We left Mark Antony and his fair companion on the road, with the world before them, and some wayfarers, like themselves, in the rear. Whoever the travellers might prove to be who approached the dell where the fosterer and his friend had refreshed themselves, it was quite evident that the school where their philosophy had been acquired was of any order but the crying one. One manly voice trolled a jovial drinking song, to which two others occasionally bore a bui’den. As a sharp turning in the road, skirted with thick copsewood, masked the stranger’s advance, their merry laugh and reckless gaiety told that Father Care was not of “the companie and their calling and character might have been shrewdly guessed from passing conversation and snatches of song. “I wonder, Pat,” said one of the wayfarers, “to see you in such spirits after parting with Nelly Blake as if your heart was breaking. Neither of ye cared a button at leaving me watching for a long hour at the other side of the hedge like a poacher, for fear the old priest would come out and catch you philandering with his housekeeper. Lord, how you swore, and she--poor girl!--believed it; but when you strove to cry and keep her company, oh!--that was all but the death of me.” “Well, Tom,” returned the second, “if I broke down at the weeping, you will admit that I did not disgrace my calling, but swore like a trooper. You’ll hardly believe how much that girl has bothered me. Hand me the cruiskeen. Remember, Tom, for love there’s but one remedy,--and the beauty of it is, that for every symptom it proves a certain cure,--hear what the song says-- “If you ere love a maid who your passion derides, Drink enough, you’ll find charms in a dozen besides, Drink more, and your victory then is complete, For you’ll fancy you love every girl that you meet.” “Hallo!--who have we here? Talking of love, they seem to be a couple of Cupid’s own. Egad, a nice girl,--and if I could but list her companion! Lord, what shoulders he has for a pair of wings!” In another minute the travellers were alongside the fosterer and his friend. A civil greeting passed; and with that easy confidence with which natives of the Emerald Isle hold communication with each other, it was speedily ascertained that the route of the united party was the same, until it reached a road-side inn, where the strangers announced it to be their intention of halting for the night. The dress and personal appearance of the wayfarers was remarkable: one wore the uniform of a militia-man; another the dark clothing of a student; but from the costume of the third, it was impossible to form any opinion of what his calling might be.