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22, 1864.] perform a somewhat hazardous descent through narrow winding passages, where we were sometimes obliged to twist ourselves in and out, with barely room enough to make the necessary turnings. The task required so much nerve as well as physical strength, that I was surprised at Miss Barnett’s courage in going through the labour and risk. In one passage, extending nearly one hundred yards, much of which we were obliged to traverse through a space barely two feet square, one could not help imagining the horror of being enclosed there beyond the hope of rescue by the rolling down of a stone or piece of the rocks surrounding us. We explored several caverns; and I was obliged to acknowledge that I had rarely seen anything grander than these natural halls, with their massive columns, pyramids of spar, and the glittering gems of stalactites and stalagmites, shining like immense diamonds in the candle-light. Sometimes the effect produced was as gorgeous as if conjured up by the wand of a magician. Reader, if ever you visit Tipperary, do not fail to try for a peep at these wonders of nature in the Galtee mountains. I, at least, would not have missed the sight for a good deal. Perhaps, however, I had more to interest me than the mere beauties of sparry pillars, glistening crystals, and shining stalagmites. Now and then it was my good fortune to touch the fair hand of the lady who accompanied us men in our explorations as I assisted her in some difficult ascent or descent. Often we stood together, uttering murmurs of wonder and admiration. The fairy-like scenes opened occasionally to our view had a subduing effect on the mind—at least it had on mine; and I felt a sort of exultation impossible to describe while in the presence of the fair enchantress, who might have been considered the presiding genius of the magic halls. Once I was very nearly on the point of a regular declaration of undying love, forgetting all common sense and discretion; but the voice of Sir Denis, calling to us to admire the effect of the candlelight shining upon a congregation of minute crystals, restored me to a sense of my position. I know not why it was, but the fact of Miss Barnett having accompanied the party that I was attached to during the excursion through the caves rather encouraged me; and perhaps it had an opposite effect upon Sir Percy Stedmole, who seemed somewhat out of sorts when we emerged from our explorations and rejoined him and the others. Miss Barnett was in high spirits, declaring more than once that she had never enjoyed a pleasanter day. We stopped at the little village of Cloghone to procure some refreshment, and put the poor landlord of the humble inn there at his wits’ ends to know what to do for us. Being pretty hungry, however, we were not so squeamish as he might have expected, and we drank atrocious wine, and devoured some fried trout with the best grace imaginable. Once again we were on horseback, en route for Knockgriffin, in the fading light of the summer evening; and as Miss Barnett had notes to compare with me respecting the day’s adventure, I was privileged to take my place by her side for the greater part of the way home. And now we spoke of natural curiosities in foreign lands—the wonders of Italy, France, Germany; and she promised to show me some drawings she had made of ruined castles on the Rhine, and other scenes. We became deeply buried in conversation, our mutual acquaintance with many continental landscapes and other subjects in common giving us plenty to speak of. Sir Percy rode pertinaciously with St. John and Nugent, while Sir Denis kept with young Morley. Miss Barnett and I seemed often to lag far behind the rest of the party, insomuch that I thought that evening ride over lonely Tipperary roads, with the warm breeze coming to us ever and anon loaded with the perfume of fresh grass and clover blossoms, or the wild roses in the hedgerows, one of the most delicious reminiscences of my life. I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that I would cheerfully undertake to be transformed into the most unpopular landlord in the county, with the chance of a bullet whizzing at me from behind every fragrant hedge we passed, if by doing so I could secure the favour of the beautiful Irishwoman at my side. When we came near the precincts of Knockgriffin I observed that Miss Barnett hurried the pace of her horse till we got near Sir Denis, and then she kept close beside him.

“These are the Cappamoyne lands, Captain Stapleton,” she said, pointing in the direction of a flat piece of ground, laid out in patches of meadow and fields of various crops, studded here and there with small cottages. “You see, they adjoin the north woods, and from this point of view look very badly; yet, for all that, I would not attempt to disturb the present occupants of the cabins, did I not agree with Sir Denis that they will be much better off in the new dwellings he intends to provide for them.”

The moon was now rising, and glancing with soft lustre upon that level stretch of land which might yet prove so disastrous a possession to its proprietor. I looked at it a little solemnly, and felt almost inclined to echo the sigh that my fair friend uttered as we slowly turned down the road leading to the principal gateway of Knockgriffin.