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The next six or seven chapters contain an account of the author's travels in various parts of Ireland. We quote from the chapter on the Lakes of Killarney the following description of

A CASCADE AND THE SCENERY AROUND. “But of all the scenes, which I saw during my visit to these lakes, there was

none which could for a moment be compared for real loveliness, to that which is to be seen from a spot adjoining the cascade, nearly opposite the place where the middle is separated from the lower lake. This most picturesque waterfall is in a deep defile in the bosom of the Turk, one of the highest of the many lofty mountains in that part of Kerry. Along the base of this lofty mountain is a singularly beautiful drive. The portion of ground lying between the mountain and the middle and lower lakes is covered with large trees of various kinds, planted by some previous proprietor of the place, and interspersed with diversified shrubberies of nature's production. You enter by a door in a stone wall to the footpath, which conducts to the waterfall. After walking twenty or thirty yards through narrow avenues of gigantic trees, whose ample branches and luxuriant foliage almost exclude the light of the sun, you near a gurgling rivulet which rapidly runs along a narrow but rocky bed. On the opposite side is a high hill, gradually receding towards the summit. Here and there you catch a glance of the originally rugged nature of its surface ; the rocks in particular places peeping through the dense covering of oak and other wood, by which it is everywhere adorned. Advancing a few steps further, within two or three yards of the streamlet, you begin to ascend a portion of a hill, divided from the other by a deep ravine, through which the miniature river runs. After ascending the hill by means of a circuitous path, in some places almost concealed from the view by overgrown brushwood, you reach a flat piece of ground, on which has been placed a plain but stable seat. Wearied, and out of breath, with the effort to reach this spot, you unconsciously sit down to rest yourself. It is then that the beauty of the scenery around

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bursts on your astonished view. The mind is bewildered by the combination of objects which challenge your adıniration. Through a deep defile, along a slightly sloping bed of stones runs the rivulet already mentioned, until within fifty or sixty feet of where the spectator is sitting, when it comes to the brink of a precipice forty or fifty feet deep. Over this precipice, which is in some parts perpendicular, and in others has a gentle slope, rushes, in five different places, separated from each other by large stones and bushes of stunted growth, the miniature river. Again its waters meet and again they separate, in some places into two, and in others into three divisions. In this way, alternately meeting and parting, they roll down their rocky and rugged bed, filling the place with the music of their roar. On the further side of the waterfall, and all along the hollow through which the rivulet runs, the huge mountain, too precipitous to be scaled by human being, is clothed with the most beautiful mantle of variegated wood on which the vision of man ever feasted itself. In many parts, the oak and the larch, neither of them planted by human hand, but both the spontaneous growth of nature, overhang the precipitous cliffs along the course of the rivulet, and by their ample foliage

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conceal from the view the otherwise frowning aspect of the riven rocks amidst which they have so firmly struck their roots and entwined their branches. There is something in the entire aspect and situation of this place far surpassing anything which ever entered the imagination of

Then again, if you turn away your eye from the immediate spot on which you stand, and look in a north-east direction, how unspeakably lovely is the landscape that lies before you! Mountains, lakes, islands, forests, plantations, and, in the distance, cultivated fields, all combine to stamp the prospect with the very perfection of richness and beauty. It was my singularly good fortune to behold the dazzling scenery of which I am attempting, but with, I know, very limited success, to convey some conception to the minds of my readers ; it was my good fortune to see it just as the sun was about to disappear in the western horizon, after having shone the entire day with unwonted brilliancy. When I first reached the enchanting eminence whence I obtained the glorious prospect, the sun was pouring a flood of golden light on every object which he touched. I stood there until he descended beneath the horizon, and everything around me began to lose its distinctness. There was not a breath of wind ; and the air was as soft and fragrant as it was calm. It became necessary I should quit the fairy spot. I felt as if I could have remained there all night, listening to the music of the rivulet's roar, and ruminating on the unparalleled loveliness of the scenes on which I had been gazing with a wonder and delight bordering on enchantment. That night! Those scenes ! Neither will ever vanish from recollection. They are things to be remembered till one's latest hour-things not to be forgotten so long as reason holds her sway, and the powers of the memory remain unimpaired."

