d said nothing to his cousin then of the plan he had determined
on. I was glad of it. I was glad not to see, at parting, her sweet face
so sad as I am sure it became when she heard that she was to struggle
against Brace's persecutions and her own antipathies unaided and alone.

I wandered through many counties, and then went to Ireland. During the
next few months I saw the faces I had left behind me many times, but
only in my dreams.

CHAPTER XVI.

"The only living thing he could not hate
Was reft at once--and he deserved his fate,
But did not feel it less; the good explore
For peace, these realms where guilt can never soar;
The proud--the wayward--who have fixed below
Their joy, and find this earth enough for woe,
Lose in that one their all--perchance a mite--
But who in patience parts with all delight?"

Pleasant days they were when, through the soft spring weather, I
wandered round the coasts of Kerry, Clare, and Galway, hooking salmon in
broad pools, where the vexed water rests a while from its labors under
wooded cliffs, and at the tail of roaring rapids, specked with white
foam-clots, or sea-trout in the estuaries where the great rivers hurry
down to their stormy meeting with the Atlantic rollers.

Every where I met the frank, cheery welcome that you must cross the
Channel to find in its perfection.

It is sad to see how widely over that fair land the abomination of
desolation has cast its shadow. Many halls are tenantless besides those
of Tara. The ancient owners of the soil--where are they? Not a country
in Europe but is conscious of these restless, careless, homeless
Zingari. In distant provincial towns of France you hear their enormous
blunders in grammar and musical Milesian brogue breaking the uniformity
of dull legitimist _soirees_. Hombourg and Baden are irradiated with the
glory of their whiskers. You find their blue eyes and open, handsome
features diversifying the sameness of wooden-faced Austrian squadrons.
Nay, has it not been whispered that the proudest name in Ireland
attained a bad eminence in the Grecian Archipelago as the captain of the
wickedest of those long low craft that, in the purple dawn or ivory
moonlight, steal silently out from behind the headlands of the Cyclades?

But let us do justice to those who remain behind.

The sceptre of Connemara has passed away from the ancient dynasty. If
the penultimate monarch could rise from his p