tious, rarely elevated beyond the point of calm satisfaction; Wilson, the most tasteful and discriminating of enthusiasts. It is true that we have been only two days, as yet, amongst these wondrous scenes ;-but we have had rare opportunities of weather-all appliances at hand-and not an hour lost. We agree to the utmost extent of admiration with our two authorities.

And first Inglis :-" Although the lakes of Killarney are three in number, yet they are all contained in one mountain hollow; and certainly there is not, within the same compass, anything in England presenting the same concentration of charms. There is infinitely greater variety at Killarney. In form, and in the outline of its mountain boundaries, the lower lake of Killarney is decidedly superior to Winandermere: and though the head of Ulleswater presents a bolder outline than is anywhere to be found in Killarney, yet it is upon this outline alone that the reputation of Ulleswater depends. Elsewhere than at Patterdale, the lake scenery is tame; and the same may be said of Winandermere, which, towards the lower extremity, is almost devoid of attraction. On the contrary, throughout the whole chain of lakes, there is a variety at Killarney; tameness is nowhere to be found: and I cannot think that the somewhat nearer approach to sublimity, which is found at the head of Ulleswater, can weigh in the balance against the far greater variety in the picturesque and the beautiful, which Killarney affords. It would be unfair to compare the lakes of Killarney, with Winandermere, Keswick, and Ulleswater; for these are spread over a great extent of country; whereas, the lakes of Killarney are all contained within a smaller circumference than Winandermere: but even if such a comparison were to be admitted, Killarney would outvie the English lakes in one charm, in which they are essentially deficient. I mean the exuberance and variety of foliage which adorns both the banks and the islands of the Killarney lakes. Such islands as Ronan's Island, Oak Island, Dinis Island, and Innisfallen, covered with magnificent timber and gigantic ever-greens, are nowhere to be found amongst the English lakes. I think it will be gathered from what I have said, that I accord the preference to Killarney."

Christopher North, in the passage which we are about to quote, is more brief than in his previous summing up of the characteristics of the English and Scotch Lakes; but he is not in the slightest degree less emphatic when he thus bursts out. He is looking from Mangerton, whither we shall lead our reader before we part :

of the mountains, till it rested on the green glimmer of the far-off sea. The grandeur was felt, far off as it was, of that iron-bound coast. Coming round with an easy sweep, as the eye of an eagle may do, when hanging motionless aloft he but turns his head, our eyes took in all the mighty range of the Reeks, and rested in awe on Carran-Tual. Wild yet gentle was the blue aërial haze over the glimpses of the Upper Lake, where soft and sweet, in a girdle of rocks, seemed to be hanging, now in air and now in water-for all was strangely indistinct in the dim confusion-masses of green light, that might be islands with their lovely trees. But suddenly tipt with fire shone out the golden pinnacles of the Eagle's Nest; and as again they were tamed by cloud-shadow, the glow of Purple Mountain for a while enchained our vision, and then left it free to feast on the forest of Glena, till, wandering at the capricious will of fancy, it floated in delight over the woods of Mucruss, and long lost among the trembling imagery of the water, found lasting repose in the stedfast beauty of the sylvan isle of Innisfallen."

With this passage in our minds we close our second day, with hopes of a bright sky for Mangerton to

morrow.

For two days we have been sequestered on the bank of the Lower Lake, in the profound quiet of our hotel. The Killarney beggars find no admission here. The only signs of Killarney life are the two patient women who sit all day at the hotel-door, offering their knickknacks of the arbutus and the bog-oak. It is time we saw something of the population; so we will walk te Mucruss on our way to Mangerton.

A pretty road of a mile leads to Killarney. We pass the unfinished cathedral, begun, from the design of Pugin, some four or five years ago, and left as it is through failing means. At a distance on the hill is a noble asylum for pauper lunatics, and, somewhat nearer, the Union Workhouse-a large fabric. Within this Workhouse all is order and cleanliness. At the time of our visit to Killarney the Guardians had additional buildings for in-door relief,-the whole capable of accommodating 2,800 persons. The Union, it appears, is admirably managed; the Guardians have had no assistance from Government; out-door relief has been administered, not to the able-bodied, but in extreme cases of widows and children. And yet, although a stern necessity was driving the able-bodied fast into the Workhouse, there were causes in operation which kept out many even when famine was at their door.

