Finding that the mail-car was not to set out for Ballycastle till the afternoon, I engaged the driver to take me up on the road, and walked round by the coast. It was still tempestuous, but fairer than yesterday, and I enjoyed the walk very much to Cushendun. The hills on this side of Red Bay are without the remarkable ridges which distinguish those on the other side; and, as there is hardly a tree on the whole route, I found the landward view rather monotonous. I at length reached the next bay, where a wide valley is divided, about a mile inland, into two, by a broad and lofty hill abutting into the middle. The vistas up these lateral valleys showed that they were cultivated, at least at the bottom, which was also the case with the main valley. Here there were cottages, and groups of houses, thinly scattered; and, near the sea, some white houses, which bear, par excellence, the name of Cushendun. Beside these there is a station of the water-guard. The whole of the valley is poor. A little digging, a little fishing, a little smuggling, produce in the whole but a little subsistence. To the right of the bay there is a strange rocky nook, where the sides of the steep are perforated with caverns that present rather a singular aspect. In front, a huge formless mass stands perfectly isolated; and, farther on, another has the appearance of a wild bridge connecting a rock in the sea with the main land. The largest cavern perforates completely the cliff, which is at this part narrow, and of a grotesquely irregular form. It seems to be used at present as a store-house; but the inscriptions and initials cut in the walls testify that it has been visited from curiosity by numerous travellers. I have never had the ambition or the vanity — whichever be the guiding motive — to wish to immortalize myself by such means; but fate, as if in recompense of my virtuous humility, has taken care that the letters L. R. are the most conspicuous in the cavern. It was in contemplation to construct a pier at this place, but the project is either abandoned altogether, or indefinitely postponed; although a practical example of the inconvenience arising from the want of one lay on the shore, in the form of a stranded and damaged fishing-boat. My paction with the car-driver provided that I was to meet him at a certain Paddy Mackay's, about a mile from this spot ; but, on reaching the trysting place, I found it was yet some hours till the time appointed. The wind had moderated, but the rain increased; and I resigned myself, with a sigh, to a bench in Paddy Mackay's kitchen. Paddy himself was busy out of doors, and his wife was interested in nothing but her wheel. At length a country girl came in to deliver a pair of stockings, which she had knitted, and her conversation helped to pass a little more time. She informed me that, if blessed with full employment, it was possible for her to earn twenty pence per week by knitting stockings; but that women in that part of the country were to be envied if they made half the money. Spinning produced scarcely anything. Their husbands and brothers, not having sufficient employment at home, went to Scotland and elsewhere in search of something to do. While they were absent, the women did the work of the fields; but this was never known to be the case when a man was at home and unemployed. The peasants' huts in this valley were in general of a poor description; and yet, in looking into them, I found nothing resembling the bareness and destitution of the south. When the stocking-girl went away, I waited patiently for some time, in expectation of other customers whom I might entrap into conversation: but no one came. The carman had expressly told me that he would not allow me to "face" the Carey Mountain without him; but this only piqued my curiosity, and I at length set out to walk at least a part of the way to Ballycastle. The road, forsaking the valley, or the three valleys, climbed the side of a barren hill, covered with gray stones, and this I found was the Carey mountain. Judging by appearances, I should have pronounced it to be quite inaccessible to carriages, but the oral evidence was against me. As I toiled up the desolate path, I became hungry, and began to feel some anxiety as to the distance it might be necessary to walk before reaching a place where this appetite might be gratified. On arriving at the last habitation on the shoulder of the hill, I was told that I should meet with no other human habitation for six or seven miles; and, as this was a public-house, I determined to stay and dine. The hostess seemed at first to feel her poverty insulted by being asked for dinner; and answered briefly that the potatoes which I saw smoking before me in an iron pot were all her house afforded. Apparently mollified, however, by the good humour with which I accepted this bill of fare, and by the readiness with which I prepared to draw in my stool to the fire-side, she put on the fire a small portion of salted cod-fish, which eventually, with the aid of melted butter, gave a wonderful flavour to the potatoes. While the cookery was going on I retired into the inner chamber, the sleeping-room (and I believe the only one) of the family, and sat down at a table to indite these pages. Let me tell you, reader, that salted cod-fish and potatoes are not bad fare for a pedestrian traveller on the Carey Mountain. A peasant who sat by the fire-side in the kitchen was very learned in Irish history. He told me the number of schools, and even the number of scholars, that were in the island a thousand years before the Christian era. He related, also, the principal Fingalian legends; and talked with admiration of a book called "The Cosmogony of the World." Such is the knowledge possessed by the Irish peasantry, when they possess any knowledge at all. Amidst their store of old- world learning, there is nothing that can be turned to any useful account. In the scraps of Latin which some of them give forth as something rare and precious, I never heard any maxim conveyed which could tend to the elevation of their character either as men or citizens.
The Carey Mountain rises like an Alp between the habitable parts of the country; and soon after the mail-car overtook me, the road presented as dreary and savage an aspect as any I have travelled in Switzerland. Not a house, not a tree, not a shrub appeared — nothing, as far as the eye could reach, but an expanse of black heath. Near the summit of this dismal mountain, there is a lake, to the right of the road — if one can call, with propriety, such a thing a road. Like the Irishman, who was carried in a sedan chair, without top, seat, or bottom, I may say that but for the honour of the thing, I would rather have walked: and, in fact, I did foot it to the very summit, nor was there any possibility of managing otherwise. A new road has been constructed at considerable labour and expense; but, by what I cannot help thinking a blunder, it has been macadamized in almost its whole length. The consequence is, that the old road, notwithstanding its miserable condition is by far the easier drag of the two, and probably will continue to be so, in this little-frequented route, for twenty or thirty years to come. Since the new road is made, however, I would recommend the old one to be shut up instantly, as the only means of directing the current of traffic to its intended channel.
