ploughs and other farm implements. We find that soap and candles, ships and silk, are among the foremost productions of the city. The chief of all, however, are porter and whiskey. The breweries of Dublin have the largest output of any in the world. We see many more apartment houses than we found in Belfast. But we are, above

all, impressed by the fact that Dublin is a city of imposing public and government buildings.

Dublin has no harbor of its own, but an excellent one has been made at Kingstown at the mouth of the Liffey, the river which flows through the city. Directly across the Irish Sea are the mines and manufacturing towns of Lancashire, England. Business with them makes Dublin a busy commercial city. It is also a great railway centre. The many canals, too, which enter the Liffey, aid in the commerce. The adjacent region is the best tilled in Ireland.

Fortunately, we are in Dublin when the annual horse

show is held. In the afternoon we enter a tram and ride to the grounds, which are on the borders of the city. We walk through the stables, where we find hundreds of the most beautiful horses we have ever seen. The grooms are busy, and many of the owners, also, are here looking after the wants of their steeds.

We follow the throng of people that is moving toward the exhibition grounds. Ladies in beautiful gowns, and men from every country in Europe, are here. We recognize many Americans. So great is the crowd that we are unable to obtain seats, so we stand while we are watching the horses in the course. This afternoon the judges are having the trials of the hunters and jumpers. Artificial ditches and mounds have been made at intervals on the course. In a few minutes we are specially interested in one small horse which, with little apparent effort, leaps gracefully over the mounds and walls, and across the ditches.

Some of the horses, as they leap, strike the tops of the loose walls with their hoofs. All these jumpers are ruled out. The little horse we admire continually distances all his rivals. More and more of the jumpers are taken out of the trial because they do not clear the walls without striking some of the loose stones. At last, only four horses are left to compete. Our little jumper easily outruns them all. The first prize is his. How proud his owner is! That man who is talking to him is a duke, and he is trying to purchase the beautiful little winner.

Carriage horses, jumpers, ponies, horses of many kinds are brought to Dublin for the horse show, which is a great annual event. And here, too, come many thousands of interested men and women to see the exhibition. As we look about us in the crowd, we at once conclude that the Irish women are the most beautiful of any that we have seen in the British Isles.

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The next day we devote to an excursion to Tara, where, years ago, ancient kings of Ireland had their homes. Many stories of the one hundred and forty master monarchs who dwelt here are told us by our talkative guide. One of the kings was Laeghaire, who was buried standing erect, clad in his armor. His face, even in death, was turned to his foes. We see the huge mound of earth, four hundred feet long, which covers his body.

Our guide leads us to the site of the great banqueting hall of the kings. It had fourteen doors, and was seven hundred feet long. Here the guests of the king were arranged at the feasts in the order of the importance of their positions, the historians, poets, and priests coming first; the jesters and jugglers last. In the national museum at Dublin our party has already seen the gorgeous golden dress of the kings, and the wonderful Tara brooch which fastened the king's crimson cloak. At Tara we are shown the famous stone of destiny, on which the Irish kings were crowned. Near it is an imposing statue of St. Patrick, who naturally visited the place often in his labors. The harp of King Brian Boru also interests. us. The harp is the national musical instrument of Ireland, and even now it can be seen on the monuments in some of the villages in the interior of the island. Just as Erin is still loved by her children, so is the harp, the symbol of her music and romance and poetry. While we are at Tara, one of the ladies of our party reads aloud some of the Irish Melodies that Tom Moore wrote. Among the words are these:

The harp that once through Tara's halls

The soul of music shed,

Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls

As if that soul were fled.

No more to chiefs and ladies bright

The harp of Tara swells;

The chord alone, that breaks at night,

Its tale of ruin tells.

In spite of her poverty to-day, Ireland is, and has reason to be, proud of her wonderful history. Long before Great Britain and Europe had begun to be really civilized, the little island lying out here in the Atlantic had her scholars and her saintly missionaries, who were

busily spreading education and religion all over the British Isles. Then, what famous poets and orators the land has had! In recent times, the sons of Ireland in France, Spain, America, and England, have shown their greatness.

At last we are started on our way to the cities of the South. As we ride across the country from Dublin, we see many market gardens near the city. Farther on we come to fertile plains, and still farther we see great bogs

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that extend for miles. In these bogs we obtain glimpses of people cutting peat, or "turf," as many of the Irish call it. The peat is used for fuel, as it contains sufficient carbon (the remains of the forests that once covered the land) to burn readily. It is much cheaper than coal, and provides the only fire the peasants have. The peat is cut by a sharp spade into blocks not much larger than an ordinary brick. It is piled as bricks are, too. We see many of these piles of peat as we ride through the country.

The farms, we find, are more scattered than in England, and the homes of the peasants are less attractive, except in the more prosperous regions. The houses and barns are mostly thatched, and the great houses of the gentry-the landed proprietors-are magnificent in their contrast with the humble abodes of the poor. Until recently, the Irish peasants have claimed that if they did improve their houses, the result was that they had to pay more rent. Perhaps this explains why so many of these places are neglected.

Recently the land laws have been somewhat improved. Some maintain that the laws now governing the sale of Irish lands are the best in the kingdom. At all events, we know the Irish have been sorely oppressed in years. gone by. To-day many are buying the lands they culti vate. If a better day has come for Ireland, all the world will rejoice.

From the windows of our car we occasionally see cromlechs-piles of stones that remind us of Stonehenge. Doubtless, these stones - one huge stone resting upon several that uphold it are the remains of ancient altars. They add greatly to the picturesqueness of the landscape. Many of the valleys of the Emerald Isle are famous for the traditions connected with them, as well as for their beauty and fertility.