One of these autumns, over ten, and less than twenty years ago, I made the west of Ireland the field of my operations. Starting from Galway, in a little less than three weeks' time I beheld the broad waters of Corrib, Mask, and Conn--had lost myself in the wildernesses under the shadow of Croagh Patrick--and looked with awe at the bold headlands of Mayo, against which the restless Atlantic beats with a ceaseless roar. By the evening of the twenty-first day, I found myself at Ballina, my mind full of indecision as to how I should occupy the week or ten days I had yet to spare. To go back over the same ground, I looked on as a waste of time; to plunge inland was to doom myself to days of weary trudging through rather uninteresting country. After deliberation, I decided to head for Sligo, feeling sure that the beauties of Lough Gill would well repay me my long walk thither. Next morning I was up early, and, knapsack on back and stick in hand, started off on my journey. For the first mile or two, the road was level and easy; but presently its character changed, and the country around grew poor and wild. It seemed a land drenched with constant showers, and beat upon by constant gales. There was nothing to charm me in anything I saw, so I hurried on. After ten hours' almost constant walking, the country began to improve, and presently I found myself in the little village of Ballysadare. Here I halted, for, as may be expected, I was both tired and hungry. A good dinner, however, soon made a wonderful change in me for the better. There were still a couple of hours to pass before dark, and how better could I employ them than by attempting to cover in an easy way the five miles yet between me and Sligo? Once there, I could make up by a day's idleness for this day of extra exertion. So, after a short rest, I shouldered my knapsack, grasped my stick, and started off again. Once clear of the village, the country began rapidly to improve, and the scenery at one or two spots was so pleasant, that I was tempted to loiter. I was not more than half the way, when I suddenly wakened to the fact that night was beginning to fall about me fast. 'I cannot reach Sligo now before dark; that's certain,' I muttered, as I hoisted my knapsack an inch or two higher, and began to cover the ground at my best rate. 'However, the sooner I get there the better.' Presently, I reached a spot where four roads met, and while I stood doubtful which to take, a gig driven by some one singing in a loud key overtook me. At sight of my lonely figure, the gig was halted suddenly, and the driver ceased his song. 'Ah, thin, may I ask, is your honour goin' my way?' said a full round voice. 'It's myself that's mighty fond of company o' nights about here.' 'I don't know what _your_ way may be,' I replied. 'I wish to go to Sligo.'