are respectable; there is a good inn; and there must | Government; and accordingly a party of the Kildare be some amount of business. But there is an unhappy listlessness hanging about the place, which is very uncomfortable. Once, Arklow had an important and prosperous fishing-trade; and there is still a large number of fishing-boats belonging to the town. But the fishing has greatly fallen off. The nerrings-the fish chiefly taken-are said to have left the coast. The night we stayed there, however, there was a very large take of them; and that there is a ready market for them was proved by the fact that the whole quantity was purchased at once by a person from Liverpool, who was here with a small vessel, on the look out.' Indeed, we strongly suspect that if some English spirit could be infused into the Arklowites - Liverpool or North Country energy, and South Coast skill-the fishing would be again as of yore, or better. Improvement is sadly wanting here. The Arklow boats are clumsy half-decked things; and the nets are hardly half the size of those used by the Brighton or Hastings The boatmen, too, would cut an odd figure beside the bluff many-jacketed Deal or Hastings fishermen. It would do an Arklow man some good to go to one of these places, or to Brighton, for a month or two. crews. The houses in the principal street, we said, are generally respectable; but then the rest are mostly very poor. The Fishery is the worst part. There all the houses are mere clay cabins-many of them with one window, and not a bit of garden, or even yard, and all that were looked into were dark, miserable, almost without furniture, and very filthy: yet we were assured at Arklow that the poor there are "comparatively well off." The country west of Arklow is not often visited by the tourist; nor is there very much to reward him. Yet perhaps a journey by Croaghan Kinsella to Aughrim, and thence up the glen toward Lugnaquillia, would repay the pedestrian; the roads would hardly do for cars. On the slopes of Croaghan Kinsella is passed the celebrated Wicklow Gold Mine: "our Lagenian Mine," as Moore has it "Where sparkles of golden splendour Allured by the gleam that shone, Like Love, the bright ore is gone." This is nearly true now, but there was a time when it was regarded in a very different light. There had for some years been a vague report current that gold had been found in this neighbourhood; when, "in the year, 1796, a piece of gold, in weight about half an ounce, was found by a man crossing the Ballinvalley stream, the report of which discovery operated so powerfully upon the minds of the peasantry, that every employment was forsaken, the benefits of agriculture abandoned, and the fortunes of Aladdin, or Ali Baba, were the great originals they hoped to imitate. Such infatuation," continues our author, "called for the interference of militia were stationed on the banks of the rivulet, to intercept the works and break the illusion:"--which, by the way, seems rather an Irish method of employing soldiers. They might occupy the "diggings" and intercept the works, but think of a regiment being ordered to "break the illusion!" However, the illusion was broken somehow. The same writer says, that "during the short space of two months spent by these inexperienced miners in examining and washing the sands of the Ballinvalley stream, it is supposed that 2,666 [which is a mighty nice calculation] ounces of pure gold were found, which sold for about £10,000." Having driven off the gold-finders, the Government undertook to open mines; and the works were carried on till 1798, when all the machinery was destroyed by the insurgents. The works were renewed in 1801; but being found not sufficiently productive to repay the expenses, were eventually discontinued. "The quantity of gold found while the stream-works were under the management of Government, appears to have been inferior to that collected by the peasantry, amounting to the value of £3,675 7s. 114d.” (Wright : 'Scenes in Ireland.') Evidently the Government workers, with all their machinery, were very unlucky, or Croaghan's stock of gold was soon exhausted; or perhaps there was some mistake in counting up the 2,666 ounces. It is mentioned in Curry's' HandBook of Ireland,' that "a London Company had been engaged in streaming for gold, as it is termed, for these two years past.... but the results were not such as to induce them to proceed." A few labourers, it is added, continued to be employed by them without any regular superintendence; "a fixed sum being paid. for whatever gold they may find." Even this casual searching is now discontinued; but there yet prevails a lingering belief among the peasantry, that there is still gold in Kinsella, and only the 'lucky man' is wanting. Many an anxious look, we doubt not, is turned on the brook when it has been 'roarin' in spate;' but we fear, as one of the peasantry of whom we had been asking some questions oddly said, "it will never touch California." Croaghan Kinsella is nearly 2,000 feet above the sea, lifting his head high above his neighbours for miles around. The summit commands a prospect both wide and magnificent. The little town of Tinahealy has nothing to lead the wayfarer aside. It was destroyed by the rebels in 1798, and has been rebuilt in a neater style than usually prevails in such sequestered places; there is an inn which will afford accommodation, if that route be taken. Aughrim, which lies in the route we pointed out, is quite a mountain village, rude