he will hear defined as that equitable law to which Ulster owes her tranquillity and comparative prosperity, and is here substituted for the agrarian law of Tipperary. But, as nothing could possibly be more foreign to the object with which this little book was written, than the introduction of any one word that should convey political offensiveness to any party, or any individual of any party, and as the tenant-right is a sort of questio vexata, all we shall say about it is, that its existence is pretty generally reputed to have a beneficial influence by those who ought best to understand it. And to a casual but inquisitive observer such would appear to be the case. On this part of the Kilmorey estates (of Newry), although the tenant right has for political purposes been restricted, the farmers are not afraid to make improvements, as in other parts of the country; hence, it is assumed, the thriving and comfortable condition of the people, which it is so delightful to contemplate. The land here is let at from 5s. to 30s. an acre; and the tenant-right sells at from £20 to £35 an acre, varying, of course, according to the quality of the land, and the improvements that have been made. This is the general rate, yet there have been instances where it has been sold much higher, but they were extraordinary cases. Like many other good things, this tenant-right may have its abuses. But on the Kilmorey property, where the rule appears to be "live and let live," no one ever dreams of questioning the tenant's right, or of mulcting him by additional rent for the improvements he makes on the faith of established custom. Another gratifying feature of this part of the country is, that the children and young girls all have a clean, tidy, healthy appearance, which is most acceptable after gazing on the squalid misery of that class in some other localities,-misery which often tempts one to exclaim with Boz, "Would that nursery tales were true, and that gipsies would steal such children by the hundred!" Here they are heathful, because they have abundance of food and salubrious air; and they are tidy, because the junior females get full employment in flowering and needlework, at which they can earn from 4d. to 1s. a-day, which keeps them comfortably clothed; and a local Farming Society, under the management of its amiable and efficient Secretary, James Thomson, Esq., awards premiums for the best and cleanliest houses. Having refreshed our strength with this long rest on the Causeway Bridge, let us go on our way rejoicing. After you pass a handsome villa, Seafield House, now the residence of Captain Bell, turn down to the shore, that you may enjoy the classic beauties of Ballyedmond, the delightful residence of Mrs. Stewart, which sits upon a green wood-skirted lawn, de clining gently towards the sea. Up, almost at the base of the mountain, is Bellview, the mansion of Captain Douglas. We next reach A picturesque hamlet, on a point that juts out into the bay. Killowen is the nursery of the seamen who man the commercial navy of Newry. "Oh! fair is the hamlet of pretty Killowen, And hardy the fishers that call it their own; THE WOODHOUSE. E next come to the Woodhouse, one mile below Rosstrevor. It is the residence of Edward Vandeleur, Esq., and forms a charming feature in the landscape. It is situated on a narrow stripe of ground, tastefully laid out, and adorned with a variety of trees, shrubs, and evergreens, between the road and Rosstrevor Bay, at the base of Sliev Bân. You can see only the twisted chimneys from the road, by reason of the high wall which enviously shuts out the view; but from the Bay it presents, through the tall trees which screen it from the sea-breeze, a most picturesque appearance; and when you enter it, it seems the chosen abode where health and beauty might ever dwell. Capt. Vandeleur has made great improvements here, and is daily adding to them. The house is of the Elizabethan style, and of considerable extent. A view of the castellated and monastic remains of Carlingford, the pretty town of Warrenpoint, Mount Hall, the cenotaph of General Ross, the Vale of Arno, and Rosstrevor in its sequestered valley, partly concealed by intervening woods:-these are all had from the parade in front of the house, as you lean over the balustrade against the wall, at whose base the ever fluctuating world of waters is continually beating. The lower range of windows is nearly on a level with the grounds, and project from the wall, surmounted by battlemented turrets. At the southern extremity of the parterre is a very pretty rustic house. Every permission to see and