the Annals, in the year 909, and, doubtless, set up this cross in their joint commemoration, on the same occasion. We have here, therefore, a specimen of the art of sculpture, as it flourished among our Irish forefathers nearly a thousand years ago. The western side of the cross is covered with bass-reliefs, representing, in a rude but effective way, the crucifixion and other scriptural scenes, from which the cross derives its appellation of cros-nascreaptra. The sculptures on the east side appear to refer chiefly to acts of donation and events in the life of St. Kieran, the patron. Intermixed with these, and on both sides, are objects of the same grotesque character as we see in early English and Lombardic churches. The rudeness of these sculptures is barbaric, not barbarous. There is considerable grandeur in the proportions of the stone, great delicacy in its knops and interlaced pattern-work, and a sumptuous, although rude beauty, in its general effect. It is eminently interesting also, as exhibiting the costumes of its period. Here we have the Roman soldiers asleep at the sepulchre, arrayed in conical helmets, such as the Bayaux tapestry exhibits on the Normans of two centuries later. Here we have kings, warriors, and various orders of ecclesiastics in their proper costumes. On the base appear horses and chariots, with very high wheels, and hunters following the deer with hound and horn. The other cross is of even greater elegance of förm, but its decorations are confined to ornamented bosses and pattern work. These circular-armed stone crosses are peculiar to Scotic and British districts. They are nowhere to be found on the continent of Europe, save, I believe, in Britanny. A suitable monument to O'Connell would be a cross of this kind, of gigantic size, covered with bronze bass-reliefs, bearing the old conventional inscription, or do Dainiel.

It happened that the two days I spent at Clonmacnoise were the eve and festival of the patron Saint, Kieran; and the holy wells, crosses, and sacred graves were, during most of the time, surrounded by pilgrims at their devotions. This idea of the peculiar efficacy of prayer offered at particular places, seems to be an oriental one. We find it continually presented in the Koran, and in the writings of Mahommedan doctors. The course of de

votion at Clonmacnoise begins with certain repetitions of prayers, at the well of St. Kieran, distant about a quarter of a mile. After pacing round the well and its aged hawthorn in several circuits, from left to right, the pilgrims proceed to Tobar Fineen, a clear fountain, immediately below the ruins, and close to the Shannon, which covers it in flood time. Thence, after like exercises, they proceed to the churchyard, and having made certain rounds of that precinct, they repeat the same proceedings at the crosses, and at the graves of Saints Fineen and Kieran, following, throughout all these gyrations, the course of the sun, and making certain circuits and progresses, from point to point, on their bare knees a very sad spectacle. Those who were so engaged on this occasion, were of the poorest and most ignorant sort, guided in their rounds by two miserable old women, and were almost exclusively females. Great multitudes used formerly to flock to this pilgrimage, even from counties so distant as Kerry and Cavan; but famine, and emigration, and, I believe, recently, ecclesiastical disapproval, have so reduced the number, that I doubt if one hundred in all went their rounds during the two days of my sojourn. Whether these pilgrimages be or not of pagan origin, it is certain that for a period of twelve hundred years, Clonmacnoise, and, in particular, this well of St. Fineen, have been so, frequented. Under various dates, between 610 and 758, the Annals record the death of Gorman, the progenitor of the MacQuins, on his pilgrimage here, after having fasted for the space of a year on bread and the water of Tiobrait-Finhin. The well is a clear and copious one, as, from the character of the tract of eskers, from the foot of which it issues, may be well understood.

