rear.

worse of the wear, bringing up the We touched our hat, wishing to get towards the cover; but the lively eyes of Miss St. C-- had already transfixed us; so, pulling up, we inquired for the hounds.

"Why, you are rather late; they're just gone round the hill yonder, near the river."

"Have you been long out?"

"Oh yes-a couple of hours. The hounds should have been giving tongue long since. The scent, I fear, is quite off the ground already."

"How does that happen?"

"Why, every thing is too late. Our sportsmen, like Wouter Van Twiller, have a formidable aversion to be disturbed at breakfast. So the morning flies away."

"Your horse seems rather warm. Have you ridden far?"

"Oh, no; the sweet creature is quite fresh. Frederick and Captain Digby," she added, smiling, "have been 'schooling,' you must know. I merely went to witness their evolutions, but further deponent sayeth not."

“Oh,` out with it!" interjected Fred. "I got a particularly precious roll in the mud on the off-side of a dike down there, and Digby got up to his neck in the river-that's all. But, yoicks! there go the dogs' full tantivy !"

At this moment, coming to a rather stiff-looking fence, more than one of our party began looking "unutterable things." Before we had time to think, Miss St. C flew over itthe other two horses, from the pure effect of habit, also cleared the opposite side, without touching a stone, while poor Digby came regularly to anchor on the starboard bow.

"Not going to cat-and-fish' your anchor-eh, Digby?" sang out some

yards of us, some dozen red-coats at his heels. Poor Digby's rein, by some contre-temps, escaping from his hand, his horse made full fig over the fence also, and scampered away; and we, somewhat puzzled what to do, joined in the general escapade.

The hunt lay for some time along the beautiful hills bordering the river, the deep bay of the hounds swelling at intervals in fitful gusts along its placid surface, and echoed again and again from the opposite banks. The prospect was, indeed, such as we shall not pretend to describe. The day continued beautiful; a grateful breeze from off the water lent its delicious balm, serving to mitigate the too potent rays of an almost torrid sun; and as we galloped along, lost in the loveliness of the encircling hills, the river still stretched away, its dells and wooded acclivities still sending back the enlivening yell. Before us lay the steep and beautifully-planted slopes of Cratloe, tinged with the richest glories of the fading year, and on the other side of the river, the soft undulations of the opposite shore, the old traditionary rock and feudal walls of Carrick-o'Gunnel, in grim relief against the clear deep sky.

Several vessels, with a goodly array of canvass, taking advantage of the evening tide, were creeping along up the river; and the long shadows were perceptibly falling on the hills, before we obtained any tidings of our friends of the morning. As we gained the summit of an adjacent hill, however, commanding a magnificent view of the country, the distant note of the horn calling off the hounds, fell on the ear; and, scattered in every imaginable point of the hills, horses and men were to be seen making for home. were soon up with the first party, and found that one of the favourites of Neptune had come in for "the brush." We were, of course, all interjections and notes of admiration!—and as we bent our way home towards the castle, hailed with many a burst of laughter the victorious Digby.

"You don't say so?"
“Indeed, yes!”

We

With some traditional recollection of a nursery tale of a fox making for a wood with no amiable predilection for a goose, our gallant friend bent his steps thitherwards too; and having

scraped his eyes out in the hedge in the morning, never waited to scrape them in again. In an evil moment poor reynard followed his example, and as he was getting into the wood, fell a victim to his own duplicity and cunning.

Pursuing our course homewards, he fell in with his horse again, in charge of one of our party, and getting into the stirrups looked "quite as good as new;" the enemy's flag (the brush) waving proudly at his mizen-top!

Cantering away to join the host of red coats, we were once again left to our meditations; and when shall we forget that glorious evening on the "beached margin" of the river. The prospect on every side was quite lovely. A softened tint diffused itself over the entire landscape, as the sun, sinking towards the western hills, shot his long level rays, refracted and reflected in a thousand forms into the atmosphere. Could we get a glimpse of one of those purple visions but once in a hundred years, thought we, how should we fall prostrate before so much sublimity. How unutterably short every effort of the pen or pencil. How emblematic his setting of that perfect and beautiful harmony that reigns through creationwhile leaving us, re-appearing to other climes in similar magnificence, with the dewy freshness of the morning!

