Year: 1866

The die is cast. The first move in the
direction of Irish freedom or eyerlast-
ing ruin is made. James Stephens has
gone, and where he may be tomorrow
night he alone of Gods creation knows.
He will probably be on the broad bosom
of the ocean, and where he shall next
anchor it is not given to the world to
know. James Stephens has gone, and
the next telegram which We may re-
ceive of his whereabouts, in all proba-
bility, will be dispatch to the effect
that he is in deadly conflict with the
hereditary enemies of Ireland.


This is n momentous question-has
Stephens gone? If he has, all Ireland
will ring with his name. Yesterday
Stephens was at headquarters-hc re-
ceivcd his dispatches there, and gave
his orders; he ruled supreme, and all
his officers were Obedient to his word.
Sunset came; and with it came the hour
of parting. Who can tell what harrow
ing thoughts agitated the few brave
men who sat around him as he spoke
He announced his last farewell. There
was no need of idle sentiment; time
was rapidly flying; sympathy demanded
action, and action required vigor-
Stephens was expected in Ireland;
thousands of burning hearts are strain
ing for his presence; moments delay
might be disastrous, and forth the leader
sprang to enter upon his mission. His
parting words were few, and his fol-
lowers could not detect quiver in his
voice as he uttered them. He pressed
the proffered hands, and took his leave,
never to return, except in the capacity
of President of the Irish Republic.


1t is not the business of the present
writer to assume precise knowledge
of the route which was taken by Mr..
Stephens on his departure to the place
of his embarkation from the United
States to Europe, or to speculate on the
geography of his route, or the places of
his debarkation on the western confines
of the Old World. The chief wore no
disguise, nor did he resort to any means
of concealment during his sojourn in
the United States, after his escape from
the fell malignity of English rule; and
on his departure last evening his move
ments, although by no means secret,
were still confined to few. His fare
we'll was, brief one {: FAREWELL
we succeed or perish" He went his
way, and those who heard his last
words will not soon forget them.


| There was no Medora at headquarters
to fascinate the parting chief. His iron
will with less than Conrad's softness
held supreme dominion there. To the
Cape! to the Cape. was his command,
and forthwith the ready hands of his
brethren were active in the work.


The geography of the particular cape
in the State of Maine, whence the chief
will sail, is not familiar to the seafaring
world. 1t is kRown on the pages of the
national school books, and few fisher
men can tell its whereabouts.


This remote, mysterious, and inhos-
pitable cape is about ten miles from a
railway station; but when Mr.. Stephens
leaves the railroad train he is to be met
by friends, who are to convey him and
his staff in private carriages to the
rocky promontory whence he is to en-
bark. Under the lee of his henceforth
historic cape, some forlorn-looking fish
ing smacks are ready, and in these he
and his trusty band will embark.


Where they will land, or when, is at
present q mystery.