** “Och wrestrue,” an Irish lamentation. I laughed heartily at Mare’s fanciful description of a scene, which his absence would so certainly occasion. “I must be off,” continued the fosterer, “and mind, Master Hector, we’ll meet when you least expect it.” I slipped a bank-note into the fosterer’s hands--Marc disappeared--and I sought my pillow. Where Mr. O’Toole bestowed himself, I know not--but it was an eventful night for both. I, about to make my first start upon the stage of life, and honest Marc Antony flying from a choice of evils--matrimony or penance. A lovelier morning never broke than that on which I took my departure from Kilcullen. It was late in September. The hoar-frost curled gently upwards, yielding to the earliest sunbeams, as I rode from the stable-yard. Every thing was exciting to the spirits: the blackbird whistled in the copse, the partridge was calling from the stubble, the sheep-bells tinkled merrily, and all seemed happy and rejoicing. Never did a lighter-bosomed gentleman quit his father’s house. Here was I, a holder of the king’s commission, master of the best fencer in Roscommon, one hundred pounds in my pocket, a case of pistols at my saddle-bow; while, with a loose arm and a stout heart, I found myself jogging fairly on, though “half the world were sleeping.” I rode quickly forward: miles vanished, and at four o’clock I had left my home thirty miles behind. With my future route I was unacquainted; but it ran through a wild barony, bleak though beautiful enough, interspersed with hills and valleys, and thickly studded with lakes and rivulets. The road was grass-grown and disused; but, being shorter and practicable to horsemen, I followed it rather than ride a few miles round. To dine and feed my horse, I halted at a public-house where four roads met; and, after an hour’s rest, commenced my journey anew, to gain the mountain-village, where; my host apprized me, I was to sojourn for the night. The lonely inn appeared that day to have no lack of customers. During my brief stay travellers stopped repeatedly, or drank spirits at the door and hurried on. They generally rode in companies of some half-dozen, were mounted upon country horses, and, from having a couple of kegs suspended across the croup, their calling was no mystery. Illicit distillation in this wild district was then extensively carried on,--and men engaged in this demoralizing traffic, like those who stopped at this house of entertainment, were constantly traversing the mountain-road, smuggling the prohibited liquor, or returning for a fresh supply.