THE TUSK AH HOCK. 547 



and that means the lighthouse. But at all events it's certain they 

 used to haunt it, for Mickle Devereux, of Facumshaw, saw them one 

 night, and was never the same man since. But, boys, you must pull 

 a lee oar or we'll never get in, you see the tide is dragging us round 



the forlorn/ " 



*##**#* 



I left the Wexford day coach at the foot of Ballyneslaney Hill, and 

 whilst it pursued its way into Wexford I turned off to the right, and 

 entered the vale or glen which runs from the road down to the river 

 Slaney. The evening was falling very quickly, but as I knew every 

 inch of my way, I had no fears of not getting safely down to the river 

 side, where, although there is no regular ferry (a thing, by the way, 

 very much wanted), I knew I should be able to get some fisherman 

 to launch his cot and put me across. I walked on lost in admiration 

 of the lovely landscape around me, and, although I had frequently 

 seen it before, yet as it is one of the properties of the beauties of 

 nature that they never tire, the scenery that now presented itself to 

 my sight came with all the freshness and novelty of a first view. 

 Before and to my right appeared the high, sharp, clearly-defined tops 

 of that range of hills which separate the counties Carlow and Wex- 

 ford, the sun had been some time sunk behind them, but still a rich 

 rosy hue tinged some large patches of clouds over their lofty sum- 

 mits, indicating the place of his retreat, and 



" Giving promise of a goodly day to-morrow." 



To my left were the plantations of Kyle, whose leafy branches af- 

 forded resting-place to myriads of rooks and wood-pigeons, on all 

 sides winging their flight in countless numbers towards their lodging 

 place, and filling the air with ceaseless clamour; farther on, the woods 

 of Belleview appeared, with their own throngs of feathered guests 

 vieing in noise with their opposite neighbours of Kyle. Behind me 

 was the little hamlet of Ballynaslaney, which I had just left, gradually 

 becoming more and more indistinct, until at last the hoarse murmur pf 

 the ceaselessly revolving mill-wheel, or an occasional spark and train 

 of bright light from the open door of the forge, alone remained to 

 point out its situation. Troops of young men and girls were return- 

 ing from the corn-fields, with all the mirth and soul-felt enjoyment of 

 the present moment sparkling in their eyes, or bursting in loud and 

 unrestrained laughter from their lips. The seniors of the party fol- 

 lowed at a more slow and measured pace, some engaged in deep cal- 

 culation as to the probable price of corn during the ensuing winter, 

 whilst many an anxious mother's eye fondly followed her daughter's 

 figure as she beheld her walking with the chosen one of her heart, 

 and listening, with blushing cheek and mingled feelings of fear and 

 delight, to the perhaps rustic and homely, but not on that account 

 less sincere, and genuine pourtrayal of hopes and wishes, common to 

 both the noble born and the peasant. Whilst I stood gazing on this 

 scene, with something like a wish at my heart that I had been born 

 to no higher a lot than that of those happy villagers, I saw three men 

 with spades and shovels on their shoulders approach the group, which 

 stopped them, and though I was at too great a distance to hear any- 



