The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1897-01-25

Flesk' brown sullen expanse dropped in the
fairyland of Kerry.
Great bog of Allen, swallow down,
That odious heap called Philipstown;
And If thy nav can swallow more
Pray take and welcome Tallamore!
Sang the blind minstrel in days gone by,
when the canal was the highway and these
two villages held precarious stations on
the embankment, the only stopping places
from Dublin ''to Limerick and back
The extent Of the boys may be understood
by the estimate that of 100000 acres of
land 100000 is bog;
MORE THAN ONE-sEvENTH.
Of the Emerald Isle is black peat. More
than half of this is the mountains
perched at every elevation and every pos
sible angle, some of it seemingly standing
on end, like the domains of Kipling's East
Indian rajah. The bog of Lough Neagh in
Antrim is the only other considerable one
in the lowlands. Patches Of black peat may
be seen below the upper timber in the
mountains of Connaught, on the peaks about
Bantry Bay, along Sligo and Donegal, and
Arran, those marine sentinels that watch
over the little cargo boats and fishermen's
curraghs that hug the stormy coast Of the
Atlantic.
Singular to relate, it is the boys that
clothe these grim citadels with tenderness.
They are not swampy and barren of fauna
and fora. They have their own charm.
Mountains have had hard names hurled at
them by people who do not climb; prairie
and moor and desolations to others, and
the bog has grace only for the few. If you
have lived anywhere along the west coast
of Kerry you must needs have known and
loved the Dogs that reveal many charms to
those familiar. Chamber to the top of any
range and the bog is there before you, at an
angle that makes one marvel at the depth of
the pocket of water that keeps the peat moss
from tumbling into the ocean. Some of it has
SLIPPED IT'S MOORINGs,
for the GLACIER planed, crag- encountered"
hillside has its thin coat of peat binding
the loose rocks together.
Even here the only spots entirely denuded
are those lately cut and skinned. These pits
are filled with inky water, while along the
edge Of the cuttings fronds of bracken already
fringe the lips, and .spagnum throws out it's
woody fbres to bind the wound. White
Powered cud weed 9sedums and bed straws,
rag weed and red moor grass spring up, and
heather bushes above the scar, giving it the
appearance Of red bog on bird's-eye view
To get up to the spot where plant life is seen
to clothe the bog with gracious form and
tender color, one has to scramble up hill
through wood that has been bullied and buff
teted by winds that swept clear from the reek-
Ing banks of New Foundland.
Just a jungle of bran1bles, distorted tor
tured yews, hazel and bracken, dwarf oaks,
stunted frs. The ground beneath is wet to
the point of saturation, and the atmosphere
like that of the everglades of Florida. Vines
and grass and moss smother the trees and
Ivy strangles and drags down many a trunk
that withstood Atlantic gales Dead fuhguses
take possession, pink-lipped, battered para
sites. This is forcing house for all forms
Of cryptograms. St. Patrick's miracle is all
that assures you Of
THE ABSENCE OF REPTILES.
Just as you emerge from the wood the
salt air comes up crisp and tingling on the
dixie that holds bog from wood. From the
warm stagnation of the jungle you emerge
on a bracing ridge and inhale the scent of
gorse and flowers and heather. Everything
Is astir. Denizens of wood and bog meet
on the dixie. Rabbits and wood pigeons,
dragonhies by millions and moths bask in
the sun. Up and down the sun-steeped bank
the gilded newt the only true reptile in Ire
land, slips silently with a regard only for the
weIy fly. The natter Jack toad blinks his
eyes Of jet. Below the bank the bog lies
up the mountain side broom and furze disap-
peass and ridges sud maishy bits b,tstling