The story of the original foundation of Clonmacnoise is one of those monkish legends in which the dependence of the royal authority on the ecclesiastical is inculcated without much regard to the morality of the means employed in exemplifying the moral. In the lowest compartment, on the east side of cros-nascreaptra, may be seen two figures, which, although mistaken by Dr. Ledwich for Adam and Eve at either side of the tree of life, are evidently enough a king and monk on either side of a stake, or young tree, to the stem of

which their hands are applied, those of the monk being uppermost, as if in the act of planting it. The monk is St. Kieran, and the king Dermot Mac Cearbhail, who made the first donation of lands to Kieran's Church. The incident represented is thus related in the Annals of Clonmacnoise, under the years 535 and 547, in the quaint translation of which I have spoken:

"Twahal Moylegarve (Teuthal MaelGarbh) began his reign, and reigned eleven years. He caused Dermot Mac Kervil to live in exile and in desert places, because he claimed to have a right to the crown, having proclaimed his banishment and a great reward for him that would bring him his heart. Dermot, for fear of his life, lived in the deserts of Clanvicnose, then called Artibra, and meeting with the Abbot St. Keyran, in the place where the Church of Clanvicknose now stands, who was but newly come thither to dwell from Inis-Aingen, and having no house or place to reside and dwell in, the said Dermot gave him his assistance to make a house there; and in thrusting down in the earth one of the piers or wattles of the house, Dermot took St. Keyran's hand and did put it over his own hand, in sign of reverence to the saint. Whereupon St. Keyran humbly besought God of his great goodness that by that time to-morrow ensuing that the hands of Dermot might have superiority over all Ireland, which fell out as the Saint requested; for Mulmory O'Hargedie (Maelmora Mac Airgeadan) foster-brother (elsewhere called tutor) of the said Dermot, seeing what perplexity the nobleman was in, besought him that he would be pleased to lend him his black horse, and that he would make his repair to Greallie-da-Phill, where he heard King Twahal to have a meeting with some of his nobles, and there would present him with a whelp's heart, on a spear's head, instead of Dermot's heart, and by that means get access to the king, whom he would kill out of hand, and by the help and swiftness of his horse save his own life, whether they would or no. Dermot listening to the words of his foster-brother was loath to refuse him, and more loath to lend it to him, fearing he should miscarry and be killed: but between both he granted him his request; whereupon he prepared himself, and wen: as he resolved, mounted on the black horse, a whelp's heart besprinkled with blood on his spear, to the place where he heard the king to be. The king and people, seeing him come in that manner, supposed that it was Dermot's heart that was to be presented by the man that rode in poste haste; the whole multitude gave him way to the king; and when he came in reach of the king, as though to tender him the heart, he gave the king such a deadly blow of his spear that he instantly fell down dead in the midst of his people; whereupon

the man (Maelmora) was on all sides besett, and at last taken and killed; so as speedy news came to Dermot, who immediately went to Taragh, and there was crowned king, as St. Keyran prayed and prophesied before."

Dermot in return for these services afterwards became one of the most munificent patrons of the Church; but having in a luckless moment asserted his authority, by following and arresting a civil culprit in the sanctuary of Bishop Rodhan of Lorah, brought down the vengeance of that ecclesiastic, who contented himself, however, with fulminating his curses against the royal residence, so that Dermot was compelled to evacuate Tara which has lain desert ever since. Worse still, it was the lot of this unlucky monarch to incur the displeasure of the better-known churchman, Columbkille, not only in consequence of a similar assertion of the civil jurisdiction against a criminal who claimed Columba's protection, but also on account of Dermot's award as arbitrator between Columba and St. Fineen, in their dispute about Columba's transcript of a copy of the psalter belonging to the latter. Dermot adjudged that, on the principle partus sequitur ventrem, Columba's copy should be the property of the owner of the original, which so incensed the choleric Tri-Connellian, that he returned to Ulster, raised the Clanna-Neill, obtained aids from Connaught, and gave battle to the king at Cuil-Dreibhne, near Sligo, where he utterly overthrew him, and compelled the restoration of his manuscript. It was in his fortysecond year, and after a life of so much turbulence, that Columba went on his mission to North Britain, leaving his psalter, however, with his clan, by whom it was, for a thousand years after, preserved as a palladium, and borne before them in battle. Until within a very recent time, this renowned manuscript, after an exist ence of thirteen hundred years, rested in the custody of the Royal Irish Academy, where it might be seen beside the coeval crozier of St. Kieran. As for Dermot, he was slain at Rathbeg, on the Six-mile-water, in Antrim, by that "valde sanguinarius homo et multorum trucidator," Aedh the Black, King of the Picts of Ulster, whom Columba afterwards ordained a priest, under the strange circumstances related by Adomnan. His body lies buried

