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WILLIAM TAIT, 107, PRINCE'S STREET;
SIMPON, MARSHALL, & CO. LONDON; AND JOHN CUMMING, DUBLIN.
Alexander's Switzerland and Swiss Churches, . 729
Edinburgh stage ; by Thomas De Quincey, 111, 1S7
Anstria, Revelations of, 589
Billantinc on Painted Glass ; reviewed, . . 127
Christianity, as an organ of Political Movement, 215,341
Colosies, The British 496
Confessions of a Homoeopathist, retiewed, . .185
-— on Keats, 249
on Sir James Mackintosh, . . 414
on the Marquis Wellesley, . ,192
. on the Antigone at Edinburgh, 111, 157
De Qnincey'i Notes on Gilflllan's Gallery, 23, 249
Dregelstedt's Poems, 759
Durham, Sir Philip; Memoirs of, reviewed, . .128
James Montgomery, . . 545
Leigh Hunt, .... 655
God's Laws, vertus Corn Laws, .... 284
Cowrie (Earl of) a tragedy, reviewed, . . . 146
Howitt's (W.) Visit to O'Connel l at Derrynane, . 1
Humboldt's Cosmos ; reviewed 123
Home's (David) Life and Correspondence, . 137,205
Hunt's (Leigh) Wit and Humour, reviewed, . 802
Ireland, State of, 680
Irish Church, The 543
Irish Coercion Bill, The, .... 337, 609
Italy, Dickens' Pictures from 461
Jenny Basket; an American Romance, 116,162,231,289
Vengeance, 30, 104
Letters from Naples; by Madame Wolfensberger, 17
599, 669, 737, 801
Loudon's Legacy to Gardeners, . . .189
Love, Jealousy, and Vengeance, . . 30, 104
Mary Queen of Scots, 425, 493
Mesmerism in India, . . . . . . 669
Michelet's " The People" and " The Jesuits," . 514
Mohan Lai's Travels, reviewed, . . : . 308
Naples, Letters from ; by Madame Wolfensberger, 17
Nelson's (Lord) Letters and Dispatches, . . 763
O'Connell, Visit to ; by William Howitt, . . 1
Our Hearth and Homestead; by John Mills, . 85
Pietro Aretino ; Life of, 681
Politics of the Month, 65, 202, 269, 337, 402, 475, 540,
609, 678, 745, 809
Portuguese Watering Place; Story of a, 638, 689
Punjaub and the Sikhs ; History of the, . . 468
Rings and Posies, 562
Robson's Old Play-goer, reviewed, . . . 457
Schmidt's Tales for the Young, reviewed, . . 803
Homeric Hymn to Venus, . . 586
Mary Stuart's Farewell to Scot-
TAIT'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
BY WILLIAM HOWITT.
I Believe it was in 1835, that, on occasion of a public meeting at Nottingham, to petition for some reform in Ireland, in the course of a speech, I alluded to the great men and women whom that country had produced, and the benefits which we had derived in politics, literature, and philosophy, through their means. When I came to the mention of the name of Daniel O'Connell, and had stated my opinions of his services, not only to his own beautiful but oppressed country, but to the great and general cause of liberty and humanity, the people, in a fit of generous enthusiasm, rose en Mtte, and cried, "We will have him down to dinner!" My friend Mr. Boothby, now of the London bar, immediately responded, as a townconncilior, and leading person of the place, "We will!" The invitation was given; was accepted; and the public dinner to the Irish Liberator will be long remembered by the assembled thousands and tens of thousands who witnessed his entrance, as one of the most enthusiastic demonstrations of the noblest sympathies of Englishmen with the labours of the great champions of freedom.
During that entertainment, I was necessarily thrown into close communication with Mr. O'Connell; and he was kind enough to say, that he hoped, some day, to have the pleasure of welcoming Mrs. Howitt and myself to Ireland. Being, therefore, this autumn, not only in Ireland, but at Killarney, I could not resist the temptation of paying my respects to Mr. O'Connell in his mountain home on the wild shores of the Atlantic.
I know well how deeply interesting the account of such a visit, to such a man and such a place, will be to vast numbers, both in this and other countries; and shall therefore here describe it, so far as can be done without trenching upon that domestic privacy which no one has a right to infringe, and of which no one can demand the display.
The wilds of Kerry, in which Derrynane lies, are by far the most bold and savage in their aspect of iny part of Ireland which I have yet visited. To see as much as possible of them, I did not take the ordinary route from Killarney by Killorglin and Cahirciveen, but proceeded to the town of Kenmare, and thence, along the shores of the Kenmare river, to Derrynane. A finer drive is rarely to he found, than that from Killarney to the Pass of Coom Dhuv: it leads amid the mountains sur
TOL. XIII. — no. CXLv.
rounding the Upper Lake. On the left hand, the wild heights of Turk Mountain tower above you; on the right, you successively gaze on the beautiful Turk Lake, on the bold cliff of the Eagle's Nest, and then on all the desolate mountains around the Upper Lake; on its own winding waters, and brown wilderness-banks, scattered with crags and rocks. The whole way to Coom Dhuv is one continual ascent; now passing beneath the feet of the mountains, deep between woods and thickets, in which the foliage of the arbutus is conspicuous; and then emerging evermore to enchanting views, over waters and mountains of a solitary, stern, but magnificent beauty. Beyond the Pass of Coom Dhuv, the scenery becomes still more stern and desolate. You wind along the sides of the most naked hills, whose black crags have been rent through with gunpowder, to make the road you travel; and the whole country before you, as it opens out, is dreary moorland, with a few scattered and wretched huts.
Alighting from the stage-car at Kenmare, one of those places which you hardly know whether to call a small town or a large village, I found the landlord of the inn where the car stopped, busily engaged in chopping a huge piece of beef into sundry lesser portions, amid a throng of ragged people, and a chaos of tubs, potato-baskets, and the like. The large rambling inn, with its dirty passages, its great peat-fire in its large desolate kitchen; its bare-legged women; its one great room—a sort of half lumber, half store-room; another filled with smoking guests, reminded me of many a similar gasthaus in out-of-the-world German villages. But what concerned me more nearly, the landlord coolly demanded just double the established fare for a car thence to Sneam, the next place. As I had received a hint at Killarney of the extortionate demands of this man, who calculates on strangers not being able to procure any conveyance elsewhere, I stepped across the road to a Mr. James Sullivan's, with whose name I had been provided. It was my destiny here, however, to have a specimen of the difficulty of getting out a small place, sometimes, in Ireland. Mr. Sullivan was out: gone to get his hay in the very neighbourhood to which I wished to proceed — that of Sneam; and his wife had the horse and the car, but nobody to drivo it.