At the summit of the mountain the view was extremely fine, and would have been still more so, had there remained enough of daylight to see it by. The magnificent mountain of Knocklead was before us a little to the left, with the dull sky appearing to rest heavily upon its head. To the right were the promontory of Fairhead, and the island of Rathlin, with the measureless sea beyond. This was all which the state of the atmosphere enabled me to see distinctly, but, seen from such a spot, the very dimness and mystery of the picture rendered it sublime.
On approaching Ballycastle, I could have imagined myself suddenly transported to some English sea-side retreat for the gay and opulent; but the aristocratic looking houses, in a nook of the bay, which gave me this idea, are only a suburb of the little town. Even in itself, however, Ballycastle is certainly superior to most places of its size in Ireland, although of late years it has greatly fallen off in trade and resources. Mr. Boyd, the proprietor, in his single person, carried on a business — or rather a series of businesses — sufficient for the support of a moderate sized town. His corn-mills, salt-pans, coaleries, breweries, soap-boiling works, &c. &c., all went on at the same moment; and in the harbour, then fully employed, the free trade contributed as much as the fair trade to enrich the place. All this, or about all, is now over; and the prospects of this enterprising family have terminated in two deaf and dumb heirs.
The townspeople live like other peasants, occasionally employing themselves in fishing, and occasionally in weaving at home. The Protestants and Catholics are nearly balanced, and no worldly difference is perceptible in the professors of the two forms of Christianity. Before the establishment of the water-guard, smuggling was carried on here on a very extensive scale; and there can hardly be conceived any thing more inefficient than the revenue system which this replaced. I was told by one of the inhabitants, as a capital joke, that he had landed one day eleven boat loads of rum and tobacco in the open bay, while the four custom-house officers stationed in the place were drinking with his master. In carrying the goods up the street, the smugglers were met by these worthies, reeling home; who, however, were either too blind to see them, or too helplessly drunk to interfere.
The establishment of the water-guard here, as elsewhere, was attended by one mistake, which, especially on a coast like this, diminished much its efficiency. Instead of employing men who knew the coast, utter strangers were sent from England; and for some time smuggling went on as before. Lieutenant Seeds, however, the first chief of the guard, was a desperate fellow. He boarded smugglers of the largest class, and used his fire-arms freely. His fate was deeply tragic. One day a fine American vessel, either not aware of the new coast police, or presuming upon its own giant strength, stood boldly into the bay, and fired two guns either in warning or defiance. Seeds would not be warned, and determined not to be defied with impunity. He got a small smack, manned her with eleven stout fellows, armed with muskets, pistols, and cutlasses, and stood boldly out to sea. The twelfth man belonging to his force was too late to get on board. He had waited for a moment " to dig a few potatoes for his wife," before embarking on the perilous enterprise ; and, although the boat had only just left the quay when he reached the spot, Seeds swore that he should not be taken on board, but that the moment he returned he would have him broken. My informant heard the orders given by the lieutenant to his men, which were that they were to lie flat on the deck till they reached their prize, and then fire a volley, and board in the smoke.
Onward bounded the adventurous smack, and in glided the haughty American to meet her. No strife, no struggling, no firing, told of the collision. The smack disappeared from the face of the waters, under her enemy's keel, and the smuggler continued her course into the bay, stately, and alone. Only one man rose. He was the owner of the smack, whom Seeds had tempted, with a large sum, to lend his vessel, and his personal assistance. He succeeded in climbing up the chains, but his brains were immediately dashed out with a handspike. This victim's hat was found some time after on the opposite coast of Scotland, with his name inscribed in it. No smuggling of any consequence has taken place in this neighbourhood for the last three years.
Ballycastle should be the tourist's head quarters for some time. For my own part, being under the "curse of the wandering foot," I was unable to remain as long as I could have wished ; but the only difference this made was, that I worked the harder while there, and converted into a toil what ought to have been a pleasure. As for mere bodily toil, I do not reckon it a part of the inconvenience, when the traveller is in good health, and not old; but to be compelled to crowd the mind with images, which must be seized and examined one by one, and arranged and classified within a given time, is to throw the present enjoyments of travelling into a reversionary fund. Still, however, this fund is always sure, and, with imaginative men, it bears a good round interest.
A walk to the summit of Knocklead, one of the Aura mountains, close to Ballycastle, was not fatiguing in the true sense of the word. The picture which lay outspread before me, although grand and various, was but a single picture. Its component parts harmonized with each other, and contributed towards the same impression. Seventeen hundred feet higher in the air than when I set out, I felt as if the clastic and buoyant spirit within had risen in the same proportion. Behind me lay a chain of mountains, and before, the majestic sea, with the hills of Argyle beyond. These, however, are merely words, that may, or may not, call up ideas; but there was something in addition, which is not contained in the nomenclature of landscape painting. It was not the idea of vastness which elevates the merely beautiful to the sublime; it was not the rich and sparkling sunshine in which the whole scene was steeped; it was not the feeling of awe, generated by the loftiness of the spectator's position, which seems to place the whole world at his feet: but it was something produced by the mingling of all these. My seat at this moment was the Cairn of the Three, a tumulus where, according to old tradition, three Danish princesses, after many wanderings and sorrows, found a final resting place. This mountain is believed by the peasantry to contain in its bosom a reservoir of water, destined one day to rush forth, and inundate the country to the extent of seven miles around. Such was the prophecy of Sheelah Dubhni Malone, the Black Nun of Bona Margy, who formerly resided in the Franciscan abbey of that name, and enjoyed a high reputation for her knowledge of futurity. The ruins of the abbey, which stand near Ballycastle, and which doubtless will continue to do so till the fulfilment of the prophecy, are of considerable extent. It was among the latest buildings of the kind erected in Ireland; and the remains of its sculpture exhibit some considerable knowledge of the art.
The small fragment of Duninny Castle will also attract the traveller's attention, but only on account of its site, the brink of a precipice, several hundred feet high; as will also, for a similar reason, the single tower which remains of Kenbane Castle, the strong hold of a M'Allister. Another ruin, in the neighbourhood, bearing the odd name of Gobbin's Heir, judging by the stern rudeness of its style, is probably more ancient than either.
 