at Connor, and his head rests here at Clonmacnoise. Dermot, at CuilDreibhne, appears to have apostatised to paganism, which, indeed, after such examples of episcopal violence, is hardly surprising; for we find him, on that occasion, employing the sorcerer Fraochan, the son of Tenisan, to cast him a Druidic spell, for the protection of his host against the army of Columba. Columba's own hymn, or battle-psalm, composed on the same occasion, invokes the protection of God against "the host which makes the circuit (timchel) of the carns," alluding to some pagan practices of Dermot's people, which, most probably, were the same with the rounds still in use in our Irish pilgrimages and stations.

The cathedral so founded by Flann still stands, and in a state of sufficient preservation to enable one to judge pretty accurately of its former appearance. The east end appears to have been modernised at the time of its restoration by Mac Dermott, in the end of the thirteenth century. A very graceful doorway, in florid Gothic, adorns the north side, having an inscription in the raised characters of the fifteenth century. The contrast between the easy simplicity of the old inscriptions, and the crabbedness and obscurity of this legend, is very striking. Doctor Ledwich, it seems, quite failed to read it; and, save in the unpublished portfolio of Doctor Petrie, I know not where the true tenor of it is to be found. This cathedral, like all the other ancient Irish churches, here and elsewhere, appears to have been an edifice of great simplicity. Some traces of grotesque sculptures appear on the columns of the western doorway, and elsewhere in the interior. We may judge of the class of objects which constituted its treasury from the entry in the Annals, at A.d. 1129, of a sacrilege committed by certain thieves, who stole from the high altar, among other valuables, a model of Solomon's Temple, several chalices, one of them bearing the stamp or engraved motto of the daughter of Roderick O'Conor, and a gold-mounted drinking-horn presented by Turlogh O'Con

nor.

On the south of the churches, at a little distance, stands Lis-na-abbaid, or the Abbot's fort-an earthen dun, surrounded with a deep ditch and lofty external rampart, and crowned by the

ruins of a fine old feudal castle. It has been destroyed by gunpowder, and its massive fragments lie and lean against one another in picturesque disruption. The green hills, the fragrant meadows, this verdant mound with its toppling masses of masonry - the towers and ruins of the roofless churches, with their one ash-tree and wilderness of grave-stones, all form a scene not to be forgotten, and, as often as recalled, associated with recollections of pleasing intercourse, at the homely but genial hearth of my entertainer.

I cannot leave Clonmacnoise without again ascending the green ridge of eskers lying immediately behind the churches. The forms assumed by the rolled gravel are not unlike those seen in sandhills on the sea-coast, only, instead of a glaucous covering of bent, we have here the greenest and sweetest grasses. Bowls and hollows, which in any other formation would catch the drainage, and form little lakes, are here quite dry at the bottom-perfect cups and chalices of emerald.

These

eskers extend across the centre of the island, from hence to Dublin; and, in the old times, under the name of Esgair-Riada, formed the division between the territory of Conn of the hundred battles, who reigned over the northern half, and of Mogh Nuadeth, who reigned over the southern half, of Ireland. As being the dryest ground, also, they constituted the leading line of communication between the western and eastern parts of the kingdom; and of the five chief highways leading to Tara, that which lay along EsgairRiada was distinguished as early as the second century by the name of Slighe Mor, or the great road. The causeway extending northward from the churches marks the site, and, perhaps, contains some of the pavement of this highway, which, at least in point of antiquity, equals most of the Roman roads in Gaul and Britain. But the steamer from Athlone is in sight, and we must hasten on board.

