28 A YEAR OF LIBERTY ; OR, 



Her Majesty's Irish mail-cars, though always appearing to do 

 great things in the way of speed, in reality do very little ; so, though 

 the distance to Waterville was not great, we took a considerable 

 time to do it. Our steed was a representative animal, with a high 

 irregular spinal ridge, a wonderful absence of flesh, and an eye in 

 which fun, pluck, and devilment were happily blended, whilst the 

 saucy toss of his head and general bearing said plainly, ' Here we 

 are, full of life, and up to anything." 



The road ran over a dull waste of peat bogs, at this season flower- 

 less and desolate, the black pools trembling as we drove along. 

 Our conductor, however, took especial care that the silence should 

 not be oppressive. *' Ah, Barne}?-, ye divil ! " (to the vicious, raw- 

 boned horse) ' ar'n't ye ashamed of yerself ^whoop I to keep her 

 beautiful ladyship's honour here in the cowld ? Get along wid ye, 

 darlint " (with a gay good-humoured glance at our little maid from 

 those sly, grey, inscrutable Kerry eyes). "And so yer honour is 

 come again to the ould country for spourt. And it's lots of it ye'll 

 have. There's lashings of fish in the lake ; houl regiments of 'em. 

 Sorra such a season ever there was.'* 



This sort of thing used to charm me a few years ago, for I heard 

 and believed, being thereby the gainer of many fallacious but pleasant 

 hopes. Knowledge may be power, but it is not necessarily happi- 

 ness. Now my humour had grown sceptical. I did not believe a 

 word of it (Wisdom was wrong for once) ; so I chose to feel sure the 

 speaker was talking bosh, and merely intended to say something 

 pleasant. 



I was glad to scent the peat smoke in the sweet evening air, as it 

 showed we were near the end of our journey. Taken as a whole, the 

 drive had been a success, the only accidents of the entire distance 

 being one broken trace and a fracture of the hind leg of a luckless 

 cur, who, in a fit of sudden insanity, challenged us to a race down 

 hill ; and so we came to the Lake Hotel, to supper and rest. 



Dear old Waterville ! in this cold March morning your mountains 

 show as clear and lovely, and your bogs rather browner than when 

 we parted. Perhaps, as regards complexion, you might say the same 