CHAPTER VII.
Bay of Ballycastle— First View of Fairhead — Question of Sublimity— Erroneousness of preconceived notions — Coaleries — Singular Discovery — Perilous position of the Explorers — Summit of the Promontory — Sensations on looking down the Precipice — Remarkable Anecdote — The Grey Man's Path — Secrets of the Mountain — Descent by the Chasm — Natural Ruins at the bottom.
 
TRAVELLERS usually take a guide from Ballycastle to Fairhead; but, when fully aware of what is to be seen, I prefer exploring for myself. I accordingly set out to walk to this celebrated promontory by the bay. The Bay of Ballycastle is small, but it certainly is the most remarkable in character I had yet seen in Ireland. At both points it is bounded by a wall of perpendicular cliffs, and in front lies the island of Rathlin, built, as one might suppose, on a regular mass of white rocks. Fairhead, however, a precipice about six hundred feet high, was the grand attraction; and thither I directed my steps. Mr. Inglis unwillingly admits, if he admits at all, the sublimity of this object. He is not disposed to confess that any admixture of awe is produced by an elevation of not more than six hundred feet. This is a great mistake, and arises from a very prosaic calculation, depending more upon the foot-rule than upon the instinctive laws of taste and nature. It must be in the experience of every observer, that when an object reaches the altitude of a few hundred feet, its pretensions to the character of sublimity depend entirely upon its form and aspect. If Fairhead were in the shape of a rounded hill, it might be beautiful but could be nothing more; but as it is, a naked precipice, rising from a chaos of shapeless rocks, it is sublime. Why do we so often give the name of mountains to elevations that scarcely deserve that of hills? We do so, unconsciously, from the impressions produced by their form and aspect.
On the opposite page the reader will see the promontory of Fairhead as it exists in reality; and, if he will only rear it, in imagination, on the iron- bound coast I am attempting to describe, surrounded by the various adjuncts of mountains, wilds, and tumbling waters, he will easily conceive that such an object must partake largely of the sublime. The traveller, however, expects to see in Fairhead something more than the sublime. He expects to see this colossal wall built in the form of a regular colonnade, the pillars close even to touching, and two hundred feet in length. This he will not see. Let him examine the annexed view attentively, and disengage his mind from the impressions derived from guide-books, and the reports of travellers who make a point of seeing everything therein set down, — and he will then be able to visit Fairhead without risk of disappointment. The columns, it is true, which are very irregular, and therefore unsightly, polygons, may be detected on close examination; and a portion of the summit, bare of turf, presents the appearance of a pavement formed by the heads of the shafts; but this is not apparent to the eye when the object is viewed as a whole ; and it, of course, has nothing to do with the effect produced.
While progressing towards the promontory, my attention was attracted by several small openings in the hill, between which and the sea the road is carried. These openings were close by the road, and arched over with cut stone. Although I expected, about this place, to fall upon the well- known coal pits, I could not at first believe that these were their mouths; but such proved to be the fact. One peculiarity attending these shafts is, that instead of descending from the surface of the earth into its bowels, they ascend into the hill from a very trifling elevation above the sea. The coal-pits are intermixed in a very curious manner with the question relating to the early civilization of Ireland. It actually appears that they were worked with iron tools, or at least tools fortified with iron, at a period far more remote than that which modern writers are willing to assign for the introduction of scientific knowledge into the island.
Mr. Hamilton, in his Letters on the Antrim Coast, believes the period to have been more than a thousand years ago. The account he gives of the discovery of the ancient pits, was repeated to me, in substance, by a man who formerly worked as a collier on the spot. I retail it in the words of Mr. Hamilton.
 
