175 Walks in Ireland : \_AvCt 



midable barrack, capable of containing 300 men (there ai'e five within a 

 distance of thirty miles) — a proof of tranquillity, -which reminds one of 

 the shipwrecked mariner, who, after wandering for some time in doubt 

 and uncertainty, at last espied a gibbet, and threw himself on his knees 

 in an ecstasy of pious joy, to thank God for having cast him on the 

 shores of a civilized country. The road, however, is an excellent one ; 

 and let us, poor Irish vagabonds, who chance to use it, e'en bless the 

 giver, like honest Sancho, and not look a gift horse in the mouth. 

 • An active pedestrian, however, like your humble servant, need not be 

 under a compliment to the military road-makers ; for he can avoid their 

 Simplon, by iiiaking his way through the deer-park of Powerscourt, 

 taking tlie hill at the foot of the waterfall, and crossing the mountain- 

 ridge a little to tlie westward of Djouce. Oh, what a view he has from 

 that ridge ! Cliff and lake — forest and pasture — lowland, rich in exube- 

 rant fertility, and spangled with gayest-looking villas — Dublin, like a 

 fairy city, in the distance — the Irish Channel, with its mazy tracery of 

 inlet and bay, right before \\\m, flecked with glittering sails, like new- 

 fallen snow — and, afar off and indistinct, where sea and sky seem melt- 

 ing into one, the dim blue outline of the mountains of Caernarvon. 



Descending southward from the point of view, an easy slope of between 

 one and two miles, leads you to the head of a wooded ravine, imme- 

 diately behind the house of Luggela — Luggela ! — that realization of the 

 Happy Valley ! The very name is a spell to awaken sweet thoughts of 

 peace, and innocence, and pastoral seclusion. I promised, last month, to 

 describe it for you ; but such promises are more easily made than kept. 

 It is like "gilding refined gold, or painting the lily :" I might as well endea- 

 vour to take a likeness of your Lady-love (of course I mean one which 

 would satisfy j/0!<). I could give you the features — item one lake — item 

 one hospitable cottage, where I have spent many a tranquil day ; but 

 the expression, the nameless grace, would escape me. 



It is a valley buried deep among lofty hills — a valley solitary, not 

 lonely, with a dreamy contemplative air about it, as if it lay there to win 

 unquiet Avanderers from the steep and difficult mountain, from all 

 perilous and gloomy scenes, to rest their heads upon its grassy lap, and 

 listen to the plaintive, sleep-invoking whispers of its waving trees and 

 lulling waters. It is the property of one of the Latouches ; and to those 

 who know that family, need I say, that all that politeness — the politeness 

 of the heart — and hospitality could suggest, has been done to ensure the 

 accommodation of vagrants like myself, who may chance to stumble on 

 this green spot in the wilderness ? 



Southward and eastward, a winding path skirting the shores of Lough 

 Dan (you remember Lough Dan last month), terminates in the hamlet 

 of Annamoe, w here the world was near losing Tristram Shandy, inas- 

 much as its eccentric author once fell into a mill-stream there, and was 

 nearly drowned. In tlie westward, tower the lofty hills which guard 

 the threshold of the Valley of the Seven Churches. This was the route 

 I chose ; and an early hour, and a clear and tranquil day, found me at 

 Glendalough. 



Who has not heard of Glendalough, the far-ftimed valley of the Seven 

 Churches ; the cradle and the grave of Irish Christianity, the seat of 

 early literature and piety, in the forgotten days, when Ireland gave 

 philosophy and religion to Europe ? You need not stare ; if you know 

 any thing about ecclesiastical history, it is unnecessary to tell you 



