It is true that the imprisonment chafed sorely against us, as we read of the great achievements of our armies in various parts of the world; of the great battles of Cairo and the Pyramids, of Acre and Mount Thabor; and of which a holiday and a fête were to be our only share. The terrible storms which shook Europe from end to end, only reached us in the bulletins of new victories; and we panted for the time when we, too, should be actors in the glorious exploits of France. It is already known to the reader that of the country from which my family came I myself knew nothing. The very little I had ever learned of it from my father was also a mere tradition; still was I known among my comrades only as “the Irishman,” and by that name was I recognized, even in the record of the school, where I was inscribed thus: “Maurice Tiernay, dit l’Irlandais.” It was on this very simple and seemingly-unimportant fact my whole fate in life was to turn; and in this wise—But the explanation deserves a chapter of its own, and shall have it. _(To be continued.)_ THE ENCHANTED ROCK. (FROM CHAMBERS’S EDINBURGH JOURNAL.) About four miles west-northwest of Cape Clear Island and lighthouse, on the south-west coast of Ireland, a singularly-shaped rock, called the Fastnett, rises abruptly and perpendicularly a height of ninety feet above the sea level in the Atlantic Ocean. It is about nine miles from the mainland, and the country-people say it is _nine miles_ from _every part_ of the coast. The Fastnett for ages has been in the undisturbed possession of the cormorant, sea-gull, and various other tribes of sea-fowl, and was also a noted place for large conger eels, bream, and pollock; but from a superstitious dread of the place, the fishermen seldom fished near it. During foggy weather, and when the rock is partially enveloped in mist, it has very much the appearance of a large vessel under sail—hence no doubt the origin of all the wonderful tales and traditions respecting the Fastnett being enchanted, and its celebrated feats. The old people all along the sea-coast are under the impression that the Fastnett hoists sails before sunrise on the 1st of May in every year, and takes a cruise toward the Dursey Islands, at the north entrance of Bantry Bay, a distance of some forty miles; and that, after dancing several times round the rocks known to mariners as the Bull, Cow, and Calf, it then shapes its homeward course, drops anchor at the spot from whence it sailed, and remains stationary during the remainder of the year.