are covered with prodigious disjointed masses of stone, that seem to threaten the traveller with destruction. One could fancy the Titans of old had been playing a spirited game at football there, where the secret recesses of nature seem to be laid bare. Evening was closing in, and the shades of night threw an undefined gloom over this representation of chaos, unsoftened by any vestige of vegetation. After all the excitement of the previous days, we passed through it in silence. I do not think a word was spoken after the first burst of surprise; but the eye almost fearfully measured the heights, till it rested on the bright and twinkling stars that looked down upon us from above, then slowly descended on the opposite side with a halfshivering feeling of insecurity. The young May moon seemed to shine with unusual brilliancy as we issued from the dark defile. It was the loveliest evening that we had seen during our short absence.

"How beautiful is night!

A dewy freshness fills the silent air;

No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain, Breaks the serene of heaven :

E

In gentle beauty, yonder moon divine

Rolls through the dark blue depths :-
How beautiful is night!"

Nothing more of an interesting description came in our way.

And after passing

through a few villages of little note, we arrived safely in Fitzwilliam-square, a little after ten o'clock, much gratified with our pleasant excursion into Wicklow.

CHAPTER IV.

VISIT TO GLIN CASTLE-AND THE SCENERY

ABOUT BALLYBUNNION.

"Erin's cause hath been heard, men have wept at her story,

Alas! that a land of such beauty should mourn! Have her children ne'er grac'd the high niches of glory? Was kindness ne'er known in their bosoms to burn?

"Yes, rich as the mines which her teeming hills nourish, Are the stores of their genius, which nature imparts; And sweet as the flow'rs in her valleys that flourish, The fragrance of feeling that breathes from their hearts." ANONYMOUS.

On the 13th of May, we again left Dublin, to visit the Lakes of Killarney. The country through which we passed, was far from interesting; ninety-six Irish miles of flat unvaried road, with only an occasional ruin to divert the attention. Cultivated fields, rich woods, and graceful plantations, had given place to dreary tracts of bog, or sullen

looking loughs, with here and there a wretched mud cabin. It seemed as if nature had collected all her best materials together to adorn and beautify the county of Wicklow, and had turned the refuse out into the dreary district between Dublin and Limerick. It is a general remark, that nature has done much for Ireland, and man but little; and as the traveller looks at the vast districts of unproductive land, with no sheltering bush for the shivering cattle, or timber and vegetation for the service of man, he cannot but acknowledge the truth of the assertion. Where are the cultivated fields and neat hedge-rows, the thriving farms, the well-fed cattle, and protective fences of England? But the Irish need a stimulus to exertion; and, unfortunately, among them is not found the pride of long-continued possession, the connexion between landlord and tenant, master and labourer, which, in our more favoured island, leads the sturdy and industrious tenant of the well-ordered cottage to say,

"Ere round the huge oak which o'ershadows my mill, The fond ivy had dared to entwine;

Ere the church was a ruin that nods on the hill,
Or a rook built a nest in the pine.

"Could I trace back the time to a far distant date, my forefathers toiled in this field;

Since

The farm I now hold on your honour's estate,
Is the same which my grandfather till'd."

It is said, that the moistness of the Irish climate, its mild humidity, is conducive to health, and to the favourable cultivation of the soil, and the country is rich in natural productions. The Irish people are peculiarly acute and intelligent if their powers were rightly directed, but though they can make the witty reply, the shrewd remark, the humorous observation, they fail in patient persevering habits of industry; and have no value for the cheaply earned comforts, so necessary to the existence of the English cottager, who feels that a wretched hovel is not his right position; but we may fondly hope, and fervently pray, that when it shall please God to remove from off this unhappy land the present burden of his chastising hand, a brighter day will dawn, and the crumbling mud walls, the windows stuffed with rags, and the pestilential heap before the doors, will, in time, be looked upon as a rare sight; a mere relic of the days gone by.