SECRETARY'S REPORT. 287 



I had landed at Qiieenstown, in the picturesque harbor of 

 Cork, for the purpose of reaching and visiting the Albert 

 Model Farm at Glasnevin, near Dublin, and the other agricul- 

 tural schools of Ireland under the direction of the National 

 Board of Education. It was in the month of June, and every 

 thing wore its loveliest hue ; the rich luxuriance seeming to 

 mock the sad condition of that unhappy country. 



Nothing can exceed the beauty of this harbor where the 

 whole English navy could ride in safety. Cork is thirteen 

 miles from Queenstown, but a visit to Ireland without a sail 

 through this grand basin, and up the River Lee, would be a 

 mistake. The land seems to surround us all the way up the 

 winding river, like a series of lakes. The hills are covered 

 with every variety of foliage from the top to the water's edge. 

 Pretty villas and ornamental cottages line the shores, while 

 here and there an ancient ruin adds a charm unspeakable to the 

 whole route. Here, too, the genuine Irish character is to be 

 foiJijid in its perfection. Our low-back or jaunting-car, from 

 Cork to Blarney Castle, was engineered by a true specimen, 

 who gave us an infinite fund of amusement, by a running 

 narrative of the characters along the route. " That place," 

 said he, pointing to a fine estate that we were passing on the 

 road, " that now belongs to a gintleman, a Scotchman, an' he's 

 been dead three months." 



" What do you call those flowers hanging over the wall ? " 



" Dem be Irish wall-flowers, sir," was his ready answer, 

 though they had no farther claim to that designation than the 

 fact that they hung over the wall. ^ 



Cromwell was his great bugbear, and the tales he related of 

 that stern old Puritan gave sufficient evidence that he must 

 have left his mark in that neighborhood. 



" What are those white stone posts for? " pointing to several 

 whitewashed stone pillars, in a pasture near by the road. 



" Dem is for the cattle to rub on. They'll go wild imless 

 they can rub themsel's. Cromwell was chained to one of 

 'em." 



Looking through an oval peep-hole in the walls of the bridge 

 near the famous Blarney Castle, an opening that had been left 

 by the builder, we asked him how it came there. 



