1829.] Walks in Ireland. 47 



The form and plan in all parts of the country are pretty nearly the 

 same, though the furniture varies ; the hospitable door (inns are prover- 

 bially hospitable) stands always open, but the guests are sheltered from 

 the thorough air by a screen, composed like the rest of the mansion, of 

 mud ; the partition walls which separate it from the adjoining rooms 

 reach no higher than the spring of the roof, so that warmth and air, not 

 to mention the grunting of pigs, and other domestic sounds, are equally 

 diffused through all parts of the tenement; from the rafters, well 

 blackened and polished w'ith smoke, depend sunchy flitches of bacon, 

 dried salmon, and so forth, and above them, if you know the ways of 

 the house " may be you couldn't find (maybe you coiihhi't means, maybe 

 you could] a horn of malt or a cag of poteen, where the ganger couldn't 

 smell it." If you are very ignorant, I nnist tell jou, that poteen is the far 

 famed liquor which w^e Irish, on the faith of the proverb, " stolen bread 

 is sweetest," prefer, in spite of law, and — no — not of lawgivers, they 

 drink it themselves, to its unsuccessful rival, parliament whisky. Be- 

 neath the ample chimney, and on each side of the fire-place, run low stone 

 benches, the fire of turf or bog- wood is made on the ground, and the pot 

 for boiling the " mate, or potaties" as the chance vnny be, suspended 

 over it by an iron chain : so that sitting on the aforesaid stone benches, 

 you may inhale, like the gods, the savour of j'our dinner, while your 

 frost-bitten shins are soothed at the same time by the fire which dresses 

 it. Here then with, cigar in mouth, (I learned to smoke while at sea, 

 but more about that another time) I established myself, enjoj'ing that 

 genuine otiiim cum dignitaie, which none but the traveller can feel, when 

 established in the seat of honour, and taking his ease in his own imi. 



Good supper, good bed, good breakfast, imagine these enjoyed, and 

 accompany me, while I lead you to one of the finest scenes even in 

 romantic Wicklow, — Lough Dan, as approached, not by the roadster but 

 by his lord and master — as far as enjoyment of the first-fruits of nature 

 is concerned, — the pedestrian momitaineer. Your way hes over a brown, 

 monotonous hill, withouthouse, or tree, or rock to break its dull uniformity ; 

 at last you gain the flat and heathy summit; from the abrupt dip of tlie 

 ground at a httle distance, you perceive that you are near a precipice, and 

 the change from heath, to short, dry, slippery grass, wai-ns you to mind your 

 footing well ; in a few minutes, however, you reach a safe rockj' ledge ; 

 a single step, and the broad, black mirror of Lough Dan is stretclied be- 

 neath your feet, reflecting mountain, and cliff, and far off deep blue sky, 

 and light, and shadow, sunshine and cloud, with a vivid distinctness of 

 outline, and a solemn depth and stillness of repose, that disturbs the mind 

 with a sense of awe ; you could persu.ade yourself that the windsof Heaven 

 are forbidden to visit that lake, or break with their riotous mirth the 

 eternal sleep of its motionless waters. 



The sheer descent from the ledge of which I speak, may be about three 

 hundred feet ; there are ravines, however, by which you can reach the 

 shore without much difficulty. Through one of these I descended, and 

 a few minutes found me seated in a cave — I might better call it a recess, 

 at the foot of the cliff on which I had been standing. 



You must know that I never travel without that most gentlemanly 

 and unobtrusive companion — a book. A volume of Shakspeare was with 

 me on tlie present occasion, and I had to choose between " The Comedy 

 of Errors," " Richard the Second," " Henry the Fourth," and " IMac- 

 beth," for the liour (a long one I promise you) which I spent in my cave 

 — I took the last. 



