the north end is Saddle Head, at the entrance of Blacksod Bay. Between this and the smaller island of Achill Beg is a channel called Achill Hole, where vessels drawing 10 or 12 feet of water may rest in safety in all weathers. A very powerful tide runs in the Sound at the northern entrance called the Bull's Mouth.'

This was the country of the O'Mahonys, who had one of their strongholds in Clare Island, which lies in the middle of the entrance of Clew Bay, about 15 miles from Westport, and containing about 4,000 acres. One of its mountains, Knockmare, is 1,520 feet; the soil is extremely fertile. A light-house crowns a lofty cliff on the north-east extremity. There was once a Carmelite abbey on the island, founded in 1274. There is a village at the east end in which there is an old square castle, once the fortress of Grace O'Mahony or Grana Uaile, the celebrated female freebooter who paid a visit to Queen Elizabeth, and who took revenge for a neglect of the rites of hospitality by carrying off the son and heir of Lord Howth from Howth Castle. She had another stronghold at Carrickahooly, four miles from Newport, at the top of Newport Bay. She was the daughter of the Irish chief, Owen O'Mahony, and was married first to The O'Flagherty, and next to Sir Richard Burke, with whom she entered into a special engagement for a limited period, each reserving the right of saying, 'I dismiss you,' on certain conditions. Having got possession of one of his strongholds and other advantages, as he returned home one day, she met him at the door, and said, 'I dismiss you,' and so ended the connexion. She kept a small fleet of pirates, with crews of adventurous seamen collected from all quarters. Her larger vessels were moored at Clare Island; her smaller craft at Carrickahooly; and she had a cable fastened to her bed-room window in the castle, that she might be ready to take ship at a moment's warning. The skull of this naval heroine was religiously preserved in Clare Abbey, adorned with ribbons and gold ear-rings, until it was sacrilegiously stolen by a Scotchman, who plundered the graveyards along the western coast of the human skulls and other bones lying about, which he carried off for manure. Amidst the lamentations and execrations which

this outrage excited among the peasantry, it was admitted to be not altogether an unjust retribution for the depredations of old Grana Uaile on the coast of Scotland.

In order to get a complete view of Clew Bay, with its archipelago of a hundred green islands, its Alpine surroundings, and the boundless expanse of the Atlantic ocean, it is necessary to ascend Croagh Patrick, the foot of which is about four miles from Westport. Cars for the excursion are always to be had at the hotel. When this feat is accomplished, we start by the public car for Clifden and Galway, in order to get the best views of the coast scenery around the Connemara mountains. The journey by the River Erriff runs over wild moorland and bog. The glen through which this river passes is picturesque; and here the Twelve Pins rise upon the view in all their grandeur. We have now entered Joyce's country, and we may be thankful for the excellent roads that have been constructed through bogs and defiles in this wild region. Previous to 1813 the only roads through Connemara were footpaths, or 'bridle roads,' over bogs and rocky heights, dangerous at all times, and often impassible in winter. But now an excellent carriage road makes the circuit of the whole coast, and enables us to drive round inlets, bays, cliffs, and enjoy, without trouble, the most picturesque scenery. A capital road proceeds right through Connemara, from Galway to Clifden, and from Clifden winds round by the Killerys to Westport. These roads were constructed by the Board of Works, and their immense advantage to the district soon became conspicuous. Trade and commerce were introduced to the extremity of Connemara. The poor village of Clifden became a considerable market town. The people of the country districts live chiefly by agriculture; and this district has contributed a large proportion of the emigrants that have left our shores to enrich America, the El Dorado of their hopes. But in reality there is no need for these people to emigrate. There is plenty of land in Connemara, immense tracts of moor, intersected by clear streams, quite capable of being reclaimed, and converted into farms, by the industry that enables our emigrants to prosper in the American wilderness. What can be done in this way has been shown in the experiment made by