"About the year 1770, the miners, in pushing forward an adit toward the bed of coal, at an unexplored part of the Ballycastle cliff, unexpectedly broke through the rock into a narrow passage, so much contracted, and choked up with various drippings and deposits on its sides and bottoms, as rendered it impossible for any of the workmen to force through, that they might examine it farther. Two lads were, therefore, made to creep in with candles, for the purpose of exploring this subterranean avenue. They accordingly pressed forward for a considerable time, with much labour and difficulty, and at length entered into an extensive labyrinth branching off into numerous apartments, in the mazes and windings of which they were completely bewildered and lost. "
 
After various vain attempts to return, their lights were extinguished, their voices became hoarse and exhausted with frequent shouting, and at length, wearied and spiritless, they sat down together in utter despair of an escape from this miserable dungeon. In the mean time the workmen in the adit became alarmed for their safety; fresh hands were incessantly employed, and in the course of twenty-four hours the passage was so opened as to admit some of the most active among the miners. But the situation of the two unhappy prisoners, who had sat down together in a very distant chamber of the cavern, prevented them altogether from hearing the noise and shouts of their friends, who thus laboured to assist them. Fortunately it occurred to one of the lads (after his voice had become hoarse with shouting) that the noise of miner's hammers was often heard at considerable distances through the coal works, and in consequence of this reflection he took up a stone which he frequently struck against the sides of the cavern ; the noise of this was at length heard by the workmen, who in their turn adopted a similar artifice ; by this means each party was conducted towards the other, and the unfortunate adventurers extricated time enough to behold the sun risen in full splendour which they had left the morning before just beginning to tinge the eastern horizon. "
 
On examining this subterranean wonder, it was found to be a complete gallery, which had been driven forward many hundred yards in the bed of coal; that it branched off into numerous chambers, where miners had carried on their different works; There were thirty-six of these chambers which were esteemed so valuable as again to be occupied by the workmen who discovered them.that these chambers were dressed in a workmanlike manner; that pillars were left at proper intervals to support the roof. "
 
In short, it was found to be an extensive mine, wrought by a set of people at least as expert in the business as the present generation. Some remains of the tools, and even of the baskets used in the works, were discovered, but in such a decayed state that on being touched they immediately crumbled to pieces. From the remains which were found, there is reason to believe that the people who wrought these colleries anciently, were acquainted with the use of iron, some small pieces of which were found; it appears as if some of their instruments had been thinly shod with that metal."
 
These coal-pits were worked to advantage by Mr.Boyd, of Ballycastle; but the estate is now in chancery, and a lease cannot be obtained long enough to tempt speculators. One fertile source of employment is thus cut off from the district.
 
I wandered on; and, turning up the hill, by the side of a picturesque cascade, at length crossed the stream, and directed my steps towards the summit of Fairhead. Here, of course, the view is the grand attraction. The Scottish coast, hidden when I was below by the island of Rathlin, lay before me to the east; and to the west extended the whole basaltic range, with its islands and promontories. Rathlin, with its snowy cliffs, in the offing, was peculiarly fine; and, even from this height, its singular headland looked like a separate island. The farther point of the bay, hitherto marked by a perpendicular wall of cliff, now sloped down in a mass of rugged precipices, terminating in a large, shapeless rock in the sea, surrounded by breakers. It is not difficult, in some places, to approach the brink of the precipice, for the purpose of looking down, as a hold may be taken of the inequalities of the summit; but a nervous man would do well to repress his curiosity. In Switzerland, I have looked down into more than one gulf several times this depth, but I never before felt so distinctly the approach of that feeling of mingled awe, fear, exultation, and wild daring, which resembles, if it not actually is — insanity. One cause of this may be the form of the masses of rock below, many of which point upwards, in the shape of towers, and obelisks, and pinnacles, and groups of colossal pillars. The ceaseless tumbling of the sea may be another source of this confusion of mind, and the hollow roar with which it breaks into clouds of white spray among the natural ruins.
Some suppose that the extraordinary mass of ruins below, are portions of the steep which have fallen down in the course of ages ; and they affirm that, even within the memory of persons now living, an acre of surface has in this manner been lost to the promontory. Others are of opinion that the supposed debris occupy their original position, but have been isolated from the promontory, and from each other, by some unknown agent acting vertically."
I am inclined myself to suppose them to be fallen ruins; and for this reason, that the sharp angles of the polygons are as nicely fitted to each other as the parts of a tesselated pavement, and that therefore it would not be in the power even of nature herself to separate the columnar masses, without overturning or breaking them to pieces. The fact of a portion of the precipice which girds this wild shore having given way in our own time, is not disputed; and at Portmoor an occurrence of this kind was signalized by an extraordinary incident. A man, it appears, was in the habit of seating himself on the extreme edge of the precipice, for the purpose of viewing at his leisure the very remarkable scene; and one summer morning he was in the midst of a reverie, in this perilous situation — when the cliff gave way. The detached portion glided, rather than fell, to the bottom of the steep, where it sunk several feet into the earth, and the involuntary traveller was deposited alive, and even unhurt, upon the shore !
 
