had full leisure to admire the picturesque variety of their forms, as well as to notice the remaining trace of the copper-mine, which had been opened in High Island, with tolerable prospect of success, but which failed in consequence, it is supposed, of letting in the water, while carrying on the works under the sea. We now commanded the fine bay of Ardbear, and came in view of Sline Head; but took care to keep at a respectful distance from this tremendous ledge of rocks, which is the great bar of separation between our part of the country and the bay of Galway. From this point the Cunnemarra coast becomes comparatively tame and uninteresting. The. entrance of Galway bay is varied with the flat rocky isles of Arran, while to the south the eye rests on the soft blue outline of mountains in the county of Clare..

Here we were struck by the appearance of the rude corraghs, belonging to the islanders, which, although they could not fail to remind us of our old friends, the Welsh coracles, are in reality extremely different. They are boats of a peculiar make, roughly built of willow, covered with tarred linen, are manned by three or four hardy sailors, and possess the notable improvement of a rudder*..

* The coracles are constructed with a frame work of willow, covered with leather, or linen thickened with pitch:

We were unfortunate in passing these islands on the northern side, which presented to our view nothing more than a shingley shore, sloping to the water's edge, while, as we were afterwards told, on

they are built somewhat in the shape which botanists define by the term egg-oblong, and admit but one person at a time, whose great object it is merely to balance himself in the cen tre, and while one hand is employed in paddling, the other holds the net. In fact, this curious and clumsy machine bears less resemblance to the boat of a civilized people than Indian canoe; far less indeed than the Irish corragh: nor do they venture more than a mile or two beyond the mouth of the river, and that only in the calmest weather; while the natives of Arran were out fishing in the wide ocean, and often trust themselves to a considerable distance.1

to an

1

The traveller in South Wales must indeed frequently admire the novel, and picturesque effect of the coracles, as sailing down the river Towey, to the number of fifty or sixty. They move in regular succession, linked in pairs, by the Seine net, which is held by each fisherman in one hand, while the other is actively engaged in directing his course by the paddle. One might fancy them the tiny fleet belonging to some infant settlement, in the earlier ages s of the world; or perhaps to some negro tribe, in our own days, on the borders of the Niger or the Congo. It is, too, a trait of additional interest in the picture, and in perfect harmony with this idea, that it often appears to be a father and son, the latter perhaps only ten or twelve years old, whose coracles are thus connected.

the opposite coast are fine romantic cliffs, abounding in puffins, on whose eggs so many of the wretched inhabitants were compelled to subsist during the late dreadful scarcity.

We were now in sight of Galway, and could not but admire the appearance of the town, seated at the head of the bay, and the neighbouring country prettily varied by the groves and plantations which distinguish the gentlemen's houses, and form a pleasing relief to the barrenness of mountain scenery. The town, however, possesses little to correspond with this first advantageous impression: its extreme filth, and the evident misery of the lower class of its inhabitants, strike one with mingled disgust and compassion. The new court-house, the two gaols, both of which are in excellent order, and the bridge lately erected, are all ornamental buildings; and the river, were it bordered with trees, and less obstructed by mill-dams, would become an additional source of beauty, as well as pleasure and convenience. We found but little of the bustle and gaiety of an English assizes: there is much less pomp and ceremony upon these occasions in Ireland, and it is not the custom for the ladies to attend from a distance, which is of course a great drawback from any public amusements at the time.

A.

LETTER XLIII.

SEPTEMBER.

1

I AM sitting at the open window, enjoying a sweet evening scene. The mist and the rain of the last three days, the tears of the moon at her change, gave way this morning before a breeze from the north-west; and the sun has looked upon us the whole day without a cloud. He is now sinking in the ocean bed " with all his glories bright about him"; and yet without any satisfactory promise of shewing us his fair face again to-morrow. The sea has changed its deep blue for a gloomy gray, the sky is of a still lighter tint, though beautifully streaked with burnished gold, and masses of cloud, at this moment splendid with the finest shades of crimson and orange, are gradually drawing towards the western horizon," the fringed curtains of the sky." Groups of peasants, returning from their daily labour, are loitering on the low sand-hills which lie between our house and the sea. The loy, the turfbasket, and the fishing-net, are thrown thrown on on the

ground, while some are displaying their skill in standing leaps, others trying their strength in pitching an iron bar, and others again dancing in a circle. I love to watch them, in these moments of relaxation, when their light-hearted gaiety shews them to be free, at least from the pressure of actual suffering, and with hearts still alive to the enjoyment of social pleasure.

* Dancing is as general an amusement here as in France; and that it does not so frequently come under the observation of a traveller, is, probably, owing to the difference of climate, which prevents its being often enjoyed in the open air. In the middle ranks, the servants of the family commonly amuse themselves, on a Sunday evening, by dancing together; and among the peasants it is so favourite an accomplishment, that some few of their hard-earned tenpennies are bestowed upon those itinerant masters who move from village to village, remaining just as long in each as they can find scholars and potatoes sufficient for their maintenance. Even in this wild corner we have our votaries of Terpsichore, and receive occasional visits from the professors of her mysteries. In the course of last summer, a young man died here of typhus fever, who was an instructor in this polite art. He came