My way to the church lay through a long
avenue, bordered with ornamental firs and
flowering shrubs, all alive with singing-birds.
The roadway then passed under and between
two great sepulchral mounds, or "barrows,"
supposed to have been raised by the Danes
over dead warriors. A square patch of grass,
darker in hue than the rest, indicated where an
exploration had been made, and the country
people told how deep within the mound the
diggers reached a stone chamber, and saw for
a moment a war-horse and his rider in
armour, stiff and erect. While they looked
upon the figures, they said, man and horse
crumbled away, and all they found were plates
of rusty armour, broken fragments of golden
ornaments, swords eaten away by time and
damp, and dusty bones of the chieftain and his
charger. From these mounds the road is
bordered with wild apple, hazel, and hawthorn
trees. In spring the banks are blue with
perfumed violets, or yellow with primroses.
The country girls and their sweethearts love
to sit upon these mossy banks in summer
evenings, and plan the future of their lives.
Down the hill a sudden turn leads to a long
reach of roadway, and now the beautiful church
spire gleams white above a thick grove of beech,
and fir, and aged laurels. It was on this road,
and amidst its peaceful scenery, I first fell in
with the "Fenian men."

On the third Sunday of August, 1865, passing
as usual in my little pony-car under the
barrows I spoke of, I observed far over my head,
in strong relief, as fine a specimen of humanity
as I ever saw. He stood perfectly still and
motionless, looking intently down the long roadway.
I bade the man, as usual, "the time of
day," but met with no reply. This was curious,
for the Irish peasantry are probably the most
polite and courteous in the world. "He must
be a stranger," thought I, and again hailed him.
Suddenly, glancing down upon me for a moment,
the man lifted both hands above his head, ran
three times round the summit of the barrow,
and disappeared on the opposite side. I knew
enough of the military system to be assured
that the man was a scout or advanced picket,
and that he had just signalled the presence of a
stranger to others. Looking behind me, down
in the valley, I perceived three dark bands of
men, each band containing about sixty. Some
twenty yards in front stood a single individual,
facing the rest. There could be no doubt these
men were at drill in that fern-clad hollow among
the hills. Pursuing my way to church, I
suddenly, at the turn of the road, came upon a
Fenian regiment, marching, I suppose, to join
the men at drill. The scout had warned them,
for they were partly breaking up from close
order; but it was plain they were divided into
advanced guard, main body, and rear guard.
They opened out without a word to let my pony
pass, and fell in on each side of the roadway,
so as to prove to me they had been at least
partly drilled. They were dressed very
comfortably and even neatly. All wore the American
"pot hat," dark-grey cloth blouses, dark-grey
trousers, and all, without exception, were
well shod. A finer or more healthy and cleanly
looking body of young men no one could wish
to see. They were just the material for soldiers.
Evidently they were farmers' sons, or from the
better class of labourers. Not one among them was
over twenty-five years, or younger than eighteen.
As I passed down between the double line, very
slowly, anxious to recognise some face I knew,
I saw they were all strangers from other
parishes. There was not one of the residents in
our own district amongst them, and it was
subsequently discovered that the Fenians of one
parish always marched and drilled in another.
Here and there amongst them a hand would be
doubtfully, and with some hesitation, moved to
the hat, by way of salutation. One or two gave
me the regular military salute. I touched my
hat, and wished "good evening" to all, but they
were not in a social mood. About the centre
of the line one carried a flag-pole, but no flag;
another strove to play an Irish jig upon a
squeaking fife. There was not one of womankind
either amongst or following the company
—a most unusual thing in Ireland. This was
no meeting for a dance upon the short springy
sheep-shorn grass; it was the "March of the
Fenian men."

From that time, until the seizure of the Irish
People newspaper, late in September, and the
capture of James Stephens subsequently, a feeling of
worrying and wearying uneasiness universally
prevailed. People spoke loudly of "confidence"
and "loyalty," but they sought for confirmation
of this trust, and betrayed, unconsciously, their
own apprehension. Drilling was constantly
carried on, but never twice in the same place,
and this proved how general and effective was
the organisation. A signal-fire kindled on one
of the neighbouring hills was answered from
other hills in quick succession. These fires did
not blaze out for more than ten or fifteen
minutes, and probably were kindled with straw
or furze. Fire-balloons were now and then seen
to rise from the distant coast and soar above the
hills, then to flash out redly and disappear.
We passed, on four successive evenings, through
large bodies of men who made way for us
silently, and gave no greeting. Now, however,
they had with them a fiddler or a piper, or they
flung a football into the air on the approach of
strangers.

No injury was committed on property, except
that the young ash-trees were cut down and
carried off, no one could find whither. We
heard the dull thud of axes, and the sharp short
crack of breaking timber in our own wood
towards the early hours of morning. Our dogs
often barked furiously at night, and when let
loose limped home, lamed or otherwise injured.
Twice we found straight branches of seasoned
fir cut down and left behind—just the length
for pike staves when barked and trimmed.

No one knew whom to trust; your gate-
keeper or farm-servant might be in the plot,
biding his time, or giving information of your