ames--among them a few of distinguished
persons, such as Thomas Moore, Maria Edgeworth, Mr. and Mrs. S. C.
Hall, and Walter Scott.

After leaving Glendalough, we visited the "Sweet Vale of Avoca," which
the poet Moore has rendered famous by a song, called "The Meeting of
the Waters."

It is a little green valley, in which meet two streams--the Avonmore
and the Avonbeg--a pretty place enough, but hardly coming up to Mr.
Moore's description.

The next day we explored "The Devil's Glen," an exceedingly beautiful
place, for all its naughty name. It is somewhat like the Dargle, but
more wild and romantic. It also has its rugged hills, its stream, and
its waterfall--or its mountains, river, and cataract; as, being in a
foreign country, I suppose we should be polite enough to call them,
instead of letting ourselves be carried away by conceit in our
Mississippis and Niagaras, and being "stuck up" on our Alleghanies and
Mount Washingtons.

Our last day in Wicklow was spent at the beautiful and romantic country
seat of Sir Philip Crampton, or Lough Bray, a wild, lonely little
mountain lake, whose shores are all black peat, or barren rock, except
where flourish the pleasant plantations and shrubberies of Sir Philip,
growing upon manufactured ground, and looking like the enchanted
gardens we read of in fairy tales.

The Lough is a smooth dark sheet of water, so deep in the centre that
it cannot be sounded. There is a pretty pebbly beach at one end, and
all around the other shores the waves make a peculiar musical sound
against the precipitous rocks. It is a charming little lake for
boating, and in fine weather, Sir Philip Crampton always gives his
guests the pleasure of a trip in his pretty row-boat. There are great
numbers of duck and other water-fowl about the lake, which Sir Philip,
who is a kind, genial, delightful old gentleman, has tamed, by feeding
them with crumbs of bread, which he always carries about him when he
goes on the water. No sooner does he make his appearance, than his
winged pets are after him in flocks, all clamoring eagerly for their
"daily bread."

Sir Philip Crampton told me that when his friend, Sir Walter Scott, was
at Lough Bray, on his last visit, a boat excursion was proposed. Sir
Walter had always been passionately fond of boating, and now his eye
brightened, and he smiled gladly at the thought of his favorite
amusement. But just as the party were about stepping into the boat,
Mrs. Sc