"Nay, should we not rather speak of the undimmed lustre of something still more glorious," hinted our gentle companion, "setting full of radiant hope-leaving clouds and darkness, indeed, behind; but in another world bursting into ever-lustrous loveliness and light!"

But the beautiful orb had already sunk even beyond the limits of the atmosphere, a few bent rays dimly pointing out his setting, as we terminated our journey.

The succeeding day, on leaving the hospitable shore of Clare, we bent our adventurous flight to the opposite side of the river, and were fortunate enough to come in for a somewhat agreeable display of military and pic nic evolutions at the "Rock of the Candle." On gaining the summit of the old fortress, the view was quite beautiful. military bivouacked around the foot of the castle; the camp-kettle busily intent on putting musquet and flag-staff for awhile, at least, hors de combat.

The

The miniature hosts of cavalry, and formidable array of artillery, dispersed at intervals along the grass. The commander of the district-his classic features lit with peculiar delight-galloping everywhere; the members of his staff, with a terribly business-like air, scampering after him, brought to our memory some of our less peaceable positions on the Ebro or Guadalquiver; the level expanse of country, with the river gloriously winding away as far as the eye could stretch, diminishing in nowise the illusion.

The prospect from the summit of this castle is, perhaps, the finest on this part of the river. The gentle undulations and quiet plains of several counties stretching away on one side of the river-the beautifully wooded hills of Clare on the other. Several clumps of trees on the side of the acclivity leading to the rugged and shapeless ruin assist, by contrast, to heighten the stern loveliness of the scene; and nestling, as it were, at the foot of the castle, several sweet spots -Elm Park, Vermont, Tervoe-display no ordinary glimpses of elegance and taste.

Some little darkness at present seems to hang over the name "Rock of the Candle"-several wild but improbable stories assisting to place it in somewhat deeper obscurity. It is not improbable, however, that the name is in some way connected with the eastern ceremony of Fire Worship," at one time very prevalent, when at Easter a sacred fire was supposed to descend from heaven; and of the tapers or candles lighted at this flame very peculiar virtues were supposed to be possessed. These shadowy traces of orientalism, indeed, are continued to the present day in the "Baal tinne," or festival of the Ball Fire; and in the East every other fire is extinguished during the ceremony, till rekindled by a candle supplied by a priest from off the altar. As carrying us back through the "night of ages," to a period when the Druid altar and Cromleach were objects of adoration, these things are true" sermons in stones," to remind us of those blessed privileges we enjoy under the mild reign of Christianity. It is curious, indeed, the very integral part our country at this period formed in the advancing wave of civilization, when Plutarch informs us the very

existence of our friends at the other side of the channel was doubtful, and that when they did emerge from their obscurity (let not John feel any way perturbed at the historic fact) they flocked to the country of saints, "Sanctorum patria, as to a great mart of learning, being recommended the gentle discipline of the Irish schools. "Amandatus est ad disciplinam in Hibernia.)"

Among the many wild legends that linger still, ghost-like, about the "Rock of the Candle," is one of a somewhat poetic nature, suggesting possibly Tom Moore's "Chain of Silence," which some one, after a particularly Hibernian fashion, "rattled" o'er the deep. The "Hero of Clontarf," it seems, for some equally felicitous reason, suspended an immense iron chain across the Shannon, from Cratloe to Carrick O'Gunnel. The Danes, after many an attempt, succeeded in breaking it-the charm was unloosed, and Ireland since has ever been enslaved ! An unearthly tale is also hinted of a "foul witch, Sycorax," who tended the flame on the summit of the rock, and who

"By help of her more potent ministers

And in her most unmitigable rage,"

visited with death or deformity those in any way disobedient to her capricious commands. We didn't hear, however, of any Calibans "peopling" the ruin, except perhaps one particularly ugly man, named Fionne.