Of the descent of the Shannon to Killaloe, and the drive thence to Limerick, I need say nothing. Loch Dearg and the rapids of Castleconnell have received their full tribute of admiration, even, in truth, to overflowing. In reference to the rapids, I must discharge my conscience of a public duty. Let no one who seeks for moderate enjoyments launch on the eddies of

Doonas, in charge of its extortionate boatmen, without a previous bargain; nor believe the lying emissaries of these knaves, who hang about the inn and boat-station, that the rapids cannot be seen without their assistance. A turn

to the right, after passing the ruins of the castle which stand conspicuously in the centre of the village, leads direct to the river's edge, and thence, by the brink of the rapids, through Lord Massy's demesne of Hermitage, within the compass of a half hour's walk. If you desire a boat, and would protect yourself from imposition, let no representation of the toils and dangers of the adventure tempt you to stipulate for more than half a-crown.

The Lower Shannon, although its banks have great woods and castles, possesses none of the peculiar charm which the near green meadows and pastures impart to the upper portion of the river. Everything is on a widelyexpanded scale; and but for the distant outlines of the Galtee and Kerry monntains, and the dome of Keeper, which presides over the eastern half of the scene with imposing grandeur, the prospect would be tame. Keeper is little more than 2000 feet high; yet its isolation and massive swelling outline give it the effect of much greater altitude. The object most worthy of note on the passage to Kilrush is the huge old Keep of Bunratty. Built in or about 1210, and inhabited until within the present generation, it presents the most perfect realisation of the castle of a powerful noble of the thirteenth century to be seen anywhere in Ireland. Its dimensions are apparent from the height to which it towers above the lofty tim ber trees that surround it. I wish either of our Archælogical Societies could be induced to publish, with a good translation, the Caithreim Thoirdealbach of Mac Craith, a really heroic prose-poem, which chronicles all the events that occurred in Thomond from the erection of Bunratty to the expulsion of its owners, in 1296. imperfect translation of the "Wars of Turlough," by Peter Connell, among the Egerton manuscripts in the British Museum, will give the metropolitan reader, who may have any curiosity to know more of Bunratty, a good idea of the old Irish modes of historic commemoration. The Dublin reader may consult another copy in the collection of the Royal Irish Academy.

An

Of the various fine seats which one sees in the descent of the Shannon, there seem to me to be three worthy of particular notice; Derry Castle, on Loch Dearg, a mansion of the last century, of moderate dimensions, but of admirable compactness, elegance, and solidity; Mount Shaunon, a noble palace, embosomed in equally noble woods; and the house of the Knight of Glynn. This last is unfinished; but in point of site and design, is quite worthy of the great river and estuary which it overlooks.

Foynes and Tarbert are doubtless excellent roadsteads; but one cannot help thinking them rather distant from the sea. The selection of a spot not at present accessible by railway for a western packet station, is tantamount to having, for the present, no western packet station at all. If another railway must be made before the mails will be suffered to go by any shorter route than at present, why not make it to the point which is really the best and nearest-Bantry Bay, at once? From Mill-street, on the Killarney line, now in progress to Bantry, is not much farther than from Limerick to Foynes. For the present, Galway Bay suffices for a trallic employing ves sels of every size, and we hear no complaints of any want of shelter or secure anchorage. A gain of twenty-four hours is worth having, in the meantime, although a gain of forty-eight hours may be had by and bye. But by the time this railway is made to Foynes, I much "misdoubt" the packet station will have been decided on somewhere else.

Although I spent two days pleasant. ly and with instruction on Scattery Island, I need not repeat descriptions of objects already so well known, farther than to mention the existence of an Ogham inscription on the great stone at the west end of St. Synan's Chapel. This stone, which had served as the covering of a tomb at some distance, was lately raised, to make way for some agricultural operations, and placed in its present position.