There are two small lakes on the summit of Fairhead — and in fact I hardly know the mountain in Ireland which is destitute of this feature. They have the same lonely and desolate appearance I have noticed elsewhere in such situations. But the most interesting portion of the promontory is the Grey Man's Path; and it is also the most important, inasmuch as it affords a means of access to the world of ruins below. The Grey Man's Path is a chasm which cuts the headland into two parts; and if the traveller will only venture into a sort of natural door-way, formed of rocks and pillars, and leading, as it might appear, into the subterranean depths of the mountain, he will speedily find the path widen, and be able to descend with little difficulty to the edge of the sea. This course is indispensable to one who would view the secrets of nature, and examine with his own eyes the materials and formation of the mountain. Here he will see, probably for the first time, the basaltic pillars of which he has heard so much: he will observe them disposed in perpendicular groups of various lengths, till by and by they form the entire walls of the abyss, and at the bottom reach an altitude of upwards of two hundred feet. The basalt of this coast is a ponderous, grey stone, exceedingly close in the grain. Where it is washed by the sea the colour is almost black; but if exposed to the air, as in precipices, brown. Some writers attribute the formation of the substance to water, some to volcanic fire, and some to a conjunction of both; and each of these gentlemen is as well informed on the subject as the others. The pillars at Fairhead are on a much more gigantic scale than elsewhere; one of these forming, it is said, a quadrangular prism, thirty-three feet by thirty-six on the sides, and two hundred feet in length.
On reaching the bottom of the promontory, by the Grey Man's Path, a very singular effect is produced by the waste of ruins in the midst of which the traveller finds himself. The regularity of arrangement observable in the chasm is now no more; but, instead, a chaos appears, of regular forms grouped in the wildest confusion. Seated, with half-shut eyes, on one of these mysterious rocks, I resigned myself for some time to the guidance of imagination; and many a temple, many a dome, many a tower, many a pyramid, many an obelisk, arose before my vision. Awaking, at length, with a start, the picture dissolved into its elements: groups of broken polygons, and shapeless cliffs, piled high over each other, and descending gradually into the sea. The waters, in the meanwhile, rising ever and anon, with a sullen swell in the midst, broke into foam, with a roar which re-echoed wildly up the abyss by which I had descended.
 
CHAPTER VIII.
Conversation with a small Farmer — Condition of the people — Landlords — Priests and Parsons — Tithes — True nature of the tax — History of ecclesiastical imposts — Effects of the Reformation — Anglican Church — Dissenters — Catholics — Anglican Church in Ireland — Proposal — Appropriation of tithes to the purpose of education.
 
WHILE returning along the shore from Fairhead, I observed a man, of more respectable appearance than we usually find in such employments in Ireland, working at a quarry by the road side. I entered into conversation as usual; which I prolonged to a more than usual extent, on finding my companion to be not only intelligent, but trustworthy.
A traveller in this country, in fact, must be always on his guard; for even the most stupid of the peasantry are ingenious enough to deceive, when they come in contact with the ignorant or unwary. If the inquirer have not some previous knowledge of the subject, some established data to go upon, his questions will, in nine cases out of ten, be worse than useless. But if a man will only leave his prejudices behind, as unfit for a traveller's stores, he will find these data by no means of difficult attainment. It is unlikely that every one he meets will be in the same story, and he will soon learn to sift the truth from the falsehood. The tendency, however, to represent matters as still worse than they are, may be said to be universal; although, on the other hand, this tendency is too often neutralized by the fact that matters are as bad as it is possible to represent them. There are few places in the north where the traveller will not hear as dismal accounts as in the worst districts of the south; it is necessary, therefore, that he should not only hear with his own ears, but see with his own eyes.
The man, however, whom I now fell in with belonged to the very small class of those whose communications proceed from an overflowing of the heart. There was nothing uncommon in the information I received from him — nothing with which I was not previously acquainted; but our conversation lasted so long, and turned upon so many points, that I am led insensibly to refer to it as to an expression of the average opinions of the people of Ireland. The man was a small farmer, of the poorer class, which is to say, he was not nearly upon a par with an English day labourer: let those who sneer at my sources of information address themselves to the gentry — and much good may it do them.
 
In the course of the volume I shall no doubt have frequent occasion to refer mentally, if not otherwise, to my interview with this small farmer on the Fairhead beach; but in the following notes I shall confine myself to one or two topics of our discourse. "
How are you off for subsistence in this part of the country?"
 
"Badly enough, indeed. Potatoes and milk, a little meal, rarely a bit of meat — such is the lot of the most of us."
 
"Do you know that your countrymen in the south are still worse off?"
 
"I do not know any thing about the south. All I know is, that things appear to me to be as bad here as they can be; and I think, therefore, that they cannot be worse anywhere else."
 
"To what do you attribute the misery you complain of?"
 
"To the impossibility we find of paying our rent, and getting a decent living out of the land."
 