is a beautiful ruin: many parts are in good preservation. In the cloister is a most remarkable object-a magnificent yew-tree springing up from the centre, its spreading branches forming a graceful roof to the arched walls. The trunk of this tree rises up to a greater height, without a limb, than we have before observed in any of these vegetable memorials of long past generations. Its girth is inferior to many of our English yews. The east window, seen through the pointed arch of the chapel, is very perfect. Within are some tombs and monuments, ancient and modern. The Abbey stands amidst the most luxuriant groves,-the vivifying power of nature cherishing the perishable works of man, and clothing decay with ever-springing beauty. (Engraving.) Tore Waterfall is within a walk of Mucruss but we reserve that for the last look of (Engraving);

Killarney!

We mount our ponies. The ascent to the mountain is very gradual-a bare and dreary road. On we go without any striking views for a mile or two, till the way gets steeper and more rugged. Company begin to gather about us. There is the regular Irish guide, who springs up at every turn of a road which leads to sights. We soon get rid of him. But the mountaingirls, with their goat's milk and potheen, are not so easily disposed of. The troop gathered thick and fast at every step of the ascent; no persuasions could induce them to let us proceed in peace. Great want was not apparent, or it was hidden under their bright shawls, worn as gracefully as if arranged by the most tasteful of tire-women.

For a mile or two in the channel of a torrent, and we at length from Mangerton look over the Lower Lake. Magnificent was the view-glorious was the day. But our trusty Spillane urged us forward, for he saw the mist gathering in the distance. We have hurriedly passed the hollow in which lies the famous tarn, "The Devil's Punch Bowl," and are nearing the summit. Severe is the cold, even in the sun of a July day. Now rest. We have given Wilson's description of the scene, and how can we attempt to embody our own impressions. For the first time we saw the Atlantic: there it sparkled, over the shoulder of one of the distant cluster of mountains. Why is it, that one glimpse of the great highway of the world raises the spirit far more than the open prospect of the narrow seas?

"There is a magnet-like attraction in
These waters to the imaginative power
That links the viewless with the visible,
And pictures things unseen. To realms beyond
Yon highway of the world my fancy flies."

CAMPBELL.

The

But the near mountains-they lie around us. light falls on one, the shadow on another, they seem A mist to heave and swell like the vexed ocean. creeps over some summit far below us, and then plunges into the glen;-up another craggy steep rises the mist from the valley, and hovers about till it mingles with the upper clouds. The Lakes seem to wash the bases of these giant forms that close us in from all the outer world, except where the Kenmare river brightens to the south, and the great sea to the

west. The monarchs of the solitude seem to look down upon the beauty at their feet, solemn and sad, whether in glimmer or in gloom. We heed not their names, as they are repeated in our ear-Carran-Tual, Purple Mountain, Toomies, Glena, Torc, Drooping Mountain, Cahirna, Ierc, Sugar-Loaf. We regard not their comparative elevations. Carran-Tual is a thousand feet higher than Toomies, and six hundred feet above where we stand. They all seem to dwell close together in glorious companionship, and the equality of brotherhood. And yet Carran-Tual is eight miles away; though it seems as if the eagle could wing his flight from one top to another as easily as the swallow skims from Innisfallen to Ross. But the mist is gathering, and we must descend. We send our ponies down before us;-for we have a path to tread in which our own feet will best serve us.

We descend not far. We have crossed the sinking bog on the crest of Mangerton, and look down a steep declivity into the glen in which lies the Devil's Punch Bowl. It is a melancholy place, amidst high rocksthe tarn "which never plummet sounded," dark as

winter; cold as ice, they say, though Charles Fox
swam across it. We sit down under the shelter of a
rude stone wall. We have sandwiches and potheen-
and there are clear springs not far off. One of the
women that followed us up the mountain suddenly
appears at our side. She sits down. With a mournful
cadence she sings one of her native songs.
"Her
voice is sweet, is soft, is low." Another, and another.
Her store is exhaustless. She gave us some little
argument to explain her ditties. They were unques
tionably the pastoral ballads of a mountain peasantry.
One was a dialogue, similar, perhaps, to that which
Mr. Walsh has given in his "Irish Popular Songs:"
"Oh! if thou come to Leitrim, sure nought can us sever,
122

A phlur na m-ban doun óg!*
Wild honey and the mead-cup shall feast us for ever,
A phlur na m-ban doun óg!
I'll show thee ships and sails, through the vistas grand,
As we seek our green retreat by the broad lake's strand,
And grief would never reach us within that happy land,
A phlur na m-ban doun óg!