The peninsula of Moyarta, running south-west from Kilrush to Loophead, although destitute of timber, and full of bogs, has a favourable exposure to the sun, the surface sloping with a gentle ascent to the west and north, till it terminates on the cliffs that overhang the Atlantic. No one, to look at the bleak, black, and water-soaked

aspect it presents, on entering it from Kilrush, could suppose that it yields, as in fact further west it does, good crops of oats, and sustains a tolerably comfortable class of farmers. Approaching the Atlantic also, no one would imagine that so many charms of coast scenery lay at the back of a district so rugged and featureless. In this respect the neighbourhood of Kilkee resembles that of the Giant's Causeway, the land rising towards the coast, and presenting little to please the eye, and much to wound the sensibilities. But although mendicancy shows, or used to show itself in sufliciently painful forms about Ballintoy, and elsewhere on the Antrim coast, no one ever beheld there such distressing sights, not, indeed, of mendicancy, but of silent destitution, as, I grieve to say, are still to be seen in this part of Clare. In the month of September, 1852, in walks in the immediate vicinity of Kilkee, I saw no fewer than three families living actually in the wayside ditches, and as many more among the ruins of prostrated cabins. The weather was fine, and the spots they had selected were then dry; but when these ditches should become water-courses, as they since have done, I shudder to think of the fate of the many helpless children and aged people who have been driven out shelterless from their poor holes and burrows in these bog-drains. Poverty, however, is on the decrease; and a ride to Carrigaholt or Loophead sends one back with more cheerful feelings. It requires, indeed, something very urgent and instant in its pressure to check the flow of animal spirits excited by the Atlantic breeze, and the varied recreations for the eye, presented by the downs, and cliffs, and great swelling waves of the ocean rolling below. The cliffs all along the coast of Clare are characterised by their abruptness. Elsewhere we usually find masses of debris at the foot of the precipice, and frequent dells and ravines, conducting to the beach. Here the masses of clayslate, as they are detached by the elements, plunge at once out of sight in deep water; and, owing to the reverse slope of the surface, which carries all the drainage inland towards the Shannon, there are no streams to seek the sea, and, consequently, no channels to convey their waters. Nevertheless, the continual action of the waves and weather on strata of different textures and

inclinations, has wrought the wall of rock into an endless variety of clefts, chasms, caves, islands, and sloping glacis, of the most picturesque forms, and of sufficiently grand proportions to excite sensations of pleasing awe. The little creek of Kilkee forms a nearly circular basin, with a level beach of fine, firm sand, to which the sea has access through a break in the external cliff-line, of about 600 yards in width. A reef of rocks, extending nearly across this opening, forms a natural breakwater, but, at the same time, prevents the entrance of large vessels, save at high-water, and through one very narrow passage. Were a portion of these rocks cleared away, as might readily be done by submarine blasting, and the rest of them raised to above high-water mark, the creek would form, not only, as now, a delightful resort for bathers, but a harbour of refuge for embayed seamen. It is distressing to hear of the fate of many fine ships, which have lately gone, one cannot say on shore, but rather against shore, at various points along this natural sea-wall. The only one of them whose crew escaped, was the Edward passenger ship, which had the extraordinary and most singular fate to be driven into the creek of Kilkee, through the narrow opening of the reef, and stranded on the beach within. The astonishment of some Kilkee emigrants, who had left their homes here but a few days before, may well be imagined, on finding themselves thus emerged from the very bosom of destruction, and cast up literally at their own doors. A portion of the wreck still remains firmly wedged under the bridge at the head of the creek.

A favourite ride from Kilkee is that along the range of the southern cliffs to the promontory and ruins of Doonlickey. This was a castle of the MacMahons (not the northern clan of that name, but a branch of the great Dalcassian family), in the sixteenth century. Nothing now remains but the gate-tower, and part of the wall which cut off the peninsulated rock from the mainland. On one side, the sea lies, as blue as amethyst, in the bottom of a perpendicular cleft, some forty feet wide, and perhaps 200 in depth; and on the other, breaks with a continually rolling surge along the natural glacis, where a vast rock-slip has left the shelf of stone, smooth and steep as a cathedral roof, sloping to the