and poor, but very picturesque :—a collection of stone and clay cabins by the river's side, and backed by bare mountains. Glen Aughrim, which commences here, is in its way very fine. There are no soft cultivated slopes, but, instead, a genuine wild mountain glen, a swift stream running along the bottom, the vast mass of Croaghan Moira rising full in front. The road con But savage majesty of Nature. There is nothing of the tinues beside the Aughrim river to Aughavanagh Bar- | grand. But then the grandeur is that arising from the rack. For some time the giant of the Wicklow mountains, the lofty Lugnaquillia, has been directly before us, and here its huge form blocks further progress forward. The road on the right will lead to Drumgoff Bridge, where there is another barrack-another of the many erected after the insurrection; the road is a portion of what is called the 'great military road,' it having been constructed on the same occasion, in order to open a way into this wild mountain district. At Drumgoff Bridge the rambler will find something more pleasant than a barrack-a very comfortable hotel. The ascent of Lugnaquillia (not very often made) is best made from the road between Aughavanagh Barracks and Drumgoff. The ascent is by no means difficult, except at one precipitous point. A guide can be had, if desired, at Drumgoff inn. Lugnaquillia is 3,039 feet above the sea; and 2,500 feet above the bottom of the valley. On the summit is a sort of cromlech, known as Pierce's Table. The prospect is said to be unmatched from the mountains of Wicklow-but the visitor will be fortunate who meets with a suitable day for it. Even when all is clear on the summit, it is very seldom that the plains and the extreme distance are free from mist. Drumgoff Bridge crosses the river Avonbeg, which rise's among the mountains some miles higher, and after flowing through Glenmalure, unites with the Avonmore at the celebrated Meeting of the Waters. That part of the glen which is above Drumgoff is inconceivably די THE VALE OF AVOCA. The route we have just indicated has its attractions. for the lover of the wilder and grander scenery; but that we are now to speak of delights every one. It is the Llangollen of Ireland. On leaving Arklow, the proper course for tourists lies through the demesne of Shelton Abbey. There is a high road, but the Earl of Wicklow very liberally permits the stranger either to walk or drive through his grounds, and accordingly he will do well to avail him self of the privilege, and save seven miles of dull road. Shelton Abbey is the most celebrated mansion at this end of Wicklow. It is a modern gothic structure of very ornate character. The situation is low, but as much has been made of its capabilities as possible. The grounds are of great extent and of great beauty, though not kept in as good condition as in English parks where the owner is resident. Some of the roads too, on the outskirts of the demesne, are bordered by lines of beeches, which form rich umbrageous avenues, with pleasant peeps between. From the grounds of Shelton, you may pass into those of Ballyarthur, the seat of E. S. Bayly, Esq. These are especially worth visiting. The house is not large, but plain and substantial, like a moderate-sized old English manorhouse. The grounds afford shady walks, with delicious prospects: one immediately behind the house is especially worthy of note. Ballyarthur seems, in short, one of the most enjoyable residences in all Wicklow just the house and grounds one might wish for-if one had Fortunatus' Cap-as a resting-place in these our later days. From Ballyarthur we pass into the famous Vale. Wherever the English language is read, the beauties of the Vale of Avoca are known; and so long as music married to sweet verse finds admirers, its loveliness will be verdant: "There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet." The Vale of Avoca is indeed extremely beautiful. It is a cheerful open valley, several miles long, nowhere closing into a glen, nor expanding so as to leave the opposites sides unconnected, but gently widening as it descends; it is everywhere a delightful companionable dale. The Avoca flows along the midst with a still quick current, but never disturbing the placid character of the scenery. The hills on either hand are lofty, varied in surface and in outline, and presenting new and always pleasing combinations at every turn. The valley is now thickly covered with rich dark masses of foliage, and presently sprinkled over with single trees, or detached groups, of light feathery form. Sometimes the trees climb the mountain sides; at others the slopes are only covered with bright verdure, and again they are bare, rugged, and precipitous. And yet with all this beauty the stranger is apt at first to question whether it be equal to its fame. The bard of Erin has stamped on it the title to such superlative loveliness, that the vision which has been formed of it can hardly be realized. It is forgotten that he has associated with its natural charms a moral claim on his admiration : "Yet it was not that Nature had shed o'er the scene "T was that friends, the belov'd of my bosom, were near, With such associations and feelings to heighten her beau. ties, we too might admit the pre-eminence of Avoca. 