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The twelfth chapter of Mr. Grant's work gives an account of his ascent of one of the highest mountains in Kerry. He thus describes what he saw and felt on

THE SUMMIT OF MANGERTON. “ If the ascent of this hill was fatiguing beyond what any one can concieve who has never performed a similar feat, I was not many moments before I felt that by a leisurely survey of the scenery around, I should there be abundantly rewarded for all my toils, even had they been ten times greater than they were. Taken all in all, it may be questioned whether

many scenes of equal beauty and interest are to be witnessed in the world. The extensive panorama to which I have before referred, now seemed to expand beneath our feet. Its additional distance only served to diminish the distinctness of its more marked outlines, and to impart a consequent softness to it, which greatly added to its charmıs. We stood high above a range of lofty hills, a few miles in a south-west direction, whose base, and part of their acclivity, were clothed with forests of trees, not planted by the hand of man, but which were indebted for their existence to the mysterious operations of nature. They seemed to spring out of their rocky beds in the same way as grass grows out of the earth, where no human agency has been employed in sowing the seed. Along the craggy summits of these mountains, some of which were at least 1,000 feet below the elevated spot on which we stood, floated a succession of clouds, the one seeming to chase the other, as if in sportive mood ; and each, by intercepting the rays of one of the most beautiful and brilliant suns which ever shone on the world, casting dark shadows on those parts of the bleak and rugged mountain tops over which they majestically rode. It was a striking scene-one never to be forgotten. I had seen nothing like it before. A man might be for months in the same elevated locality before he would see anything like it again.

Then, again, between the lofty range of mountains to which I have been alluding and another range equally high, two or three miles in a southwest direction, there lay a most lovely glen or valley, varied with wood and water, small plantations, and numerous patches of cultivated land. At the western extremity of this valley—it might be six or seven miles distant from where we stood—lay a beautiful bay, forming a part of the vast Atlantic. How striking the contrast between the waters of that stupendous ocean, there reposing in all the tranquillity of an untroubled lake, and those portions of it where the tempest roars, and the mountain billows roll along with a might and majesty which impart a sublimity to the scene that overwhelms the mind of the spectator! It may assist the reader in attempting to form some idea of what I am endeavouring to describe, when I mention that the place where I am supposed to be standing is 2,750 feet above the bosom of the beautiful bay which lies beneath. From that spot, and on that scene, I gazed until I felt bewildered by what I saw around me. Oh, what exalted ideas must the enlightened and devout mind entertain of the power and intelligence of the Divine Being, when it surveys such mighty and marvellous works as those which I was then called to contemplate ! How calculated is it to make man shrink into conscious insignificance, when he finds himself surrounded by such stupendous displays of the power of the Great Supreme !"

We only give one more specimen of the author's descriptive powers. It is from the chapter devoted to

THE SCENERY OF GLENGARIFF. "I say deliberately, though knowing that comparisons are odious," that taken all in all Glengariff is superior to the neighbourhood of Killarney, or to any other locality in Ireland which I had then visited, or which I visited before my return to England. Others, I am aware, may think differently. The lovers of that class of scenery which unites in the greatest degree the attributes of softness and richness would, no doubt, prefer the Lakes of Killarny to the scenery of Glengariff. Those, on the other hand, who think with me, that the essence of the beautiful in nature's workmanship is to be found in a union of the majestic and sublime with the quality of loveliness, will concur in the propriety of the preference which I have given to Glengariff. You seem to pass along an immense tablet of nature's formation, where mighty masses of stone, having all the appearance of large tracts of rock, lie everywhere scattered about on the left ; while on the right, in a valley, or rather glen below, and in the acclivity of an extensive but not very elevated hill, are rich plantations, beautiful parks, lovely lawns, elegant mansions, cultivated fields, and comfortable home-steadings. On the right, the beauty of the scenery is mainly to be ascribed to the taste and hand of man. On the left, man has nothing to do with it : what is there to be witnessed is wholly the work of nature's God. The enormous blocks of stone, mostly as smooth on the surface as if they had been brought under the operation of the mason's chisel and mallet, are of a light grey colour, and hard as granite. They are piled on and scattered beside each other, as if Nature had been trying what strange effect she could produce by their fantastic distribution. Masses of stone, or, to speak more properly, single stones are to be seen in all directions, which, if broken into fragments, would supply materials for a building as large as the Mansion House of London. And, to add to the effect of these ponderous blocks of stone, numerous oak and other trees, are to be seen growing luxuriantly upon and between them. The epithet grand, is the only one I know which can convey any idea of the character of this scenery. Oh, how Nature here mocks the efforts of puny man! In the qualities of grandeur and magnificence she seems to have even excelled herself. You wonder whether she could surpass what she has here done, or whether she has not put forth her greatest efforts. It is quite common for writers, when overpowered with feelings of wonder and admiration of anything sublime or beautiful, to wish some poet had been present to pourtray what they feel themselves unable to describe. No such feeling entered my mind, while I stood in the midst of Glengariff, almost transfixed with amazement at the grandeur of the scenery around me. Poet, indeed! A poet would be positively and truly an object of pity in that spot. The very sight of the place, instead of evoking the spirit of poetry, would extinguish it altogether,—at least for a season. He would quit the place with an infinitely humbler opinion of what he and his poetry could do in the way of description, than when he entered it. The idea of a poet trying to enter fully into the scene, and undertaking adequately to describe it, would be absolutely ludicrous. I felt, when standing amidst the grandeur and sublimity of Glengariff, as if I had been amply rewarded for my visit to Ireland, even had I seen nothing else worthy of attention in the course of my travels in that country.”

