1829.] The City of the Seven Churches. 175 



■would as soon endeavour to argue a blind man into a knowledge of 

 colours. At last we reached our quarters for the night — a comfortable 

 mountain inn, where a bright fire and a hearty supper restored my gen- 

 tleman to his good temper, most miraculously ; you would be asto- 

 nished had you heard how lightly he spoke of our pr.st toils. After 

 solacing himself with all the good things our inn afforded, to bed he 

 ■went, full of agreeable anticipations of the ensuing day. Whether they 

 were realized or not, is more than I am able to say ; for I started next 

 morning with the earliest light, while he, in all probability, was dream- 

 ing of the Vale of Tempe, and pursued my way alone. — " Pray," says 

 the Reader, " how long am I to listen to your bald, disjointed chat ? 

 You invite me to accompany you into the mountains of Wicklow, to visit 

 The City of the Seven Churches — some Irish Pgestum, I suppose ; and, 

 by way of inducement, you tell me how you left the last fool you 

 inveigled, in the lurch." — True, O patient Reader — the last fool ; but 

 you, who are the pink of propriety, the mirror of wit and wisdom, can 

 never meet, because j' ou can never merit, similar usage. I know, before- 

 hand — by intuition, as it were — tliat we shall agree perfectly, and jog 

 along in the most loving fashion to our journey's end — you in the spirit, 

 and I in the body. Besides, remember that you have the game altoge- 

 ther in your own hands, and can flit away as soon as you please, leaving 

 me to wander over hill and dale, as long as I think fit ; but I anticipate 

 no such UTigracious visage ; so pray address yourself to the road — • 

 " exert your energies," as Bridgetina Botherem says, and, by a peripa- 

 tetic effort of your fine imagination, carry yourself along with me, once 

 more, into the sequestered recesses of Wicklow. 



In my mind, the best of all possible dresses for a pedestrian is the 

 sailor's : not to speak of its extreme lightness, it leaves you, from its 

 peculiar cut, the full, unfettered use of every limb ; and, though personal 

 appearance is a matter of very little consequence on a bog, yet I think it 

 not amiss that even my simple garb should carelessly acquiesce, as it 

 were, in the rude accommodation and simple fare of the unfrequented 

 solitudes among which I love to wander. 



At day-break, on a cloudless morning in September, the Italian month 

 of Ireland, when a sky of sapphire, and a calm and Sabbath-like repose 

 of the season, repay us for the scorching heats and drenching rains of 

 summer, I obeyed the call of my restless spirit, and set off for Glen- 

 delough. 



Thanks to the depopulating policy of the powers that be, the road to 

 that celebrated valley lies through uninhabited mountains — mountains 

 which, in Scotland, would support a hardy and industrious peasaiitry, 

 but which, in Ireland, under a system analogous to that which created 

 tlie Great Forest, form an excellent shooting district for the mighty men 

 of the land, when it pleases them to recreate their lordly minds, and 

 brace their manly limbs, exhausted by hard labour in tlie vineyard of 

 the state. As you travel along the military road, an avenue made after 

 the late rebellion, on every side, as far as your eye can reach, are naked 

 hills, once covered with stately woods, — and green, solitary valleys, 

 once rife with population ; but the besom of Destruction lias done its 

 office upon them, and, though it is an old broom in Ireland, it still 

 sweeps clean enough. 



It must, however, be admitted, that you are noAv and then assured tliat 

 you are in a land of peace and good- will, by the testimony of a for- 



