We rose late and reluctantly, and left a scene where we enjoyed more undisturbed rest and real comfort than had fallen to our lot for weeks before.

The day became dark and showery.

Crossing the bogs in the recesses of Shehigh, we were overtaken by a storm, from which we took shelter in some hay gathered on the bleak moor, where I wrote the following:-- Hurrah for the outlaw's life! Hurrah for the felon's doom! Hurrah for the last death-strife! Hurrah for an exile's tomb! Come life or death, 'tis still the same, So we preserve our stainless name From losel of the coward's shame.
Hurrah for the mountain side! Hurrah for the bivouac! Hurrah for the heaving tide! If rocking the felon's track.
Hurrah for the scanty meal! If served by th' ungrudging hand, Hurrah for the hearts of steel, Still true to this fallen land! Still true, though every hazard brings Some new disaster on its wings, Which o'er her last faint hope it flings.
Hurrah, etc.
Hurrah; though the gibbet loom! Hurrah; though the brave be low! Hurrah; though a villain doom! The true to the headsman's blow.
As long as one life-throb remain, We'll spurn the tyrant's gyve and chain On gallows-tree or bloody plain.
Hurrah, etc.
Hurrah for that smile of light, Which like a prophetic star, Illumined the long, lone night Of the wanderers from afar.
Give us for resting-place the rath, Give us to brave the foeman's wrath, So that dear smile be o'er our path.
Hurrah for the mountain side! Hurrah for the bivouac! Hurrah for the heaving tide! If rocking the felon's track.
Being apprehensive that our former retreat near Dunmanway was discovered, and that we would be looked for there, we determined to try another district, from which we might be able to communicate with her who had evinced such sympathy for us.

We sought the house of a friend of hers, but found him so terrified that we could not think of forcing ourselves on his hospitality.

He promised, however, to call on her and learn if she had any letters or other information for us.