As a matter of course, the castle could not be without a tale of duly romantic love, and its attendant, "murder ;" and in Lady Chatterton's Rambles we find the exploits of this gentleman:

"The Prince of Curraheen loved the beautiful Elcona, who lived in her father's splendid castle of Cratloe, on the opposite bank of the Shannon. Often did Curraheen cross the broad river in his barge, to visit the lady of his love; but so transcendantly beautiful and good was she in his eyes, that he looked upon her as a being of a superior order; though he was so handsome and fascinating that he was sure to find favour in the eyes of most fair ones, he never could imagine the lovely Elcona would consent to be his bride."

and

Heigh ho-the old story—“faint

"One fine summer's evening Curraheen ventured at last to express his affection in a song he had composed for Elcona. Their eyes met, and before the sun went down behind the mountains of Clare, the faith of these two beings was silently plighted. It was on a terracewalk which projected over the ramparts of Cratloe; and lovely was the view on all sides. Dark and frowning did the high walls of Carrig appear against the golden sky of evening, and as they met the soft gaze of Elcona, a sudden shudder passed over her slender frame. The lovely countenance, which a moment before had been suffused with blushes at the tender words of love, for the first time whispered in her ears, now became deadly pale.

"It is very foolish,' said she, smiling at her own fears; but I never can look on that castle of Carrig without fear. Since I have seen the giant Fionne, I cannot bear to look upon his abode.'

"He loves thee, then !' exclaimed the youth, with a look of dismay, while his brow darkened in a moment. 'But surely thy parents did not consent to his suit?'

66 6

'No,' she replied. They would not sacrifice their child; but he threatened-Hark! what sounds are those beneath the terrace wall ?" she exclaimed, and see! the in an agony of terror; troops of Fionne are actually landing; his barge is already anchored!'

""" And he is here himself to claim his bride,' thundered a loud, harsh voice, while a giant form appeared on the terrace, and a huge arm encircled the slender waist of Elcona. Curraheen endeavoured to rescue his beloved; but, alas! he was unarmed, and one blow from Fionne felled him to the ground. Elcona's shrieks alarmed the castle; but the wily Fionne was prepared. With his battleaxe he repelled the assailants, and, bearing the fainting Elcona in his arms, he hurried away.

"The night was far advanced, yet sounds of mirth and festivity still echoed through the halls of Carrig O'Guinnell. The conviction that he had won the lovely Elcona from the arms of his hated rival, was a triumph which filled Fionne with ferocious exultation. He despatched heralds to summon all his neighbours and tributary chiefs to attend the celebration of his marriage, on the following day, with his beautiful captive. Shouts of triumph, and sounds of boisterous mirth from the banquetting hall. reached the prisoner's ear, mingled with the piteous wail of sorrow which

rose up mournfully from the dungeons below. The wind howled fearfully among the high battlements. A storm had arisen. All was now dark without, and Elcona could no longer distinguish the turrets of her own dear home, on the opposite side of the Shannon. Despair was in her heart, as with tottering step she paced up and down the dungeon.

"And Curraheen-the youth of the tuneful voice and beaming eye-oh! where is he now ?' murmured Elcona, in accents of despair.

"From the moment she had been seized by the cruel giant, she saw and heard nothing of her lover. Like a sweet rosebud torn by the storm, she drooped her fair head, and hope and existence seemed alike extinct. But the morning sun shone upon a large force collected round the walls of Curraheen. Fionne still caroused. The bards were preparing marriage songs. Curraheen and the chief of Cratloe, at the head of their followers, proceeded towards Carrig."

But the rest is soon told. The prisoner is released; Fionne betrayed; and Curraheen and Elcona married next day.

