On one side the placed river flowed on its course, between fields of waving corn, or rich pasturage--the beautiful island of Scattery, with its picturesque ruins reflected in the unrippled tide--the cheerful voices of the reapers, and the merry laugh of the children were mingled with the seaman's cry of the sailors, who were "heaving short" on their anchor, to take the evening tide.

The village, which consisted of merely a few small cabins, was still from its situation a pleasing object in the picture, and the blue smoke that rose in slender columns from the humble dwellings, took from the scene its character of loneliness, and suggested feelings of home and homely enjoyments, which human habitations, however, lowly, never fail to do.
"At any other time," thought I, "and how I could have enjoyed all this, but now--and, ha, I find it is already past five o'clock, and if I am rightly informed I am still above a mile from 'Carrigaholt,' where we were to meet." I had dismissed my conveyance when nearing the village, to avoid observation, and now took a foot-path over the hills.

Before I had proceeded half a mile, the scene changed completely.

I found myself traversing a small glen, grown over with a low oak scrub, and not presenting, on any side, the slightest trace of habitation.

I saw that the ground had been selected by an adept.