which, considering his former habits, he deserved unqualified credit, and which, sooner than emulate, I very much fear that there is not a citizen of London, even Sir William C―s, himself, who would not quietly make up his mind to be d-d. The abbot had waxed old and feeble, for saints will wear out their earthly tenements, although not so fast as sinners, and as he lay one night in his cell, he became very thirsty; the dryness of his tongue and palate even interrupted the expression of his orisons. The way to the margin of the lake was long, steep, and dangerous. What was to be done? At that moment he heard the sound of water trickling from the face of the rock, which formed part of his hermitage; he put forth his hand and drank. The abbot has passed away, the saint has gotten his apothesis; but the water still trickles from the wall, and will never lose the reputation of its virtues while the curse of bigotry and superstition hangs over the Island of Saints.

I was not contented with this entertaining account of the anchorite and his retreat, but landed and went up the path, my companion preceding me. The ascent is loose, steep, and difficult, and I was obliged to assist my progress by grasping the branches of trees, tangled over the pathway. On arriving at the sacred fount, a hollowed space, in the face of a rock, about eight inches long, and four inches broad, of an oval form, and overhung by the jutting roots of the large tree before mentioned, and grass, moss, and various herbs and lichen, I found my companion enjoying a glass of water from the well; after quaffing the cool

beverage, he handed me the replenished tumbler, and I was putting it to my lips, when, casting my eyes on the garniture of the well, I found all the overhanging roots, and pendant twigs and branches, thickly or namented with rags, of sundry kinds, the votive offerings of invalids, who, by washing with the waters of the well, sought a cure for their sores. This was enough for me, and I returned the untasted glass to my friend. The second Sunday of harvest in every year, the peasantry, of both sexes and all ages, (Roman Catholic alone) flock in great numbers to this scene of superstitious confidence and devotion, and whatever atoning penalties they may go through, it is hinted that the purified spirit of the abbot of Kells does not preside over all the proceedings of the day, but that sins are committed sufficient to qualify the parties for a new pilgrimage the following year.

CHAP. IV.

"While smoothly thus we urg'd our little bark,
Far distant seen, a speck so small and dark,
I reckless leant me o'er the vessel's side,
Lull'd by the murmurs of the rippling tide
Or sought to follow, with bedazzled sight,
The viewless songster in his heavenward flight.'
"Like fleecy clouds that float the dark blue sky,
Fair-seeming forms, we faintly did espy
Upon a lofty mount, like fairy ring,
Dancing whilom the nightingale doth sing-
But as, anon, with well-tim'd sparkling oar,
We, wond'ring, near'd the fair and gilded shore,
Distinct and bright the fancied forms were seen,
Each lovelier far than fabled Elfin queen,
Or changeful cloud, that borrows silv'ry light
From the pale radiance of the orb of night-
And (last, best gift of Heaven, from whence she came,)
Woman, dear woman! her all-delighting name.

Old Tales.

HAVING Satisfied ourselves with the view of St. Coragh's well, and briefly moralized on the sins and penance of the once jolly and voluptuous monk of Kells, afterwards the austere and suffering hermit of Knockion, we re-embarked, again breaking with our oars the silence of the glassy deep, and directing our course to the shore, where we intended taking our repast. Our old father of the angle, Isaac Walton, delights his readers with the pure and simple pastoral enjoy. ments which he describes as attendant on river angling. I regret that he never angled our lakes, as I sm sure that one of his brief and faithful sketches

of nature would convey more than all the laboured details of the most determined description. It is beautiful, no doubt, to wander along the devious banks of a pastoral stream, broken into the varieties of sharp falls and smooth deep reaches; to inhale the odours of the blooming thorn," the wild rose, and the woodbine sweet;" to mark, from beneath the overhanging fringed bank, the alarmed flight of the dingy waterhen, or painted halcyon; or see, hovering over the stilly sheltered pool, the dragon fly, proudly arrayed in all his glorious sheen of azure and torquois, and emerald, and royal purple, and burnished gold! But, the lake too has its charms of natural objects and locomotion, of a kind peculiar to itself. The lounging, reclining ease, while borne along the undulating waves, and your flies at the troll; the pleasing alarm when the music of your revolving wheel announces a stricken fish; the action of hope and of exercise while on the active angle; the varying appearance of the surrounding shores, and the delightful and all engrossing anxiety felt, from the moment a trout is hooked until it is landed, and of which the genuine brother of the angle can, alone, form a competent notion: then, as advancing from the shore, one sees, when the water is clear, the bottom, diversified and broken, with silvery sand and marl, or slimy ooze; aquatic vegetation, or ponderous and abrupt rocks, less and less distinct, till lost and involved in the profound deep: then when imagination, leagued with knowledge, pierces the dark abyss, boldly invading the antediluvian paths and caverns, which only the last universal conflagration shall bare of waters deposited upon them by

the great deluge: how rich, various and unremitting, are the the occupations of the mind, not rendered sluggish and inactive by the torpor of ignorance, and when vivified by a portion, however small, of imaginative powers. River angling certainly requires more delicacy and art in its pursuit, but that of the lakes has a character of expansion and sublimity, which must recommend it to the reflecting and metaphysical mind.

Passing along the shore, my companion directed my notice to a small, snug lodge, close by the lake, and to the domestic history of which, he attached a tale of terror. Some forty or fifty years ago, (I may not correctly remember the time) the entire of the family, servants and all, of a respectable gentleman, then inhabiting the house, were barbarously murdered, with the exception of the infant heir, whose preservation is thus described. At that period, when the Irish gentry were more in the habit of staying at home, and living at their paternal seats, in the midst of their tenantry, than at present, there was always some poor fool in a gentleman's family, who, different from the proud and saucy immunities of your court fools of old, had the privilege of working for, and executing the errands of, all the other servants, the run of the kitchen by day, and the liberties of the hay-loft at night. It will not be denied, that there are still few families in which there is not a fool a great deal less useful, and more assumptive of the properties of wisdom; and Irish absentees, particularly, not affording to play the fool by deputy, they figure as principals, and are allowed, so far at least, to be quite