6 The spot we have now arrived at is the Second Meeting of the Waters,'-sometimes said to be that Moore has celebrated; but this is evidently an error, as the poet has himself in a note to the passage explained his allusion to be to the confluence of "the rivers Avon and Avoca;" whereas this is the meeting of the Aughrim and the Avoca. This is a charming scene. Not alone have we here the meeting of the rivers, but of the glens also, many and lovely. And then the views both up and down the vale are full of beauty. While here, too, the visitor should, if possible, ascend the heights of Knocknamokill, for the sake of the wider prospect not only down the vale but over Arklow to the sea. This Second Meeting of the Waters is otherwise called Wooden Bridge; close to the bridge is the chief restingplace of tourists. Wooden Bridge Hotel is said to be, "with the exception of Quin's, at Bray, the most generally frequented by tourists of all the Wicklow houses of entertainment." (Curry's' Hand-Book of Ireland.') Higher up there is another tourist's house, the Avoca Inn. Ascending the vale some way, and having passed Newbridge-a very pretty spot-quite a new feature opens in the landscape. The mountain sides are for some distance literally riddled with the works of the copper mines. These are the Ballymurtagh and Cronbane mines, the most extensive and valuable coppermines in Wicklow the Cronbane mine has yielded nearly 2600 tons of copper ore in one year. The quan tity raised is not now so great, but there are yet above a thousand men employed in the two mines. It cannot of course be said that the works add to the beauty or even picturesqueness of the scenery, but the strange sca rification of the mountain sides, the apparently almost inaccessible spots in which some of the working gear is placed, and the enormous slow-moving water-wheels, certainly give a very peculiar and striking character to it. An iron tramroad is carried from these mines to Arklow haven. The First Meeting of the Waters, (Cut p. 270,) that which Moore has sung of, is even more beautiful than the other, and the general prospect of the vale more impressive. The Avonbeg has rolled down from Glenmalure a rapid mountain stream; the Avonmore is gentle and placid as a lowland river. along the valley, in the water, and on the heights-is luxuriant foliage. The hills are bold and lofty, their All around * We asked a countryman the meaning of these names: Sure, then," said he, "Avon is a river, and beg (which he pronounced big) is little: and more" is more little? "Ah! no-more is great; and so it is just the great river and the little river." Moore was mistaken in speaking of the meeting of "the rivers Avon and Avoca." On the maps they are written as we have said, and we were assured they are sc called there: they take the name of Avoca after their con fluence, and retain it, as we have seen, to the estuary at Arklow. sides well covered with trees; gray crags protruding from leafy canopies, or soft sunny slopes of brightest verdure. On either side other valleys open and exhibit fresh beauties. In the distance are mountain summits clad in aërial hues, and the higher grounds are equally delightful. It is as sweet a spot wherein to spend a summer with good company as even a poet could desire. The castellated mansion seen on the hill is CastleHoward, the seat of Sir Ralph Howard-a modern structure, more eminent for its noble site than for its beauty. The views from it and from the grounds are, as will be readily imagined, of surpassing beauty. Our way onward lies along the Vale of Avon; the tourist may pass through the demesne of Avondale, which is three miles long, and very charming, with the Avonmore winding through the midst the whole distance. Thence he passes by Rathdrum, and along the road which keeps above the Avonmore to Laragh. There is another road from the Meetings Bridge to Rathdrum along the higher grounds by Castle-Howard, which, though perhaps not so beautiful as that through Avondale, is shorter, and affords wider and very fine prospects. GLENDALOUGH. Hall's guide, God bless her! and more power to her and many a good word she has bestowed upon me therefore," says one; while another claims Sir Walter Scott, and a third is content with Mr. Fraser. On the whole, there is not much choice between the three, for just so many there are. We tried two, and gossipped with the third, and moreover climbed into St. Kevin's Bed, and therefore are privileged to speak authoritatively. We would just as soon credit one as the other; their power in fabling appearing, as far as we could judge, nearly balanced-the older one had the larger store and more experience, but the younger was the more vivacious. The name is suggestive of the character of the place; Glen-da-lough, is the glen of the two lakes. The lakes lie in a deep hollow between immense mountains, whose sides rise bare and precipitous from the valley to the height of some three or four hundred feet. The further end seems entirely closed in, but there is a narrow and almost impassable ravine, down whose rugged bed the Glencalo, the chief feeder of the lakes, forces its way. The other stream which supplies the lakes has to leap over a lofty wall of rock, forming a waterfall, called from it the Poolanass. The glen is about three miles long; the upper lough is a mile long, and nearly a quarter of a mile wide. It is around Very striking is the first glimpse of Glendalough. this lough that the wilder features of the glen are You proceed from Laragh up a mountain road, which combined; and nothing hardly can be finer or more appears to have an outlet only by a narrow pass at the sublime than the scene from its bosom as night is further end; but a slight turn brings