Wednesday.—A charming morning for a stroll before breakfast. This is all very pretty—rocks and woods, and green pasture—headlands and islands so land-locking the bay as to give it quite the appearance of a lake. Moore has admirably described Glengariff when he sings of

and then he adds (but my memory doubts) something about a Bay,

After breakfast we got a boat, and rowed up a very Killarney-looking passage—which terminated in a small stream. Here we landed; and ascending the rocky and wooded shore, obtained a very pretty view of Cromwell's Bridge, now in ruins, and said to have been built by the renowned Oliver, who has the credit in Ireland of building a great many things, and of knocking down a great many more than he ever saw. Beyond it is the new bridge on the Castletown road; then comes the rocky mountain of Shorn, forming the back-ground.

We proceeded to an island on which stands a martello tower, one of the expensive consequences of the French invasion in 1796, and which, if the wonders that steam has effected could be foreseen, would appear nearly ridiculous. The present tenant of the island, who pays to government £15 a year, belonged in 1796 to the revenue department, near Berehaven, and was one of the first to descry the approach of the French fleet, which had long been expected.