"Do you complain of bad landlords?"
"I do not know: they cannot all be bad; and yet they seem to be pretty nearly all alike. There are men of four thousand a year in this part of the country whose tenants are the next thing to beggars. Surely this is not right. Four pounds over and above a decent living would be a great thing to us — fourteen pounds would be a kind of fortune. If we were able to make this, we would not envy our landlords their four thousand a year."
"What is the character of your priests?"
"To speak of the priests in general, I would say that they are a griping, close-fisted set. They no doubt discharge their sacred functions as they ought to do, but they are satisfied with that. We call them 'Father,' but I could wish that they treated us more like sons."
"What is the character of the Protestant clergy?"
"I do not know; they are not remarkable in one way or other; they are just like other gentlemen. They have plenty of time, however; their estates are small; and, being worldly-minded men, they make the most of them. They are, in short, good and careful farmers, and I think therefore they do some service by residing in the country. There is one however — Mr. Stewart, of Ballycastle, who is more than a farmer or a gentleman. I have not had any thing to do with him myself; but it is reported among us that he is one of the very best men in all Ireland." "Do you complain much of tithes in this quarter?"
"We of course think it an intolerable hardship to pay for the support of a religion which we are taught from the cradle to believe is a heresy. Besides, we cannot afford it. I myself pay four shillings to the priest; and, considering my circumstances, both he and I think it is enough. Yet over and above this, I am compelled to pay eighteen shillings and fourpence to the clergyman'
"The dues of the priest not being recoverable at law, you of course pay them willingly, however unamiable be the character of the individual?"
"What can we do? If we are slow in coming forward, he calls out our names from the altar, and tells us that the labourer being worthy of his hire, if we do not pay he will not work."
"I have heard that in case of obstinacy, or inability, he ultimately excommunicates you."
"That is untrue; and indeed there would be no use for any form of the kind, a denial of his spiritual functions being as bad as any thing that could befall us. There never can be inability in the case; for, however avaricious the priest may be, he has not the gross folly of the landlord, to exact more than he knows it to be possible to pay, and he is as well acquainted with our resources as we are ourselves."
"Do you suppose that the remission of this tax of eighteen shillings and fourpence would make a great difference to your family? Imagine the sum to be spent in provisions in the course of the year, and consider what improvement would take place in consequence in your comforts."
"Why, I cannot say that there would be much perceptible difference. Indeed I must confess that, even if relieved from tithes, we should be in pretty nearly the same situation as before. But that is not the question. Though miserably poor, we are not destitute of the ordinary feeling of human beings; and we do not like to be compelled to support a church which we hate as erroneous, and despise as apostate — more especially when that is the church of only a paltry handful of the population of our country. A man may submit to be starved; but can you wonder that he should feel chafed, if you insult him into the bargain? "With regard to myself, I am barely able to keep my family in common decency, but yet I voluntarily cheat our necessities out of four shillings to uphold that form of faith in which I was born and brought up. This, however, is not enough. The clergyman comes in after all, armed with the terrors of the law, to demand four or five times the sum to uphold what we are taught from the cradle to call a heresy!"
"Have you ever been better off" than you are now?"
"Never. But there are always some gentlemen trying to do us good, and that keeps up our hearts from year to year. O'Connell is now at the head of them."
"Have you heard what O'Connell is trying to do for you?"
“He is trying to relieve us from tithes, and that will be a great thing; but we want besides sufficient food, decent clothing, and warm lodging."
"Are you not surprised that, notwithstanding the great changes for the better which of late years have taken place in the political condition of Ireland, the Irish people should have been left in precisely the same deplorable state as before?"
"I am, when I reflect upon it. Still, however, we think that something will at last be done for us — something, we know not what. It is this that keeps us quiet, — and woe to that man who shall destroy the hope, illusive though it be! On the day this takes place, let but a leader present himself, and all Ireland will rise like one man."
This is the sum of what the man said to me on the subject, although I do not affect to remember his particular expressions; and it will not be thought surprising if, in my walk along the bay, the beautiful scenery by which I was surrounded should have fled from my eyes, and if grave and painful reflection should have obliterated, for the time, the impression made by Fairhead, and the Grey Man's Path.
The popular excitement on the subject of tithes is very easily comprehended: the only wonder is, that the question should have remained unsettled even to our day. The Jews were in all probability taught the practice of consecrating tithes to the service of the church by older nations ; for we find Abraham giving a tenth part of the spoils of battle to a certain Melchisedek, king of Salem, who was "the priest of the most high God." Jacob, in like manner, recognized the principle, by making a solemn covenant with God at Bethel, by which he engaged to devote to him a tenth part of every thing he received; and, in the wilderness of Sinai, the tithe was definitively settled by Moses upon the tribe of Levi, the servants of the tabernacle, in lieu of a share in the inheritance of the tribes of Israel.
At this period, God was the visible head of his own church. All other forms of religion were idolatrous; and the Chosen People were kept within the true fold by means of the most fearful miracles and judgments. There was no room for mistake — no license for wandering. Orthodoxy was understood by all who had ears to hear, and the slightest deviation was punished by whole holocausts of victims. Then came Christianity, presided over, in like manner, by the visible head of the church, by the Almighty himself in human form. Christ was not come to destroy, but to fulfil the law; and, in reproving the Pharisees for tithing all manner of herbs, even mint and rue, and yet passing over the weightier matters of the law, namely, judgment, mercy, and faith, he added, "These ought ye to have done, and yet not leave the other undone." In process of time Christianity was perverted, by the pride of men, into a vast, complicated, andmost magnificent superstition. The Deity was no longer the visible head of the church. The law was no longer given forth, in the midst of fire, and smoke, and thunderings, and lightnings from Mount Sinai, nor preached in the fields, and by the way side, by the meek and holy Jesus. The representative of God on earth was a priest, elected by political cabal, whose raiment was of cloth of gold, and whose symbolical crook was weightier than all the sceptres in Europe. The new religion was addressed to the soul through the senses; and the great majority of mankind being at that time plunged in the darkest ignorance, it was speedily forgotten that there was an esoteric meaning at all. The Levites of the tabernacle themselves were infected with the sensualities of the epoch; and, deserting their sacred charge, bowed down their hearts before the idols of the world.
When European civilization had reached a certain point, a change took place, of nature and necessity, which some called a reformation. The question then became, What is the true Christianity? What is the religion which God himself taught the unstable Israelites, from generation to generation, and at length came down from heaven to perfect and establish in Christ Jesus? Some answered indignantly, It is the religion you see; it is the religion of the supremacy, temporal and spiritual, of the pope, and the papal priests! Others clung by the same faith, only endeavouring to remove the grosser abuses, and thus render more apparent the esoteric meaning of the doctrine. Luther defaced the idolatrous image of popery with blows which resounded throughout the world, and Calvin following, attempted to throw it down from its high place into the ditch. All Europe rose in arms to decide with the sword which was the true way to heaven; the rival devotees cut each other's throats with emulative zeal; and envy, hatred, malice, and all uncharitableness became the attributes of the followers of Him whose advent was announced, on the midnight hills of Judea, by the angels of heaven proclaiming — Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, and good will toward men!
When at length the sounds of strife had ceased, a mighty change was found to have taken place. Catholicism, wherever it still existed, had retained its pomp, but lost its power; and therefore it is that its adherents, in our day, belong chiefly to the ignorant classes, who are fond of empty show, and to that sex whose imagination is supposed to be more easily impressible than that of the other by external forms — by sounding brass, and tinkling cymbals. In Ireland this was the case as elsewhere; but another concurring cause retained in the original fold even the better informed, and more ambitious portions of the community, and thus rendered her what she is now, the most Catholic country in Europe. This cause may be briefly stated to be the fact, that although forming the great mass of the nation, the Catholics of Ireland, owing to their political position, were the persecuted, and not the persecutors. A man may be reasoned out of an old taste or habit, or, if let alone, as he advances in knowledge or experience, he may leave it behind; but no one can conceive that a thing which is worth persecution can be a mere idea, or a mere bauble, and thus the more he suffers the more it rises in his estimation, and the closer he clings to it.
In England what is called the Anglican church was established, of which the temporal head was the king for the time being, no matter of what family or dynasty, or of what moral and religious character. The hierarchy was not shorn of a single beam. The doctrine, it is true, was Calvinistic in its foundation; but almost all the external grandeur of popery was retained, and as many of its forms as were not worse than empty or useless. Among these, for instance, may be mentioned the ceremony of the wedding-ring — the sign of the cross at baptism — bowing at the name of Jesus — changing the robes of the priest — kneeling at the commemorative feast of the sacrament. This in short was the reformation of the sovereign. In those countries, on the other hand, where the people took the lead, the church became either entirely republican, or adopted that middle form of government known by the name of Presbyterianism. But nowhere was there stability. Sect after sect arose with incredible celerity. The followers of the double apostate Brown fled from episcopal persecution into Holland, and afterwards emigrated to America, to found there an empire destined to overshadow the old kingdoms of Europe from the other side of the Atlantic. At the present moment the dissenters in England are as numerous as the adherents of the established religion. Why then does the Anglican church still proudly ride out the storm? Because her ark is moored in the vitals of the stale. Destroy this bond of connexion, and the mighty fabric will crumble in pieces before your eyes. Destroy this bond of connexion, and, instead of seeing the descendants of the baron-bishops of the iron age riding to the House of Lords in a carriage, you will witness the heart-rending spectacle of these holy men walking to the house of the Lord on their own feet. It would be absurd to waste time in arguing this point. The Church of England has always been, and is now, part and parcel of the state, and, if you sever the connexion, it must cease to exist as the national church. The diversity of opinions, however, in the Christian world relates almost exclusively to outward forms and to church government. Some will have an arch-priest to look to who can determine all points of controversy by his own fiat, and permit the faithful to eat eggs and butter during Lent. Others desire that the kingdom of God should be governed by a temporal prince, and that its apostolical chiefs and rulers should be placed on a footing of grandeur corresponding with that of the high officers of the state. Many crucify their countenances with straight lank hair smoothed over their brow, and Geneva bands under their chin; and not a few conceive that brown, and its various shades are the fashionable wear in heaven, and that the distinguishing marks of the elect are to be found in the brim of the hat and the collar of the coat.