Mr Grant commences his second volume with a chapter on “ Cork and its Neighbourhood.” While here he spends a great portion of a day with Father Mathew. Our readers will probably like to hear what he says of

The GREAT APOSTLE OF TEMPERANCE. “ Father Mathew resides in Cork. I had the good fortune to have a letter of introduction to him. Not less fortunate was I in finding at home a man who is constantly employed on his mission of mercy. I met with him on the evening of my arrival in Cork, and breakfasted and dined with him on the following day. He is now in his fiftyfourth year; and yet, notwithstanding his extraordinary labours-labours almost unparalleled in modern times—he would not be taken for more than fifty. He is rather above the middle height, and fully made, without being corpulent. There is something striking in his appearance; something which inspires affection and commands respect the moment you are introduced to him. He has a fine intellectual cast of countenance, with an expression of mingled mildness and benevolence. The form of his face is correctly represented in most of the numerous portraits which have been published of him. His complexion has a slight tinge of the sallow hue, which well accords with the benign expression of his countenance. His face is rather full, but inclines more to the oval than to the rotund form. His hair, which is ample for a man who has reached the meridian of life, is moderately dark. His manners are those of a perfect gentleman of the older and better school. And here I ought to observe that he is a man of high family connections. He is remarkably easy and affable in his manner; he has none of that laboured punctilio which has, of late, been too often mistaken for gentlemanly breeding. There is a pleasing placidity and pensiveness in the expression of his countenance, and no trace of that demure aspect which we are apt to associate with the clerical character. He always wears a frock coat and Hessian boots. His conversational powers are of no common order, and his information on general topics, notwithstanding his singular devotedness to his spiritual duties and to the cause of temperance, is varied and accurate. He possesses a cultivated taste in the fine arts; but this and everything else is kept in due subordination to the great mission which Providence has appointed him to fulfil. Though comparatively unknown to the public previous to the commencement of his great temperance enterprise, he was known and esteemed—in many instances, idolized—by all classes of the community in his immediate neighbourhood. Never did a minister of any religious denomination consecrate himself more unreservedly or constantly to his pastoral duties, than did Father Mathew prior to the identification of his name with the temperance movement. His whole soul was in his work, and his entire time was given up to it. He visited the sick, relieved the necessitous to the utmost extent of his means, and administered the consolations of the Catholic faith to the departing spirit. Nor was this the full amount of his works of mercy and labours of love. He sought out opportunities of acting as arbitrator in all cases of quarrel or dispute between man and man ; and with a success never, I believe, before equalled. In addition to all this, seeing the great expenses, often ruinous to the working classes, attendant on the burial of their deceased relatives, and the ill-blood which was frequently occasioned by the illiberal and unseemly feeling shown to the Catholics at the time of interment, he purchased, in 1830, eleven acres of ground, formerly used as a botanical garden, and converted it into a cemetery. Here the bodies of the poor are interred gratuitously, and any sum received from those who can afford to pay is applied to charitable purposes. I went through this cemetery with Mr. Mathew, and was charmed with its beauty. It is laid out under his own superintendence in the most tasteful manner. It is only inferior to the celebrated Père-la-Chaise of Paris, in extent and situation. No fewer than 24,000 persons have already found a resting-place in this most lovely spot. To a poetic mind, the thought of being buried in it would disarm death of half the terror with which it is usually regarded. It is open to Protestants as well as Catholics, though it is chiefly persons of the latter system of faith whose bodies are interred in it. Father Mathew has already chosen the spot in which his own remains are to be buried. It is in

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