could see everywhere the signs of the continuous rains. The fields were sloppy and sodden, and the bottoms were flooded; the bogs were teeming with water; the roads were washed clean—not only the mud but even the sand having been swept away, and the road metal was everywhere exposed. Often, as we went along, Dick took occasion to illustrate his views as to the danger of the shifting of the bog at Knockalltecrore by the evidence around us of the destructive power of the continuous rain.
When we came to the mountain gap where we got our first and only view of Knockalltecrore from the Galway road, Andy reined in the mare, and turned to me, pointing with his whip:—
"There beyant, yer 'an'r, is Knockalltecrore—the hill where the threasure is. They do say that a young English gintleman has bought up the hill, an' manes to git the threasure for himself. Begor! perhaps he has found it already. Here! Gee up! ye ould corncrake! What the divil are ye kapin' the quality waitin' for?" and we sped down the road.
The sight of the hill filled me with glad emotion, and I do not think that it is to be wondered at. And yet my gladness was followed by an unutterable gloom—a gloom that fell over me the instant after my eyes took in the well-known hill struck by the falling sunset from the west. It seemed to me that all had been so happy and so bright and so easy for me, that there must be in store some terrible shock or loss to make the balance even, and,
