The Yew-Tree, Muckross Abbev.

The Edge Of Innisfallen.

Glengariff Bridge.

I had determined not to draw comparisons between the different scenes that called forth my enthusiasm in Ireland, but to this rule I am tempted to make one exception. Glengariff, at the head of Bantry Bay, is one of the very few places in the world about which there can never be either disappointment or a difference of opinion. As an ideal of exquisite and tender loveliness, it is one of nature's masterpieces. Glengariff is a mountainous glen, about six miles in length and a quarter of a mile in breadth, the sides of which are strewn with rocks of all conceivable degrees of picturesque wildness, covered with luxuriant foliage. From every opening springs a stately yew-tree or a glistening holly. From every crevice droops a flower-ing plant. Each roughness is concealed by myrtle or arbutus, against whose deep green walls swing lightly in the breeze the crimson bells of myriads of fuchsias. Save for the voice of the de-scending torrent and the songs of feathered denizens, the glen's sweet silence is unbroken. Above it rise the solemn peaks, below it lies the sparkling sea, through it sweeps seaward between flowery cliffs the river, breathless from the plunge which it has just made in a cataract of foam. On the north, east and west, this glorious gorge, softened by semi-tropical vegetation, is completely sheltered, but toward the south it opens on to an enchanting fjord, an inlet from the beautiful expanse of Bantry Bay, studded with numerous fantastic isles. Here rhododendrons, pomegranates and azaleas flourish in profusion, and roses and geraniums bloom in the open air the whole year round; for the strong saline freshness of the neighboring Atlantic is tempered by the Gulf Stream's balmy breath. Glengariff, therefore, is a natural sanitarium. During the winter months the mercury rarely falls below forty degrees, and, as no fogs intrude upon this paradise of sun and flowers, it is considered by some medical authorities to rank among the finest of the milder climates of the world. Beautiful Ireland ! It was at Glengariff that I best appreciated the lines which one of thy devoted sons addressed to thee:

At Glengariff.

A Tourist Coach, Glengariff.

"The sea wind freshens thy eternal garland, The salt ooze perfumes thy delicious hair, And on the cheek where death had set its signet The rose of immortality blows fair."

Unlike some places of transcendent beauty, Glengariff is not only easy of access, but the routes leading to it are among the most delightful in the world. The forty-eight miles which lie between Killarney and this sylvan glen are traversed comfortably in four-horse coaches, or in private carriages, over an admirable road, and in the full enjoyment of magnificent scenery. Yet, although such an experience could be repeated many times without a loss of charm, it is not necessary to return by the same route; for by another lovely drive of eleven miles, commanding glorious vistas of the sea, one can proceed to Bantry, between which and the city of Cork, only fifty-seven miles away, several well-appointed trains run daily. Of course one's pleasure on such trips depends somewhat upon the weather, and Irish weather is proverbially capricious. Hence I can hardly urge too strongly the advice to travel leisurely through Ireland. The fault that most Americans make in visiting the island is being in such haste either to go to England or to catch their returning steamer at Queenstown, that they allow themselves no time to wait for sunshine, if their tour is interrupted by a storm. Light, water-proof wraps, made not of rubber but of a special cloth obtainable in Ireland, together with over-shoes and umbrellas, should form invariably part of the tourist's outfit on any of these excursions. But it should be remembered as a consolation, that if the rain falls easily here, it ceases just as readily; and many a lowering morning will be followed by a lovely afternoon.