*Flower of brown-hair'd maidens.

To Leitrim, to Leitrim, in vain thou wouldst lead me, Duirt plúr na m-ban doun óg!

When pale hunger comes, can thy melodies feed me? Duirt plúr na m-ban doun óg!

Sooner would I live, and sooner die a maid,

Than wander with thee through the dewy forest glade, That thou art my beloved, this bosom never said,

Duirt plúr na m-ban doun óg!"

the heron fishing. The owl now flaps by us, startlea We rest under Glena; and there, in the deep silence of midnight, we hear the mountain echo to the bugle in a voice which seems unearthly. A night ever to be remembered.

Farewell, at last, to Killarney. The car is ready that is to bear us to Kenmare. Our way lies by the new road-a great work, unsurpassed, perhaps, in these

A night is before us, such as we cannot forget. Gansey, the famous piper of Killarney, gives us the pleasure of his company. A venerable man, blind;a man of real genius-a gentleman. All the old traditionary music of Ireland is familiar to him. He has his modern ballads for those who want an ordinary pleasure but if he have "audience fit though few," he will pour out strain after strain, wild and solemn, gay or pathetic, with a power that seems like inspiration. Never heard we such effects from one instrument, since the days of Paganini's violin. Midnight was passed before we ceased to listen, enraptured, to

Of linked sweetness, long drawn out.” One more day at Killarney-and then, farewell! How shall that day be passed by us? In perfect repose. One of our companions has gone to perform the difficult feat of ascending Carran-Tual. We are to meet him with the boat long before sun-down, at the head of the Upper Lake. We are true to the appointment. There is one with us watching for him with some anxiety; but the scene is so glorious that anxiety can scarcely find a place even in the breast of a loving wife. The mountains are lighted up with all the most gorgeous hues of heaven. The full moon is up-we wander on, far away from the lake, through the Black Valley. (Engraving.) Solemn and more solemn grow the shadows of the mountains. The sun is altogether gone. Then the rocks begin to put on mysterious forms. Not a sound falls upon the hushed air. A footstep! one of our friend's guides is come to beg us yet to wait. It was a needless message. But that poor guide-he has fallen in his rough descent, and is badly wounded. Fear then begins; but at length the wished-one comes, worn out, but safe. He has beheld sights from CarranTual which we would see ourselves, if we were a few years younger.

And now, one sight that all Killarney visitors should behold, if possible, at the risk of some inconveniencea row of twelve miles, under the light of the summer moon. As we came up the Lake, four hours ago, we marked every form of hill and island. They are now all blended in one faint tint, when

"A sable cloud

Turns forth her silver lining on the night;"

or suddenly touched with the partial light of the full orb, which renders them even more indistinct in the unshadowy splendour. In the evening glow we saw

Torc Waterfall, which we stop to view. It climbs the mountain, and cuts through the rocks, heedless of obstacles. This is the way by which tourists reached Killarney when the readiest passage was from Bristel to Cork. We are not sure that it is preferable to coming by the railway from Mallow, and gradually finding out the beauties of the Lakes. Here they are revealed. The first impression of the scenery at the exquisite points of view which this road offers must But we are satisfied to have won be ineffaceable.

a growing delight, instead of being struck mute with a first admiration.

Such an admiration-speechless wonder-is the view of Glengariff and the great arm of Bantry Bay, which presents itself from the grand road recently completed from Kenmare. We passed through that town ; saw the improvements which a benevolent landlord may effect in his district; saw dwelling after dwelling on the hill-sides, which contrasted happily with the ancient mud cabin: and passing through a long tunnel, such as railroads have made us familiar with, rapidly descended the road which leads to Glengariff. And then that prospect!-Mountains-bays-islandsand the great Atlantic rolling placidly in to kiss a shelvy shore.

Glengariff-the glen itself-must remain unvisited. No heavier clouds ever descended on Ireland than those which fell at Glengariff when we rose on the morning after we left Killarney. Well, Otway has well described it; and our readers will have no regret in missing our own description:

"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 my toilMountain, over which I was destined to climb some 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-valleys 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 gray indistinctness of distant vision. Then the glen itself, unlike other glens and valleys that interpose between