Autumnal Rovings. 187 



part of Ireland, they would probably think twice, and even 

 thrice, before preferring the Continent to the sister kingdom. 



As a basaltic formation, the Giant's Causeway is not per- 

 haps so perfect and compact as Fingal's Cave; but it is 

 larger, and its surroundings are finer. Could you, by any 

 secret understanding with the winds, arrange so as to see 

 the Antrim coast in both calm and storm, you would see 

 it to perfection. We have had some very sudden changes 

 of weather lately. Half the country between Portrush and 

 Belfast, especially in the valley of the Bann, is under water, 

 and the rivers, swollen and discoloured, have hastened the 

 exodus of the salmon anglers. It has been a bad week for 

 the Giant's Causeway. If you go to explore all its wonders, 

 you require a calm sea and the wind anywhere but north or 

 north-west. Saturday, for example, was a lovely day. The 

 ocean sparkled calm and blue. Tiny fishing boats, scarce 

 bigger as they vanished in the offing than the white sea- 

 birds circling over your head, ventured far from home, 

 leaving no anxiety behind them. The gentlest of breezes 

 came sighing from the hills and valleys, keeping the entire 

 line of shore, with its manifold wonders, clean and clear for 

 the timidest of visitors. 



The dreamy calm was as short lived as it was delusive. 

 In a few hours all was changed. During the night a terrible 

 storm arose, putting out beacon lights on the more exposed 

 headlands, and forcing vessels of large tonnage to run for 

 shelter into the landlocked natural harbours that abound in 

 this region of Loughs. Where all was smiling at sunset, all 

 was uproarious and angry at dawn. Great green rollers from 

 the Atlantic burst fiercely upon the iron-girded shore, racing 

 up the cliffs with a roar of rage, and expending themselves 

 with many a struggle in white foam and spray, showered 

 hundreds of feet into the air. A Scotch steamer, unable to 



