to the West with pleasure. He felt already
that with all his devotion to the Royalist cause he could not wish that
the siege of Dublin should be successful; for he saw that the vast
proportion of the besieging army were animated by no sense of loyalty,
by no interest in the constitutional question at stake, but simply with
a blind hatred of the Protestant population of Dublin, and that the
capture of the city would probably be followed by the indiscriminate
slaughter of its inhabitants.

He set out on his journey, furnished with letters from Ormonde to
several influential gentlemen in Galway. The roads at first were fairly
good, but accustomed to the comfortable inns in England, Harry found the
resting-places along the road execrable. He was amused of an evening by
the eagerness with which the people came round and asked for news from
Dublin. In all parts of England the little sheets which then did service
as newspapers carried news of the events which were taking place. It is
true that none of the country population could read or write; but the
alehouses served as centers of news. The village clerk, or, perhaps, the
squire's bailiff, could read, as could probably the landlord, and thus
the news spread quickly round the country. In Ireland news traveled only
from mouth to mouth, often becoming strangely distorted on the way.

Harry was greatly struck by the bareness of the fields and the poverty
of the country; and as he journeyed further west the country became
still wilder and more lonely. It was seldom now that he met any one who
could speak English, and as the road was often little more than a track,
he had great difficulty in keeping his way, and regretted that he had
not hired a servant knowing the country before leaving the army. He
generally, however, was able to obtain a guide from village to village.
The loneliness of the way, the wretchedness of the people, the absence
of the brightness and comfort so characteristic of Engl