inspect the place is kindly accorded to tourists, by whom it is justly regarded as one of the lions of the district, and certainly the charms of an exquisitely unique situation have rarely been heightened by a more refined taste than Captain Vandeleur has manifested, and continues to manifest, in its management. We had hoped that a large engraving of the "Woodhouse" would have formed one of our illustrations, and the addition of such an attraction is among the many improvements we trust to make in our little volume, should its reception warrant the issue of a new edition. Subjoined is our first view of the renowned Bay of Carlingford in this neighbourhood. ROSSTREVOR MOUNTAIN. ROM the Woodhouse we ascend the-in some places almost perpendicular-Sliev Bân, whose summit commands a panoramic view, which, for extent and brilliancy, it is hardly an exaggeration to say, is unsurpassed by any in the three king- ROSSTREVOR MOUNTAIN. as you look seaward, in their highland gorgeousness, is the whole range of the Mourne Mountains those wild waste regions of sterility, desolation, and gloomy grandeur. Right before you, and just beneath your feet, are cultivated slopes and tree-skirted meadows, villas, and comfortable cottages. Then the sea spreads abroad far as the eye can reach, out of which, to the left, the Manx Mountains emerge-blue and indistinct in the distance. To the right is Carlingford and the entire coast, with Clogher Head, the Hill of Howth, and-dimly seen through the golden and azure haze-the Wicklow Mountains. To the south-west is the Estuary of Lough Carlingford, with its hundreds of little white sails glittering in the sun. At your feet lies the loveliest village in Ireland, Rosstrevor-half seen through its leafy screen, The Obelisk (the honoured memento of a brave soldier), Warrenpoint, Narrow Water Castle, and the Newry River, like a silver chain winding through the wood-crowned heights on either side. Sloping and swelling away to the north, are the rich plains of Southern Down, spotted with villas, plantations, and sylvan glades, stretching to Lough Neagh, faintly seen, as though steeped in the mystic glow wherewith the charmed and congenial muse of Moore has suffused it; while beyond appear doubtful lines of blue hills, brought out or mixed with the wreathed clouds in the translucent northern atmosphere. And now we are 'free of mountain solitude." Down below the breeze sleeps upon the unruffled breast of the hushed waters; but here you meet the mountain wind bearing refreshment and health upon his unseen wings. We are on the summit, and wherever you turn, sudden outbursts of beauty or sublimity meet the eye. The utter solitude of the place begets a feeling of solemn and impressive awe, surrounded as we are by the everlasting mountains, bleak, barren, and rudely grand, with scarcely a trace of man. The sides of most of the mountains are bare, but Sliev Bân and some of the others are thickly planted half way to their summits. The tops of all are covered with moss and stunted grass; this, however, affords a plentiful sustenance to the numerous flocks of sheep, which make the sweetest mountain mutton that an epicure could desire, if subjected to the cuisine of the comfortable inn at Rosstrevor, whither we shall arrive presently, with an appetite fit to encounter an Homeric chine, though Ajax, son of Telamon, himself, stood beside it, after an abstinence as long as the longest of the fasts of Bernard Cavanagh. ET us now descend. Right in our path, about one-third way down the mountain, stands Cloughmore, which is a corruption of Cloech mor, a great stone," or, perhaps, more properly Cloechmeur, a "finger stone;" as it is frequently called 66 in the "giant's finger stone." It is a huge mass of granite, upwards of thirty tons weight. It stands upon an elevated shoulder of the mountain, which is separated from the summit of Sliev Bân by a valley. It is difficult to account for its isolated position: like the reel in a bottle, the wonder is how it got there. What its uses were, if any, days gone by, is impervious to the keenest antiquarian vision. Here, probably, when time was young, our Pagan fathers may have worshipped their day god, as he rose from ocean's billowy breast; or here grey Druids may have administered the dread rites of mysterious superstition. Several indications of cromleachs around it would encourage the latter idea. But as faithful historians, we are bound to record a legend which may help to solve the mystery. There is, then, a tradition on the other side of the Lough, which goes to account for the singular position of this stone, |