And what of all this? Are we the less Christians for indulging our several fancies in matters that have no more to do with Christianity than the colour of an object has to do with its substance? These are fit themes for argument among men; but to suppose that God makes any distinction between a mitre and a broad-brimmed hat, is to suppose that he pays more regard to a white than to a black skin, or any other monstrous absurdity, opposed to the reason, yet reconcileable by the passions and prejudices of men.
There is nothing irreligious in the Anglican church: and, if it be the opinion of the majority of the nation, or of that which passes for such, that its existence, in its present form, is conducive to good order, and to the formation of moral habits, it undoubtedly ought to be supported. For my part, as an individual, I think that the smaller a society of Christians is, the better. In small societies men act as checks upon each other; and vice is under such continual surveillance that it is either rendered innocuous, or at length ceases to exist. The charge of hypocrisy, unless it be in the case of worldly men joining such societies from worldly motives, is, generally speaking, unfounded. To say that a man affects not to get drunk, for instance, is nonsense. But, at the same time, it cannot be denied that the sins of self-seeking, and spiritual pride are much more likely to beset dissenting congregations than that of the great body of the church. Simplicity of apparel, when that is carried to excess, indicates anything rather than simplicity of heart. The Quakers, to take an extreme case, although in other respects of great respectability of character, are, in my opinion, by far the most vain and ostentatious of all the sects of professing Christians. In the other sects the favourite ministers are, with or without their own will, placed in the situation of fashionable actors; and their natural humility, if they have any, is destroyed by the homage of their flocks. A dissenting minister must be of small notoriety indeed whose portrait is not stuck up in the shop windows, or in religious magazines, for the edification of Christians. What a menagerie might be collected from these specimens!
But what is the use of such exhibitions?
Do they answer any other purpose than to prove that the godly have the ugliest faces in the known world? Till the separation between church and state be formally determined on, the church must continue to draw its revenues (if it can) as heretofore; and the dissenters must continue to give unto Caesar (if they choose) the things which are his, so long as Caesar continues to reign. This state of things will last till the dissenters become — if they ever shall become — the great preponderating bulk of the nation. It is hard, no doubt, that in the meantime a man should be compelled to support two establishments; but the nature of the hardship is not well understood. He is not compelled to go to two churches — to subscribe to two doctrines. There is no spiritual tyranny in the case, and no malevolent feeling should be generated towards the church of
England. The thing is entirely an affair of state policy, with which Christianity, properly speaking, has nothing to do. The dissenter is in no worse situation than the man who voluntarily relieves the poor of his own village, and yet is compelled at the same time to contribute his quota to the poor's rates of the district. At the same time the fact is so obvious as to suggest itself at once even to the most childish capacity, that if the landed revenues of the church can be made productive enough to satisfy her wants, it would betray the most lamentable imbecility to excite the hostile feelings of one half of the nation by demanding church rates of the dissenters. As for the state question, the policy of doing away with a national church altogether, that is too weighty a subject to be entered upon here. All I contend for is, that angry feelings have been excited without cause; that the hundred different churches in this country are all churches of Christ; that their congregations are brethren; that the forms characteristic of each society have nothing to do with the doctrine, which is universal; and that all denominations of Christians form a single, rich, and many-coloured carpet, spread beneath the footstool of the Almighty.
But, as regards the Catholics of Ireland, the case is different. In the first place, the church of England has dissented from them, not they from the church of England; and, in the second place, which is of more importance, they form the great preponderating bulk of the people of Ireland. When these "aliens in religion" were in the character of a conquered nation, it was perfectly right that they should have been made to support the state religion of the conqueror; but now, when they are aliens in nothing, save, alas! the articles of board and lodging, it is surely time that this should have an end.
But, say the collectors of Irish tithes, if all the
Catholics were in one part of the island, and all the Protestants in the other, a financial separation might take place; but if in a Catholic village we find a dozen Protestants, is not salvation as important to these twelve men as if they were twelve thousand? Must we not have a church in that village? and how is such an establishment to be supported ? The argument is so far good; but its importance is exaggerated. I should like to take these tithe-collectors on a little tour in such parts of Scotland as most nearly resemble the parts of Ireland they allude to in poverty and ignorance.
They would hardly believe that with such means and appliances my countrymen are the most religious people in Europe. They would measure with astonishment the rugged hills, and desert heaths, which the peasant traverses, with grave pace and Sabbath countenance before he can reach his cottage-temple. They would watch the steps of the wedding-guests, bidden by the Lord of the feast from far and near: — the sedate farmer, with nicely-brushed coat, and hair as smooth as silk, a staff in one hand and his bible in the other — the demure maiden, with kilted petticoats, bearing her shoes and stockings, made up in a bundle with her psalm-book, and nicely folded pocket handkerchief as white as snow — the serious matron enveloped in a red cloak — the stalwart youth, " our nation's hope and pride," striding along with the step of Hercules, and the gravity of a patriarch — the little children, conscious of Sunday, and feeling, even from the pains which had been taken with their dress, that they, too, were personages of the procession, and individuals of the bidden company. From all points of the compass come such groups as these, verging towards a central point, and vanishing as they approach it. They have entered the church — not the mere steeple-house of their village, but the Bethel of their faith; and does not the companion of our journey pause, tearful and heart-stricken, as their voices rise suddenly from that lonely place in a wild and solemn swell upon the breeze?
I am not such an enthusiast as to find fault either with the magnificence, or the physical comforts, with which the English delight to surround their form of religion; but, at the same time, I think there are cases, in which these may, with great propriety, be dispensed with. The church establishment throughout a great part of Ireland should be cut down to a level with the very worst districts of Scotland. This would go some length in facilitating the entire abolition of tithes, which ought to come, which must come, and which will come, with very little further delay. If tithes are proper, it is robbery to appropriate them to any thing else than the support of what is considered the true church; if improper, it is folly to argue about their appropriation at all. I should think, however, that there can be no serious question among sensible men as to the party on whom the payment of tithes, proper or improper, should fall. That party must undoubtedly be the one deriving benefit from the produce of the soil, or, in other words, enjoying a residue after the necessities of animal life have been satisfied. That this is not the peasant the reader is aware; and, if he supposes that it is in the power of the landlord to reshift the burthen from his own shoulders, in the shape of rent, he is incorrectly informed with regard to the condition of Ireland. If a man enjoy a residue, however small, he may be deprived of that residue; but, even after the deduction of tithes from his burthens, the peasant will have no residue. The emancipation from tithes will be little more than a nominal relief: it will enable him, not to satisfy his hunger at each meal, but to progress in some degree towards doing so. It will not enable him to pay one farthing more rent for his land. There are few proprietors in Ireland to whom I would not undertake to pay half a crown for every shilling of rent they can obtain more than they do now, till the people are fairly in a condition to satisfy the demands of nature. I say it is robbery to appropriate tithes to anything else than the support of the church; and the question then is, in what way can the church be most efficiently supported?
What is her present condition? What benefit has she conferred upon Ireland? What progress has she made in conversion? The answers to these queries are obvious. She is still, after the lapse of centuries, a colony in a foreign country, defended by bayonets; instead of conferring anything upon Ireland, she has drawn from her blood, tears, and money; in conversion she is stationary, leaving almost the entire work to the presbyterians and dissenters. Now, what is the explanation of this? Is it impossible for the Irish to become protestants? Are they catholic by nature? or has the Church of England adopted an improper method, or neglected its duty altogether ? In Scotland Catholicism was persecuted still more bitterly than in Ireland, but Scotland has become a protestant country. The cause of this is obvious. The Scottish reformers did not merely endeavour to substitute one form of belief for another: they endeavoured, by means of education, to render the people themselves capable of judging between the two; and, having effected this, the Reformation was accomplished. The eloquence, or reasoning, of the preachers may have opened the ears of their audience; but it was the parochial schools which convinced their understanding; and, at the present day, the remnants of Catholicism in the country are in exact proportion to the paucity of the means of education. The Anglican church was planted in Ireland on a plan somewhat similar. The pastor was not only to minister to his flock in religious services, but to educate them. The pastor, however, contented himself with expounding the Word to those who chose to listen; he performed just one half of his duty, pocketing the stipend for the whole; and, in consequence of this neglect, assisted by political persecution, the Irish are Catholics to this day. These are facts which may be deduced by the meanest intellect from the common histories of the time; and I found upon them my opinion, that if tithes are to continue, the appropriation of a portion of them to the education of the people will be an act of justice, not only to Ireland, but to the Church.
 
