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ing valley, about two miles long, with the Avonmore flowing through it, lies between Lough Dan and Lough Tay. We will not stay to describe this pleasant vale, but we must, in passing, call attention to the spirited improvements that are being effected by the owner of this tract of country. The whole valley is being drained, the river turned into a more direct course, and an excellent road has been formed along the pass. Were there many such landlords in Ireland, we might hope for better days there yet.

Lough Tay (Cut, No. 9) is much smaller than Lough Dan, being less than a mile long, and nowhere half a mile across, but it is more compact and lake-like, and it is generally regarded as the more beautiful. We confess to not sharing in this opinion. But Lough Tay is certainly very beautiful. It is encircled by lofty mountains, which in places rise almost precipitously from the water. The extensive plantations however take off much of the natural grandeur it would otherwise possess; and the prevalence of spiry firs not only destroys the beauty which foliage might impart, but very materially injures the picturesqueness of the scene. Lough Tay lies wholly within the extensive and beautiful demesne of Luggala, of which it is of course the chief feature.

From Luggala, the Military Road will lead, by way of Sally Gap, to a couple more of the Loughs that are among the notabilities of Wicklow: they are well worth visiting. The road will afford some noble mountain views. From some of the heights on either hand, which may easily be ascended, will be seen a long range of

mountain summits, their peaks rising in grand perspective behind each other, and displaying as they recede the richest aerial effects. These mountains are entirely desolate. In the maps they are marked as the "uninhabited mountains." So wild, desolate, and little known were they, that after the rebellion in 1798 a number of the rebels were able to maintain themselves among them for some years, under the leadership of one Dwyer. It was not till the Military Road was constructed through the district, after the outbreak in 1803, that there could be said to be any road over these mountains. This wild pass of Sally Gap, where we now are, Wicklow Gap, and Glenmalure, were the only practicable entrances.

The Lough Brays (or Breagh) lie both of them high up among the mountains, the one being 1,423 and the other 1,225 feet above the sea. Both lie in deep glens, and both are very fine. Upper Lough Bray is the lonelier, and perhaps the grander; the Lower Lough is the more cheerful. The scenery around both is exceedingly beautiful. After visiting the Loughs, the pretty village of Enniskerry will be the object to be attained; and Glencree might be seen on the way. Then from Enniskerry, by the Scalp, to Dublin.

There is another route through which we intended to lead the tourist. That, namely, from Laragh or Glendalough up Glendassan, by Wicklow Gap, and along the desolate mountain roads to Polaphuca Waterfall, and thence to Blessington, returning in another direction. But we do not recommend it unless our wayfarer have a superabundance of time on hand.

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self of the privilege, and save seven miles of dull road. Sheldon 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 Sheldon, you may pass into those of Ballyarthur, the seat of 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
Her purest of crystal and brightest of green;
"T was not her soft magic of streamlet or hill,—
Oh! no-it was something more exquisite still.

"T was that friends, the belov'd of my bosom, were near,
Who made ev'ry dear scene of enchantment more dear;
And who felt how the best charms of Nature improve
When we see them reflected from looks that we love."

With such associations and feelings to heighten her beauties, we too might admit the pre-eminence of Avoca. 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. (Cut, No. 6.)

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 quantity 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 scarification 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 No. 7,) 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 Glendamore a rapid mountain stream; the Avonmore* is gentle and placid as a lowland river. All aroundalong the valley, in the water, and on the heights-is luxuriant foliage. The hills are bold and lofty, their

* We asked a countryman the meaning of these names: "Sure, then," said he, "Avon is a river, and beg (which he pronounced lig) 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 so called there: they take the name of Avoca after their confluence, 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 Glenealo, 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 Poolanas. 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. (Cut, No. 8.)

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

"By that lake, whose gloomy shore
Skylark never warbles o'er;
Where the cliff hangs high and steep,
Young St. Kevin stole to sleep:
'Here, at least,' he calmly said,
'Woman ne'er shall find my bed.'
Ah! the good saint little knew

What that wily sex can do!"

The rest it is needless to repeat. Since St. Kevin so ungallantly hurled the fair Kathleen from his chamber into the deep waters below-and it is fourteen hundred years ago-every lady who has ventured there has borne a charmed life, for so the good saint in his remorse prayed it might be. More than a few fair ladies have tested the charm in our day by scrambling into the Bed, and all have returned in safety. But besides

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