ANY hearts in Canada turn with peculiar fondness to that green isle of the sea, which for centuries has attracted the attention of Christendom for its picturesque beauty, its pathetic history, its political unrest and misfortune. There is much in its past to cause the thrill of patriotic pride. There is much in its sufferings to call forth the tear of sympathy. The home of wit and humour and eloquence, it has also been often the home of suf

fering and sorrow and poverty. Scourged by famine and by fever, its children have been exiled by thousands from its shore.

In speaking of Ireland one must bear in mind that it contains two races widely different in their characteristics. The Protestant minority are thrifty, industrious, and, on the whole, prosperous and contented. The Roman Catholic majority are restless, turbulent, poverty-stricken, and discontented. Canada and Canadian Methodism owe much to the Protestant emigration from Ireland. It was Barbara Heck, an Irish immigrant, who first brought Methodism to the New World, and to this northern land. And at the present day Canadian Methodism owes many of the brightest ornaments in its pulpit, and many of its most useful and prosperous membership, to the Protestant Methodist population of IreVOL. LVIII. No. 5.

land transferred to our shores. In this paper we do not propose to discuss the social or political status of the Green Isle, but to present illustrations of its beautiful scenery which shall carry back the thoughts of many of our readers to some of the most picturesque aspects of that lovely land that still haunt their memories with an undying spell.

Ireland is rich in ecclesiastical remains-abbeys, monasteries, and churches; for, in the earlier ages of Christianity in the west, she was indeed the "Isle of Saints." Her schools of theology were famous; to them men resorted from Britain and the Continent, and from them went forth great scholars, to teach and to preach, whose names are still commemorated in France and Switzerland and Germany.

That genial tourist, Mr. B. E. Bull, B.A., thus describes a visit to those loveliest of Irish lakes, the Lakes of Killarney :

"In no part of Ireland will the student in search of the grand and picturesque receive more ample reward than in the south-western portion of the island. Lakes, which in romantic beauty vie with the boasted ones of Switzerland; mountains, that for sublime grandeur might proudly rear their majestic heads in rivalry with Scotia's own 'Ben Lomond '; rivers and rippling streams, whose sylvan charms are as deserving the homage of the poet's pen or the painter's brush as the more favoured banks of the classic Tiber or or the grand old

Rhine, continually surprise and enchant the wanderer through these. lovely counties.

"But Killarney, the beautiful queen of the southern beauties, sits enthroned in rural verdure, and demands the homage of every pilgrim in search of the sublime and beautiful in nature. That homage would I pay, not by attempting to describe her enchanting loveliness, but merely in offering a devout tribute at her feet in the shape of a brief outline of what I saw, and the impressions 1 experienced when wandering through her lovely dells, or skimming o'er her placid waters.

"It was raining, of course, when we reached Killarney; in fact, if my memory serves me, it rained every day we were in Ireland. I remember passing some remark in reference to the pluvial state of the weather to a Kilkenny native, who in a rich brogue replied: Och, shure, yer honour wouldn't call that rain, it's only parspiration from the mountains.' Killarney proper is a miserable town, noted for its uncleanliness, with a population of about 7,000. Its inhabitants gain rather

"Here you see the Irishman in all his glory. Poor, so poor that the grim monster Hunger is continually hovering around his doorstep, yet withal happy as a lark-laughing, jovial-his ever ready wit continually boiling over with fun. Superstitious and bigoted, devoutly religious at church, yet swearing, drinking, and carousing whenever an opportunity offers; kind and generous towards his friends, yet vengeful and boiling over with bitter hatred towards his enemies, he presents an anomaly difficult to understand.

"We mounted a jaunting-car, and after a lovely drive, during which we

and holding up those of his rivals to ridicule and contempt.

"In addition to these were girls and women of all ages, many inviting us to partake of a nectar they called mountain dew,' being a mixture of goat's milk and whiskey, all begging, blarneying and addressing us in tones cheerful or doleful, as best suited their purpose that purpose, of course, being to catch a few pennies. Here is the mud and stone hovel of the granddaughter of beautiful Kate Kearney, who lived by the lakes of Killarney,' and

hood. Beautiful, indeed, is the prospect before us. Rapidly descending a winding path, in a few minutes we are at a ruin called Lord Brandon's

Cottage, where we dismiss our

horses, thankful that their bones have not collapsed during the journey.

"The Upper Lake of Killarney, on which we now embarked, is two and a half miles long by threequarters of a mile broad. Its wild grandeur strikes the observer with feelings of awe and admiration. It combines the softer beauties of wood