principal object of this day's wanderings, "The Devil's Glen." Evening was rapidly advancing, and the rain continued to descend.

The question was, whether we should persevere in visiting this celebrated spot, under such circumstances, or defer it. After some brief discussion, it was determined that we should proceed, and therefore we turned up the narrow dizzy road leading to the lodge of Glenmore Castle, the seat of F. Synge, Esq., immediately under which is the entrance to the glen. The woman at the lodge seemed to doubt the practicability of a lady reaching the head of the glen in such inauspicious weather, as the ponies could not proceed further with the carriage; but having made some little preparations against the wind and rain, and courteously refused her kind offer of a pair of pattens, we set off, and though the rain was certainly a serious drawback to enjoyment, yet I think the hour was altogether better suited to the scene, for as the gloom began to gather round, and threw deeper shadows on the mountains, it assumed much of the features of savage sublimity,

that created a thrilling sensation of awe. The glen is a mile in length, serpentine and meandering; vast craggy rocks hanging as if in mid air, partly concealed by luxuriant vegetation, and trees of grotesque and noble growth shooting their green heads into the air, where there was no apparent support for their roots. On reaching the head of the ravine, a sudden turn in the road displayed a world of waters high upon the mountain tops. Here the huge rocks closed, but over the ledges, the river, whose foaming and impetuous course we had been accompanying, seemed to fall as if from the clouds, in one vast body from the height of a hundred feet; but was again broken in its mid-way course by a second mass of rocks; while to the right, rushed down another, and a separate stream, in one long unbroken line of foam. We made all possible speed in returning, for amidst the eternal gloom of those wild and overhanging rocks, but little light remained to direct us; though the storm had subsided so far as to permit us to walk without the encumbrance of umbrellas. Little cascades, swollen by the rain, were descending in

silvery lines on all sides, to mingle with the roaring torrent as it struggled through its deep and rocky bed. On regaining the high road six miles still lay before us. Towards

the end of our journey we forded the river Vartrey. The evening hour made it look probably wider and more dismally black, than it was in reality. My imagination was still excited by our recent visit to the more turbulent part of its course, so that, although not apt to express fear, I did entreat that we might stop till some inquiries had been made at a neighbouring cabin. We then dashed slowly and safely through it, and found the light beaming from the hotel, at the end of a long lane, a most welcome sight. There we were provided with some excellent tea and coffee, with toast and eggs; and cheered by a noble wood fire, which blazed up, and made the large, low, and rather forlorn looking apartment look quite comfortable. The chief object of attraction in the neighbourhood of Newrathbridge is Rosanna, the seat of the Tighes. There is much told of the excellence of the late Mrs. Tighe, who lived there, secluded

from the world, but always employed in charitable undertakings. The daughter added to the celebrity of this beautiful domain, by her talent as an authoress.

The next morning we were again prepared for our journey, soon after six, and following the right bank of the river through romantic and beautiful scenery, reached O'Neill's hotel to breakfast. Here then we were at the first meeting of the waters, in the celebrated vale of Avoca. It was very cold, and the fire did not seem inclined to kindle quickly; but these minor troubles were soon remedied. Our sitting-room window commanded a full view of that part of the vale, where the Avonmore and Avonbeg united their streams. Over the fire-place, framed and glazed, was Moore's melody descriptive of this spot; and of course we were unconsciously humming at intervals all the morning,

"There is not in this wide world a valley so sweet, As the vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet."

A month or two later, we should have seen these valleys to greater advantage, when

the foliage had assumed more of summer luxuriance; or the still more beautiful tintings of autumn; but, as it was, it was a scene of rare beauty, and surpassing loveliness.

The demesne of Avondale extends a distance of two miles to the spot where the rivers meet, below the heights of Castle Howard. Beyond this conflux, the stream takes the name of the Avoca ; and about four miles below this first meeting, there is a second, formed by the junction of the Avoca and the Aughrim. The grand attractions of this vale are its woods and waters. A beautiful little cottage occupies the tongue of land formed by the first junction of the rivers. There, on the root of a tree, Moore is said to have written his " Meeting of the Waters," and of course we sat down on it, but I am afraid no immediate inspiration followed. A closer inspection of Castle Howard, did not come up to the ideas we had formed of it from below; though built on the top of the hill, there is such a width of level ground in front, that the view did not answer our expectations, and I