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tertain some suspicion, the travellers beheld one small quarter of a mile succeed to another, and heard and lost repeatedly the fall of many dashing torrents, until, as they ascended among the romantic elevations of the Galties, they lost sight of the inconvenience and tediousness of their journey in their admiration of the scenery. They even permitted the horses to halt in a narrow glen, while they proceeded to examine regions, where nature reigned in all her wildest magnificence; and they ascended from one commanding altitude to another till the whole stupendous chain of mountains broke gradually upon them, spreading far and wide in bold fantastic forms, and in the utmost freedom of outline. As the travellers stood thus occupied at the point of a bold cliff, they suddenly perceived a shadow thrown from their precipitous station, intercepting the blood red beams of the now settling sun, and turning

quickly round, they observed a man so close to them, that by a single effort he might have hurled the incautious wanderers down the abyss, they had, a moment before, shuddered to contemplate. He had a bold, strongly defined, but light and flexible figure, not much set off by a ragged frize jacket: his neck was scarcely covered by a loosely tied red handkerchief. In his countenance there was a look of mingled carelessness and intrepidity, of gaiety and acuteness, which is so often discernible in the Irish physiognomy. His hat, worn gallantly on one side, his light arch blue eye and curly luxuriant hair, gave to his whole appearance -something of rustic foppery, mingled with an hardy daringness, that was peculiarly characteristic. This unexpected apparition in a scene 80 lonely amazed without alarming the travellers. When the man asked, with a sort of triumphant laugh, “Doesn't your honors know me then? Shure, a'nt

I your driver, Sirs, that drove


from Cashel in the Kilcoleman chay, below, in the hollow there."

This information rather increased than lessened the surprise his appearance excited. “ Only,he continued, “that I threw off my cotamore,* in regard of the heat; and wishing to climb the mountain after you, I changed my old wig and caubeen for this bit of a straw hat, Sir, that I keeps under the chay sate for warm weather, why."

“ But with such a profusion of hair, why do you wear a wig?" asked the Commodore.

“Och! becaise, your honor, it was my ould father's before me, Sir,fo-God

* Great coat. The cotaigh was the upper garment anciently.

+ This reason the author has often heard as. signed by the young Irish for covering their na. tural locks with an old scratch wig. Fine hair, however, is a national beauty, and an article of rustic commerce. The females exchange their tresses with pedlars for trinkets and ribbons.

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rest him”-and he crossed himself devoutly.

This mode of accounting for a disguise, more of air and manner, even than of dress, amused, but by no means satisfied the travellers; and secretedly convinced that he had some motive for concealing his person in Cashel, they accompanied him in silence back to the spot where he had left the chaise and horses. As they descended the declivities, De Vere observed, “This is what Shakespeare calls a fine, gay, bold faced villain:' I should like to know his object in bewildering us in these mountains."

“If he has any," replied the Commodore, carelessly, “it must soon discover itself."

On reaching the hollow, they were surprised and mortified to find that the daylight, which still lingered in tints of purple and gold on the summits of the mountains, had faded away from their valljes.

“ Yez may step in now, gentlemen,” said the driver: “we have a smooth piece afore us for half a mile, and then we turn into Cloghnaigh-Cluain, and will be on the top of Doneraile in no time."

“We are quite aware that is utterly impossible," said the Commodore, decisively, as he got into the chaise; “but go on as rapidly as possible: we should not like to be benighted in these mountains; indeed, we are resolved not to be so."

“ Och! sorrow fear, your honor, any how, of that shure: isn't there an ilegant fine moon? and if the worst goes to the worst, is not there the mountain house Lis-na-sleugh, at the foot of the Galties, and the best of entertainment there for man and baste.'

“ No," replied the Commodore in the same tone of cool decision, “we must reach Doneraile or Buttevant tonight, except we ourselves change our minds, as we proceed."

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