sacred duty to visit the grave.

It will be seen that William Hogan, with all his acuteness, had a very
narrow escape from falling into the hands of the law and suffering its
penalties. Still, it has been my experience, that men like him, who have
stood their ground, following their usual legitimate occupations, were
always less liable to be molested than what might be termed birds of
passage, such as Rickard Burke, Arthur Forrester, or Michael Davitt.

Such, I consider, was the case of my friend, John Barry, when he was a
resident in Newcastle-on-Tyne, in connection with an incident which he
related to me a short time since. Some arms were addressed to him "to be
called for," under the name of "Kershaw," a well-known north-country
name, not at all likely to be borne by an Irishman. By some means the
police got wind of the nature of the consignment, and the arms were held
at the station, waiting for Mr. Kershaw to claim them. But it was a case
of plot and counterplot; and when John was actually on the way to the
railway station, he was warned in time by a railway employé, an Irish
Protestant member of the I.R.B., and did not finish his journey. As
"Kershaw" did not turn up, the case of arms was sent off to London to be
produced at a trial then impending.

_John Barry_ was at that time a commercial traveller, and, strangely
enough, on one of his trips, he found himself in the same railway
carriage with two detectives who were in charge of the arms on their way
to the metropolis. John, as everybody acquainted with him knows, "has
the music on the tip of his tongue;" the racy accent acquired in his
childhood in his native Wexford. But he can put it off when the occasion
requires it; and the two police officers were quite charmed with the
social qualities of the genial commercial "gent" who was their