"Mr. Lieutenant." "That's a queer name;

“Oh,

is he a new settler in these parts ?" no, bless your heart! he's of the old real race-the right O'Sullivan Bear." “Why,

then, call him Lieutenant ?" "Oh, your honour, sure he's after sarving King George in the militia." Thus, in Ireland and all the world over have sirnames originated in arbitrary nicknames.

And now, having coasted along the bay for four or five miles, we ascended up a clear mountain stream, and entered, by a defile, into a mountain valley. The stream here turned to the right, and we could see it writhing like a silver eel through a green valley, that extended under the mountain of the Priest's Leap, and lost itself in the eastern hills, towards Muskerry. My friends excited my curiosity, and caused me to lament that press of time would not allow a visit to a lovely lake in this eastern direction, which lies there in all the retirement of sublime seclusion. But I had Glengariff before me. An ugly hill, an uninteresting view of

Bantry Bay, a bad road over a dreary moor -a scene where chatty companions may abstract themselves into talk of other places and other times. And therefore we had all got into a most spirited conversation, as to who was the best preacher in Ireland. I was warm in maintaining the decided superiority of a certain friend of mine, well known at Bethesda; when in the midst of my advocacy I became dumb-dispute and argument all fled. "There's Glengariff!" I believe my friends actually contrived to abstract me thus, and engage the mind in other trains of thought, in order to produce effect. They certainly succeeded. I had heard much of this Glengariff-the Rough Glen - Vallis Aspera, as O'Sullivan in his Catholic History calls it. As I passed along from east to west of the county of Cork, every one expressed the hope that I should not leave the county until I had seen Glengariff. I would as soon have gone through Italy, and passed by Rome:-and now I was there-had it all under my eye! And was I disappointed? Not

in the least.

Nothing in Ireland is equal to

it, or can be brought into comparison; it is singular, it is unique. It is a scene that winter has less effect on than could be imagined. I may say it was winter when I saw it-at least winter lingered on the lap of spring-the 25th of March; yet all was grand, and at the same time beautiful, because verdant.

A bay runs in at right angles from the east and west direction of Bantry Bay. This bay is sheltered entirely at its entrance by an island, on which a Martello tower is erected. Thus the landlocked estuary looks to be a lake. In no respect it differs from a lake, save that it is superior. Here no ugly strand, muddy and fœtid, left bare by the receding tide here no deposit of filth and ooze. No; the only thing that marks the ebb, is a line of dark demarkation that surrounds the bay, and gives a curious sort of relief, (somewhat like the black frame of a brilliant picture ;) to the green translucent waters of this gem of the ocean. No fresh water lake can be at

all compared to it; not even the upper lake of Killarney can stand the competition. Here is the sea-the green, variable, ever changing sea-without any of its defects or deformities. I declare I do not know how to begin, or where to take up, or in what way to put forth the dioramic conception I have in my mind's recollection of this delightful glen. Mountains-why you have them of all forms, elevations, and outlines: Hungry Mountain, with its cataract of eight hundred feet falling from its side; Sugar-loaf, so conical, so bare, so white in its quartzose formation; Slieve Goul, the pathway of the fairies; and Esk Mountain, over which I was destined to climb my toilsome way every hill had its peculiar interest, and each, according to the time of the day or the state of the atmosphere, presented a picture so mutable-or bright or gloomy, or near or distant-vallies laughing in sunshine, or shrouded in dark and undefined masses of shade; and so deceptive; so variable were the distances and capabilities of prospect, that in the morning

you could see a hare bounding along on the ranges of those hills, that, at noonday, were lost in the grey indistinctness of distant vision Then the glen itself, unlike other glens and valleys that interpose between ranges of mountains, was not flat, or soft, or smoothno meadow, no morass, nor bog-but the most apparently tumultuous, yet actually regular, congeries of rocks that ever was seen. Suppose you the Bay of Biscay in a hurricane from the west-suppose you the tremendous swell, when the top-gallant mast of a ship would be hid within the trough of its waves -and now suppose, that by some Almighty fiat, all this vexed ocean was arrested in an instant, and there fixed as a specimen of God's wonders in the deep. Such you may suppose Glengariff. It appears as if the stratifications of the rock were forced up by some uniform power from the central abyss, and there left to stand at a certain and defined angle, a solidified storm. And now suppose, that in every indenture, hole, crevice, and inflexion of those rocks, grew a yew or holly; there the