before you first setting in, and heavy storm-clouds are gathering over a few rude cottages, then a round tower, which rears its the mountain summits, and thin gray mists are creeping tall head beyond, with apparently several ruined build-along the sides of the cliffs which rise in frowning ings spread around it; and as a back-ground is a dark hollowed coomb, formed by perpendicular rocks of great altitude, which then fall back into mountain slopes. It is not till you are nearer that the lakes become visible:-unless, indeed, you ascend the hillside somewhat a point from which as good a general conception of the whole glen, and lakes, and antiquities, can be obtained as anywhere. Long before you get near the ruins a crowd of beggars has beset you, intreating alms by the recital of every kind of distress; others beg you to purchase fragments of rock or crystal. Next come some two or three wild-looking fellows, who each assures you that he is the best possible guide, and no other knows anything in comparison with him, and, moreover, he won't deceive your honour with any false lies at all. You will do well to escape from the annoyance by selecting one; let him lead you round to all the sights, tell you all the legends, induct you into St. Kevin's Bed, and persuade you, if he can, that you are one of the knowingest gentlemen and best walkers he has been along with in all the years he has been there submit to it all patiently, and you will then be left to stroll about in quiet and at leisure afterwards and see things for yourself. Some of the books have recommended particular guides; and the men themselves boast of the great folks and fine writers they have conducted. "And it's myself that was Mrs. blackness at once from the water, and the deep purple waves are curling up and lashing menacingly against the boat, as the wind sweeps along in a hollow prolonged sough. It is here that some little height up the rock is the famous Bed of St. Kevin. It is a hole piercing into the rock far enough and large enough to admit two or three persons at a time. Here it was that the famous St. Kevin retreated, in order to escape from the persecutions of love and the allurements of the world. The reader of course knows the legend-all the world knows it-as told by Moore, how 170 the immunity purchased at so costly a price by that Kathleen, there is a living Kathleen here, as guardian angel of the rock, whose whole care is to avert all chances of a mishap in the adventure. This Kathleen is unhappily not so lovely as her namesake, but she has (what is of more importance here) a strong hand and a steady foot. She lives in a dog-hole of a cabin up among the rocks, and gets a living by helping all hardy adventurers into St. Kevin's bed. She has been here, she says, for above thirty years. The scramble into the Bed is certainly rather a rough one, and it looks dangercis, as you have to crawl along a narrow ledge of rocks which overhangs the water; but the danger is merely in appearance; by the assistance of the guide, and the help of Kathleen's hand at the critical point, the least skilful climber might get up without difficulty. Inside the cave are numerous names and initials of those who have accomplished the feat: among others, Kate will point out that of Sir Walter Scott, though it is not easy to decipher it. Scott's ascent into the Bed is told by Lockhart, in a letter printed in the Life.' The danger, he says, has been exaggerated; "Yet I never was more pained than when, in spite of all remonstrances, he would make his way to it, crawling along the precipice. He succeeded, and got in; the first lame man that ever tried it. After he was gone, Mr. Plunkett told the female guide he was a poet. Kathleen treated this with indignation, as a quiz of Mr. Attorney's. Poet!" said she: the devil a bit of hin; but an honourable gentleman; he gave me halfa-crown.' There is a marvellously fine echo in this glen. One of the guides, a man of Stentorian voice and leathern lungs, chaunts, in a delectable sort of slow sing-song, that might be heard a mile almost, Moore's legend of St. Kevin, and the echo rings it out again to the last syllable clear as a bell. Pat then shouts a heap of nonsense, adds some Irish, and winds up with an Hibernian 'Och, arrah!' All this is duly returned, and the Irish is done as sharply, and the brogue hit off as nicely as though native to it. The Seven Churches, as the ruins are called (and oftentimes the whole place is so named from them), are at the lower end of the glen. They consist chiefly of what is called the cathedral; of the chapel of the Virgin; a church, with a turret at the end, which is commonly called St. Kevin's Kitchen: these, with some other remains of buildings, and the vestiges of several stone crosses, are, with a round tower, contained within an enclosure which is still used as a grave-yard. Other ruins of churches are to be seen within a short distance. Why such buildings, and so many of them, should be placed in a spot like this, seems quite unaccountable; but there is evidence that there was an ecclesiastical establishment here in the fifth or sixth century, and that it was several times plundered and devastated in succeeding years. Glendalough was early constituted a bishopric, and it so, continued till it was united with the see of Dublin, even now the full title of the Metropolitan is Archbishop of Dublin and Glendalough.T The ruins are remarkable, and have been the subject of much inquiry. We cannot afford space to enter |