6

AN ANTIQUE ROAD.

and meadows, and corn-fields, and my friend's comfortable glebe-house, surrounded by his cherished and thriving plantations: farther still in the circle extended a panorama of encircling hills, and farther still in the blue distance of the extreme horizon lay mingling with the clouds, the mountains of Innishowen, and Derry, and Tyrone; all forming a picture fit for a painter to sketch and for me to remember.

Thus, now and then talking of the prospect, and again caught in our recollections of old college timestimes, alas, too much misspent, too much misapplied—we at length reached the top of the mountain-ridge, and suddenly turning the point of a cliff that jutted out and checked the road, we came abruptly into a hollow something like a crater of an extinct volcano, which was filled almost entirely by a lovely lake, on the right hand side of which rose the highest peak of the mountain, composed of compact quartz rock, so bare, so white, so serrated, so tempest-worn, so vexed with all the storms of the Atlantic, that if mere matter could suffer, we might suppose that this lofty and precipitous peak presented the portrait of material endurance; and still though white was the prevailing colour, yet not one tint or

A MOUNTAIN PEAK.

7

shadowing that decks and paints a mountain's brow was wanting. Here the brown heath, the grey lichen, the green fern, the red crane's bill; and straight down the cliff, from its topmost peak to the water's edge, was branded in a dark and blasted line, the downward track of a meteoric stone that had fallen from the atmosphere, and shattering itself against the mountain's crest, rolled down in fiery and smoking fragments into the adjacent lake. Last year, amidst the crash of a thunder-storm, this phenomenon occurred; and the well-defined line of its burning progress is and will be for years apparent. On the other side of the lake a fair verdant bank presented itself, courting the traveller to sit down and take his rest, after wending his toilsome way up the long ascent into this peaceful and unexpected retreat; gentle and grassy knolls were here and there interspersed, on which sheep of most picturesque leanness, some black and some white, with primitive crumpled horns, were grazing. But the lake-not a breath was abroad on its expanse; it smiled as it reflected the grey mountain and the azure face of heaven: it seemed as if on this day the Spirit of the Atlantic had fallen asleep, and air, earth, and ocean were cele

brating the festival of repose: the waters of the lake, of the colour and clearness of the sky, were

"Blue-darkly, deeply, beautifully blue."

You could look down a hundred fathoms deep, and still no bottom: speckled trouts floating at great depths, seemed as if they soared in ether: then the stillness of the whole scene-you seemed lifted, as it were, out of the turmoil of the world, into some planetary paradise, into some such place as the apostle in the Apocalypse was invited to, when the voice said, "come up hither." You might have supposed that sound had no existence here, were it not that now and then a hawk shrieked while cowering over the mountain top, or a lamb bleated beneath, as it ran to its mother. I could have gone to sleep here, and dreamt of heaven purchased for sinners by a Saviour's blood; I did at any rate praise the God of nature and of grace, grateful for all his blessings and all his wonders of creating and redeeming love.

But the day was advancing, we had farther to go and much to do, and my friend drew me away from my abstraction and repose that had settled and softened into prayer. So we mounted our ponies and rode

A FINE PROSPECT.

about a quarter of a mile along a level road, as smooth as a gravel-walk, that coasted the lake until we came to a steep bank, where we let our horses graze along the water's edge, and ascending a ridge or rim, as I may call it, of the cup or crater in which we were embosomed, all of a sudden a magnificent prospect presented itself the whole range of the northern coast of Donegal. Seemingly beneath your feet, but really some miles off, lay the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean, over which fancy flew, and almost impelled you to strain your eyes to catch a glimpse of America. Some leagues out at sea, but owing to the peculiar state of the atmosphere and our great elevation, apparently very near, lay Torry Island,* rising out of the deep like a castellated and fortified city; lofty

* Off this island Sir John B. Warren, in 1798, encountered a French fleet, with troops and rebel chieftains on board, and capturing them all, he crushed the hopes of the French army that landed at Killala, and broke the spirits and the cause of the rebels who had joined them.

I was sorry that it was out of my power to visit Torry Island. It is about twelve miles from shore, and I am informed that it is an interesting spot. Here are the ruins of a fortress, erected by Erick of the red arm, one of the Norwegian Sea Kings, whose roving rule extended around these isles and coasts. The name of this island is of Runick etymology, and

towers, church spires, battlements, bastions, batteries, presented themselves, so strangely varied and so fantastically deceptive were its cliffs. Jutting out far into the ocean, lay the promontory of Hornhead, so called from a cliff at its extreme point,

*

Thor-Eye, now corrupted into Torry, denotes that it was consecrated to Thor, the Scandinavian deity, that presided over stormy and desolate places. Here is also a tower and church, built by St. Columbkill, and a portion of the church-yard is dedicated to some ancient saints, his followers, who are there interred; wherein, if any one presumed now to bury a corpse, the following night it would be cast with violence out of the ground. My informant assured me that a friend of his buried his daughter in this forbidden spot, and the following morning after the funeral, the body was found on the surface. Again it was interred—and again the following morning it was exhumated. The father determined to watch over the grave the third night; and accordingly enveloping himself in his great coat, he threw himself on the grave, and there he lay praying for the soul of his dear departed girl.

Thus he lay until the stars told him that midnight was past, when all at once a noise rose from beneath a mighty heave was given as from an earthquake, and clear and clean the maiden was left in her coffin on the green grass. You may be sure that after this experiment some other resting-place was found for her bones,

A foreigner, who is not more remarkable for his attainments

*The singularly lofty and tower-like rocks of this island might have conferred on it the appellation of Turris Island,