morning, and shall put no more lemon in my punch, whatever Francis may say), be ye Belles of the Park or the Pattern, to this extremity ye must come at last! You, Lady Constance Plantagenet, who promised to waltz with me at the County Ball, and pretended to have forgotten (though it was written upon those gem-studded tablets), when Lord Hanwell (he has at least three slates off his roof, and always went, when in the Artillery, by the sobriquet of "Lincoln and Bennett," being notoriously as mad as two hatters), was pleased to invite you to the dance! And you, Susan Holmes, beauty of our village, looking coldly now at Will Strong, the keeper, the hardest hitter in " our Eleven," and the handsomest fellow in the parish, because the young squire's friend, with the big moustache (Will wanted to know whether he came from Skye), made a fool of you at the Servants' Ball! You, Lady Constance, ignoring your engagements, and you, Susan Holmes, oblivious of the fact that your papa is only a blacksmith; be assured, both of you, that the light will fade from those flashing eyes, and the roses will be blanched on those glowing cheeks, and that—

"Violets pluckt, the sweetest showers

Will ne'er make grow again."

What moral deduction can I draw but this:-Marry, marry, ye

damsels beautiful, the men whom ye love at heart; and so perpetuate your loveliness, and live again in your daughters!

The cold salmon, on which we lunched at Kenmare, was so especially delicious, that when I turned to Frank, an hour afterwards, on the car, and asked him what o'clock it was, not perceiving that he was asleep, he murmured something about "a slice of the thin;" and the tourist in Ireland finds this fish so good and abundant, that he almost begins to apprehend "a favourable eruption" of scales, and feels disposed to snap at the larger flies which come within the prehensiveness of his

The little town of Kenmare is very pleasantly and healthfully placed. Mr. Frazer says that the bay, by which it stands, is the most beautiful in all Ireland, but we did not see enough of it to corroborate this grand eulogium. With the exception of the handsome Suspension Bridge, neat Church, and National Schools, the buildings are mean and miserable. To judge from the size of the Post Office and "Bridewell," there is very little correspondence or crime. At the broken windows of "the Female Industrial School," we saw two young girls, of such industrious habits, that they had not had time to wash themselves. "The Dispensary," I presume, had cured everybody, for we saw no signs of surgeon, surgery, or patients,-only a dingy old hen in the passage, who, probably, had overlayed herself, or had contracted that prevailing malady, "the Gapes," the name whereof makes one yawn in writing it. Undoubtedly, the edifice which pleased us the most, was a narrow, tumble-down hut of two small stories, and one of these securely shuttered, which announced itself to the world as "Michael Brenan's Tea and Coffee Rooms, with Lodging and Stabling."

Leaving Kenmare (and is not that a sweet little cottage, on the right as you rise the hill, with the hydrangea glowing amid the dark evergreens, like hope in seasons of sorrow ?), we met some scores of the peasantry, grave and decorous, on their way, the

driver told us, to a funeral. Whence did they come? Between Kenmare and Glengarriff we saw very few habitations, yet troops of children came running after the car as heretofore, amply

demonstrating that the Irish Paterfamilias knows more of Addition and Multiplication than of the Frenchman's Rule-ofThree ("two boys and a girl are a family for a king"), and ever finds himself in a satisfactory position to converse with his enemies in the gate. The stern Lycurgus, who, according to Plutarch, was so very severe upon the unmarried Spartans, that he made them walk in procession, more scantily draped than their statues, though the promenade took place in winter, and compelled them to sing songs derisive of celibacy, chaffing themselves to music, as they walked along,—would be gratified indeed, if he could revisit the earth, and see what Ireland is doing, with a grand fecundity, for the Census of 1861.

The vestments of these juveniles again attracted our notice, reminding us—

"Of love, that never found its earthly close,"

for some of them must have been about as cool as Cupid, and suggesting that impatience, with regard to apparel, which characterised of old even the Kings of Ireland.

Henry Castide, selected on account of his knowledge of the language to teach and Anglicise four Irish Kings, who had sworn allegiance to Richard, relates in a conversation with Froissart, that these royal personages "had another custom, which I knew

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