The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1852-10-14

seems to have been an enterprsing young
woman with u courage and spirit worthy OF
better cause and better reward, followed him,
even here and one fine morning, when he
awoke, he found her bending over him. weep
ing, and fixing on his face eyes of most un-
holy blue" Moore says
"Ah, your saints have cruel hearts
Sterny from his bed he starts,
And with rude, repulsve shock
Hurs her from the beetling rock !"
But, according to our guide, "the saint as
he lay there on his back, coolly put his two feet
agin Kathleen's breast and, without as mach
as a by your leave, my lady kicked her into
the lake" On visiting the scene of the tragedy,
the latter strikes one as decidedly the most
probable version of the story. The saint could
hardly have had room to "start " from " his
| bedn-he must have crawled into his narrow
quarters, and Kathleen must have stood at the
entrance, from whence he could scarcely have
thrust her into the lake, without taking at
least ducking himself in any but the very
ungentlemanly manner referred to.
Our guide told us that an adventurous Scotch
earl lately took fancy to spend the night in
this holy bed, with his young son. Though
wrapped in the ample folds of soft, warm
plaid his lordship got no sleep-being kept
awake, not by the drear solemnity, the awful
loneliness of the surrounding scene-nOt by the
sonorous roaring of the waves below, but by
the more sonOrOus snoring of the laddie by his
side
In the rock of "the bed" | found carved the
names of Mr. and Mrs S. c. Hall, Tom Moore,
Maria Edgeworth, and Walter Scott.
Gerald Griffin, the author of The College,
ans,n has told the story of Kathleen and St.
Kelvin, in poem of much power and beauty.
| 1t leaves MoOre's ballad far behind, and is Gu
risus and admirable as giving to the character
of Kathleen true maiden purity and n sweet,
childlike innocence, and yet winning your full
absolution for that most incivil sin of her
drowning--the "deep damnation of her kicking
off"-by showing that the cruel act was one of
momentary frenzy brought on by long and
| fearful struggle between human love and
priestly vows and sanity aspirations
After visiting the beautiful waterfall of Pow
lanos, we took reluctant and lingering leave
of that valley of the shadow of ancient great
ness-that still and lonely haunt of melancholy
and monastc memories-that ruined shrine OF
learning-that desolated burial-place of mon
archs-that old, old city of forgotten and
recordess ast-Glendalough. Its picture must
ever hang apart in my remembrance, deep in
cloud and shade "grand, gloomy, and pecu-
liar"
On the morning of the third day of our tour,
we early left the charming country inn where
we had spent the night, and drove over a mag
nifcent mountain road to Lough Bray and the
country seat of Sir Philip Champion, on its
shores, where we were engaged to spend the
remainder of the day.
would. nv dear F., that could give
you even a faint idea of the glorious scenery
we beheld along our way on that most bcauti-
full morning-mountain valley, lakes, rivers,
and waterfalls, around and beneath us-above
us n delicious summer heaven, intensely blue
in the zenith, but darkened with drifting clouds
about the mountain tops, every now and then
melting down upon us in brief; bright shower,
every drop chased by sunbeam as it fell But
| the climax and browning of the wild scenery
on our way, and the keen enjoyment of the
| morning, was the sight of Tough Bray a lonely
lake small, but feartully deep and dark-shut
in by high heathery hills rocky and precipi-
tousEthe entire scene with the exception Of
the beautiful cottage and grounds of Sir Philip
| Champion, retaining its prlmeyal wildness
grandeur, and desolateness. The tasteful owner
of this haunt of sounding mountain airs and
solemn shadows has rescued or rather created
from the boggy hillside, the ground for his
gardens lawns, and fir plantations-causing
those dreary desert places to rejoice in leafy
luxurance, and blossom az the rose" The
loneliness of the lake is relieved by focks Of
tame water fowl, especially petted and protect
ed by Sir Philip, and by number Of those
beautiful and stately creatures the swans. A
row upon this dark water was rare delight
to me- from peculiar deep, low, melodous
surge Of its waves-caused, it is said by its
great Depth and the rocky steepness Of its
shores
To describe all the outdoor pcturesqueness
and grandeur of this beautiful mountain re-
treat, were indeed difficult but to do Justice in
words to its indoor attractions, to the gener-
Gus warmth of our welcome, TO the courteous
and varied entertainment, which charmed and
winged alike the hours of sunshine and shower,
were quite impossible. Irish hospitality is the
heartiest and most graceful in the world and
Sir Philip Champions is the soul Of Irish hos
pitality,
We drove into Dublin that night, and on the
following day set out for the Giants Causeway
The places and objects of most interest along
our route, were the ancient towns of Drogheda
and Dundalk-fortunate, Furnishing Belfast
with its most beautiful observation-disclosures and
Glenarm, with their fine old castles--and the
town Of Larne, memorable IA the place where
Edward Bruce landed, in l3l5-and, above all,
Fair Head. Much Of the scenery Of the coast
road from Carrickfurgus to the Causeway is
grand and beautiful beyond description but
all fades fast from your memory, for the time,
when you reach the browning beauty and sub
Unity OF all-the wonder of wonders-thc
Causeway. My dear F., pray your par
DON If here, feeling that discretion is the better
part OF yalor, ingloriously shrink from an ef-
fort which | fear would inevitably result in
failure. ! dare not attempt 10 describe the
Causeway. was most grandly impressed by
the caves, and by the various fine points Of the
Causeway, as seen Mt some little distance, from
the sea. nearer inspection increased my
wonderment but did not 10 powerfully affect
me through my sense ofIhe sublime and awful.