Buttevant, the Bothon of Ecclesiastical books, the Kilnemullagh of Spencer, immortalized by his residence in its neighbourhood, was the last stage which the travellers had agreed to pass together; and whether a feeling of regret attended this conviction, or other causes secretly operated to protract their departure, they left Holy-cross at an hour comparatively late, to begin a journey of some distance through one of the wildest mountain tracts, and least frequented cross roads, in the province of Munster. /

Their next stage, however, was excellent: it was only to Cashel; and to judge from the group of sturdy fellows, who lurked about the door of the inn to which the travellers were driven, that town was not without its due portion of idlers – a natural circumstance in the capital of a grazing country. As the chaise stopped, the gentlemen were looking over their travelling map. They had marked out their route by the road-book, and had chosen the most picturesque, rather, perhaps, than the best line of progress; and in crossing the elevated chain of the Galties, they had selected the road by Gaul Bally (the town of the Gauls or Celts), with its monastic ruins, in preference to the glen of Agherlow, a valley on the opposite side of the mountains, which would have lengthened their route, but would have presented a more beaten track, though in itself sufficiently wild and romantic. Whichever way they took, the driver assured them that they / would reach Buttevant by sunset, ‘God willing, and barring accident.’

As they descended, therefore, from their carriage, they ordered a chaise and horses for Gaul Bally, to be ready against their return from the rock.

‘Certainly, Sir,’ said the landlord,† slightly touching his hat, and resuming his conversation with a man-of-business-looking person, who was talking to him at the door.‘Barney, a chaise on to Gaul Bally.’

Barney, having taken due time to consume a portion of tobacco, called out in his turn to a driver near him, ‘Tim, honey, just call out a chay to Gaul-Bally.’