Taking a somewhat direct course across the country, we bent our steps next to the ruins of Mungret, leaving the gaunt and shattered walls of Carrig of the Candle behind us.

Before us lay the Clare and Keeper

66

hills, with which we had now become somewhat familiar; and on one side the blue and shadowy outlines of the Galtees and Knock Fierna, or " Mountain of the Fairies"-the very general resort of these very fugitive acquaintances that one hears and sees so much of in this part of the world. At Mungret, the ruins of an abbey founded so early as the fourth century, are shown to the traveller. It appears it was several times plundered by our old friends, the Danes; but was ultimately granted to the bishops and dignitaries of the cathedral of Limerick. Like several other similar buildings, the monastery, according to the oriental type, had “ seven churches," and contained within its walls not less than fifteen hundred monks. At a subsequent period the "Knights Templars" made a settlement here; and, about half a mile to the north of the church, traces of several old buildings belonging to these wonderful adventurers-among the rest an hospital, afterwards the mansion of the Priorare things to think of, awakening many deep and sober recollections, as the mind travels up the stream of time ;the crumbling graves of years long dead, dimly recognizable by the soft spinning of the earth yet on its axlethe ever-blossoming summer, and everbudding spring!

ONCE more, old friends, we are among you-hurra! As we wend our way along the river from Frankfurt, we see the "Kaiser Sthul" glinting from the deep green mountain; the unrivalled beauties of the Odenwald are opening upon us. There is the stately" Alte Schloss," its magnificent ruined towers and antique pinnacles have caught the last rays of the sun ere he rolls down behind the curtain of grey clouds which hangs above the outline of the Black Forest. There is the Neckar, sparkling like silver. There is the old Hirsch, with its trellis-work of vines; and the jolly host's daughter, as pretty as ever, is leaning from the window, to see the carriage pass by. There is the "Manheimer Thor," and the grey, many-arched bridge, with the tall white statue upon it. We are rattling along now over the streets of the town. There is the venerable old "collegium," that alma mater which has nursed so many spirits, renowned alike in literature and in war. It is the time of lecture. From the ancient portal a motley crowd come straggling out. Green and white caps are among them. We are recognized; familiar faces smile upon us a greeting; we are hailed by well-known voices. Ha! Herr Irlander, "wie getz!" Amid friendly exclamations of welcome, we are hurried along. We near the ancient Gasthaus, the Ritter famous for the Westphalian kneipe. Outside upon the window-sill-for it is the evening of a summer's day - sits Mouffle, the respectable terrier of that ancient chore.

large through the mist, as he comes forward, and grasps us by the hand.

"So, Irlander, you have come back-right welcome! We have some choice mild Havannahs for you now!"

Again, as of yore, the glasses sparkle upon that hospitable board; again is the best cheer set before us. As Macauley hath it—

"The oldest cask is opened,

And the largest lamp is lit."

Champaigne, "œil de perdrix"-champaign from the "Badischer Hof," for the Irlander. There is no use in resisting there is no use in saying, with a smile-which, heaven forgive us, we have sometimes done, in order to save the pockets of our generous entertainers" that we prefer beer." The flasks are brought forth-the corks fly -the goblets foam. Our health is drank we are on our legs-we are making a speech-yes, smile not, reader a German speech-we who were born within the sound of the bells of St. Patrick's, and who well nigh fainted, with nervous apprehension, the first time we moved the chief justice of the Common Pleas for "an order to compute," and were somewhat re-assured, by a benignant smile from that most gentlemanly and considerate of judges-we, forgetful of our sweet native brogue, are making a speech in a foreign tongue; and if the enthusiasm with which it is received be any test of its ability, we must be talking cleverly too. these visions are but day-dreamsthey are vain imaginings, and only to fancy's eye can they rise now. At this present writing, we are the solitary denizens of an apartment some eight feet square, and these fairy visions but the unsubstantial creations of the brain; yet such has been, and such, we are well assured, would again be our reception among the choice spirits of Westphalia; and not professing ourselves

Alas!