 
 
CHAPTER IX
Peculiarities of the Causeway Region — Carrick-a-rede and its Swinging Bridge — Charges of the Guides — Trait of Character — The Giant's Causeway — Tradition of its Origin — Cave of Portcoon— Port-na- Spania — Pleaskin — Bushmills — Harvest — The Irish of the Seventeenth Century — Of the Sixteenth — Of the Nineteenth — Unhappy Analogy.
 
FROM Ballycastle to the Giant's Causeway the scenery is of a very peculiar character; and one is, at first, at a loss to account for a kind of originality it exhibits. We at length, however, perceive that we are gradually advancing into a region where the larger specimens of vegetation are unknown. The trees shrink into shrubs; the shrubs, as we proceed, grow downwards into bushes; and even the bushes, at length, dwindle and then die. There is but one exception admitted by this general law; and the Irish thorn, though not patronized, is at least tolerated by the tyrannical spirit of the clime. But the thorn feels that, like a slave, it exists only by sufferance. Thin, grey, and stunted, it crouches before the blast, turning its head away as if in awe, or humility. On the leeward side, some green leaves and buds remind the traveller of the smiles of unconscious infancy: but the branches next the sea, like older denizens of the world, are brown, withered, and weather- beaten. No striking inequalities present themselves in the soil. Before us there are but the plain, the precipice, and the ocean. Over this dreary domain the north wind is the sole ruler, controlling, at its pleasure, the other agents of nature. The edge of the causeway coast, indeed, is seen at a distance; but it presents nothing excepting the line of land meeting the line of sea. It would be impossible for the traveller to guess that he was within so short, a space of objects so striking and so wonderful. The line of coast is sufficiently remarkable to induce the tourist to proceed by sea to Bengore; but the weather being unfavourable, I was obliged to content myself with the land journey. The promontory of Kenbane, however, composed of snowy limestone, is said to be a fine object, when viewed from the water, and a cave of basaltic columns to be well worth a visit. The latter object is in the vicinity of Carrick-a-rede, another promontory which I saw sufficiently well to perceive that its famous swinging bridge was not there. This headland is divided by a chasm, not longitudinal, like the Grey Man's Path, but lateral, over which a bridge of ropes is thrown during the fishing season. The rock is here only about eighty feet above the water ; and the chasm not more than sixty feet wide ; but nevertheless, the swinging bridge, consisting simply of a line of planks, secured upon two cables, with a cord for the hand may well appear terrific to the imagination. The cliffs are wild and abrupt in the extreme, and the sea rises around them with a ceaseless swell. The insulated rock is used for the fisherman to stand who watches, with a telescope, the shoal of salmon in their periodical search for the mouth of a river. The fish come round the coast close by the rocks, and being interrupted by the island of Carrick-a-rede, are easily taken, if their approach is perceived. I spoke to a man who was in the habit of crossing the swinging bridge, and he confessed that it was not without a beating heart, and a blanching cheek, he had performed the feat for the first time. Long before reaching the Causeway, we were met by one of the guides, who seemed to think that this rencontre gave him a legal right to take us under his charge. He kept up with the vehicle by running; and in the meanwhile, took care to describe the country as we passed, in order to show us that he had already entered upon his office. The regular charge of the guides I understood to be five shillings, and that of the boatmen, twelve shillings and sixpence; but besides these there area variety of incidental items which render the Causeway rather an expensive exhibition. One man fires the pistol which produces the echo prescribed by the books; another professes to keep the path to the cave clear for your honour's feet; and a smoke- dried carline gives you to drink of the Giant's Well, a spring of pure water which oozes up between two of the pillars, and which, on tasting, you find to have been miraculously converted in transltu by the old witch into whisky. Lastly, more than a dozen men and boys follow you through the whole adventure, in spite of your expostulations, to offer boxes of mineralogical specimens. It was impossible to refuse expending a trifle among these last: but as the specimens were small and worthless, I did not choose to be troubled with them, and accordingly, after having paid the price, desired that a single box should be made up from the collections of the whole, and sent after me. I did the poor fellows injustice, however, in supposing that they would act like civilized men, and forget the order; for in a short time I received my specimens, which were actually a selection of the best pieces. After all, there are so many good points in the character of this unhappy people, that I am sometimes tempted to blame myself for speaking the truth about the bad ones. Fairhead, the Grey Man's Path, and the natural ruins at the bottom, are beyond comparison the most remarkable objects in the Antrim Coast;but the Causeway affords more gratification to the traveller who is fond of examining the curiosities of nature. He descends from Fairhead, where lie has been overwhelmed by a thousand vague, but grand impressions, to examine leisurely at the Causeway the materials of the magnificent structures which in this region front the sea. In the Causeway itself, he finds the strange, the fantastic, the extravagant, but not the majestic. There is no elevation to produce the sublime: no formless and unconscious idea of danger to create awe. His curiosity, surprise — wonder, if you will, are excited ; but he is able to listen calmly to the guide, count the sides of the polygons, and expatiate on the possible, and impossible causes of basaltic formations. On the Causeway we see before our eyes, and beneath our feet, the materials of which the neighbouring steeps are formed. We see a natural pavement composed of polygons of a hard, smooth, and ponderous stone, without a grain of earth, or blade of vegetation, or room for either between: and by the inequalities of the upper surface, we perceive that each of these polygons, though so closely fitted to its neighbour, is a separate and distinct pillar. More wonderful still, the pillars are not composed of a single block, thrown up in an instantaneous caprice of nature, but of several joints, fitted to each other, the convex with the concave ends, by the nicest possible articulations; and, most wonderful of all, these mysterious columns stand, in every case, almost as erect as if their perpendicularity had been determined by the plummet. This last peculiarity is the more surprising, as there is every reason to conclude that their formation was attended with extreme violence. I gather this from the appearance of those formless masses of basalt termed whindykes, which rise up here and there upon the Causeway, and seem to have been gushes of molten metal that burst suddenly forth in the midst of the regularity of the work. But let not the reader be deceived, as most readers are, by the name of pillars, and suppose that the Giant's Causeway is composed of such regular columns as bear up the portico of a temple. They are not " exquisitely shaped pillars," as some books assure him, but irregular prisms, generally of five sides, each side being different in dimensions from the other. Neither is the Causeway itself a regular mole, inclining from an altitude of two hundred feet, till it is lost in the sea, but distinct fields of pillars, separated unequally by whindykes, with here and there considerable elevations. The whole surface is about a hundred feet wide, and, so far as it can be seen, six hundred feet in length, What the depths may hide no one can tell; but it is not a very wild speculation to suppose that the Causeway forms the pavement of the sea, and might conduct a submarine traveller to the caves of Staffa. The tradition among the peasantry is somewhat different. According to this authority, the bridge of communication was at one period actually completed, and at the present day, we should find nothing but its ruins at the bottom. The architects were Fin Mac Cumhal, and his comrades, the Scandinavian sons of Frost, who constructed the work, in order to facilitate their operations in a war which they waged against the opposite country. The enemy were thunderstruck at the sight of this gigantic bridge, presenting a highway to their ocean-girded retreats. In this extremity they had recourse to the Druids; who, jealous themselves of the growing power of the giants, willingly exerted all their supernatural skill. The sacred fire blazed on every hill, and blood flowed on every altar; till at length a spell was wrought mighty enough to shake the depths of the ocean. The bridge was overthrown; and, in order to signalize their power and vengeance to the latest race upon the earth, the Druids turned the giants into stone: and these mouuments of priestly wrath are in our day distinctly seen on various parts of the coast. Let me remark that before reaching the Causeway I entered one cave ; and that in consequence of the dangerous swell of the sea, I did not enter another, to which access can only be obtained by water. The cave I saw, which is called Portcoon, is certainly worth a visit to those who will takethe trouble of retiring into its depths, and looking back. It is entered dryshod, or nearly so, by a lateral passage ; but the sea comes in by the front opening in huge billows, and presents an appearance not less grand that the stranger is seized, in spite of himself, with the idea that the cavern will be filled to the roof. The depth of the recess is not apparent to the eye, being heaped with masses of white foam as large as hogsheads, but only just heavier than the atmosphere. The effect is supposed to be increased by the report of a pistol which is usually fired on the occasion ; but on a tempestuous day, like that of my visit, nothing can be finer than the rush and roar of the sea exaggerated by the thousand echoes of the cave. Having satiated my curiosity with the wonders of the Causeway, I climbed the steep behind, by a narrow zigzag path; a feat to which the guides, and the books, affect to attach a high degree of importance. The ascent would certainly not be agreeable to an asthmatic subject, but the idea of danger attending it to a man in good health is ridiculous. Even women and children are frequently seen toiling up the most precipitous of these paths with loads of kelp on their backs. The view from the summit is well worth the trouble of the ascent, comprehending, as it does, most of the promontories of the coast from Bengore Head on one hand to Dunluce Castle on the other. The visitor's route lies in the former direction;in which the principal objects are Port-na-Spania, the promontory of Pleaskin, and Bengore Head. Port-na-Spania is a bay, or inlet, exhibiting several curious combinations of pillars, together with those that are called the chimney-pots,— several insulated columns, standing on a ridge, where they are seen from the Causeway and numerous other points of view. These natural monuments, if you will believe the guides, were fired at by some ships of the Spanish Armada, the crew mistaking them for the chimney-pots of a castle! Bengore Head is only remarkable for the view it affords; but Pleaskin, owing to its variety of colour, and the arrangement of its pillars, forms in itself one of the finest pictures imaginable. With the following accurate description of the promontory, given in one of Mr. Hamilton's Letters, I shall conclude this brief notice of the Causeway coast. "The summit of Pleaskin is covered with a thin grassy sod, under which lies the natural basaltic rock, having generally a hard surface, somewhat cracked and shivered. At the depth of ten or twelve feet from the summit, this rock begins to assume a columnar tendency, and forms a range of massy pillars of basaltes, which stand perpendicular to the horizon, presenting, in the sharp face of the promontory, the appearance of a magnificent gallery, or colonnade, upwards of sixty feet in height. This colonnade is supported on a solid base of coarse, black, irregular rock, near sixty feet thick, abounding with blebs and airholes — but though comparatively irregular, it may be evidently observed to affect a particular figure, tending, in many places, to run into regular forms, resembling the shooting of salts, and many other substances, during a hasty crystallization. " Under this great bed of stone, stands a second range of pillars, between forty and fifty feet in height, less gross, and more sharply defined, than those of the upper story, many of them, on a closer view, emulating even the neatness of the columns in the Giant's Causeway. This lower range is borne on a layer of red ochre stone, which serves as a relief to show it to great advantage. These two admirable natural galleries, together with the interjacent mass of irregular rock, form a perpendicular height of one hundred and seventy feet ; from the base of which the promontory, covered over with rock and grass, slopes down to the sea for the space of two hundred feet more: making in all a mass of near four hundred feet in height, which in beauty, and variety of its colouring, in elegance and novelty of arrangement, and in the  extraordinary magnitude of its objects, cannot readily be rivalled by anything of the kind at present known." Leaving the Causeway I took up my abode for the night at the village of Bushmills. . In this little place, the inhabitants are comparatively comfortable, nearly a hundred of them receiving constant employment from Sir Francis Mac Naghten. A resident like this is an especial providence in such a region, where crops are still more precarious than elsewhere. In general the corn ripens early, owing to the land being wholly destitute of shade; but when a late summer occurs, as was the case at present, they do not ripen at all. Everywhere during my journey I had seen green corn at the end of the harvest time; but there were still hopes of the sun at length blazing forth, and remedying the evil. In this extreme northern nook, however, the chance was already past, for here a harvest delayed is a harvest lost.