Then the play of "The thousand wild fountains Rushing down to that lake from their home in the mountains," the scream of the eagle on the crags of Mailoc, far, far on high, all justify Callanan's preference for the spot which was meetest for the bard.

We endeavoured to recall his tender strains, and thought mournfully of his sad prophecy--alas! when shall it be fulfilled?
I too shall be gone, but my name shall be spoken, When Erin awakes and her fetters are broken Some minstrel shall come in the summer's eve gleaming, When Freedom's young light on his spirit is beaming, And bend o'er my grave with a tear of emotion, Where calm Avonbui seeks the kisses of ocean, Or plant a wild wreath from the banks of that river, O'er the heart and the harp that are sleeping for ever.
We saw at a short distance, the pass which so enraptured us the night before, but we resisted the temptation to revisit it, lest the glare of light might disenchant us of those sublime impressions of beauty it had made on our minds.
We found a most comfortable dinner on our arrival, for which we could not account.

In the course of the evening we learned casually from our host that he had spent several years of his life where it was impossible he should not have seen and known me.

This was a disturbing conviction wherewith to retire to rest, but we trusted to our propitious stars, in which we had begun to feel a superstitious confidence.

We were not disappointed then or afterwards, and next morning we slept in unquestioning security.