beyond. After admiring the broad, well-cultivated fields of Inch, with the neat comfortable looking farm-houses, the whole surmounted by the conical peak of the island in its warm cap of brown heather, we come to Fahan. It was thus referred to "There is not in this island a vale or a lawn Like that lovely recess in the bosom of Fahan, Where Swilly's dark waves when the wind is at rest Reflect in brown lustre the wild mountain's breast."-Graham. Here the train passes along the very water's edge; the waves dallying and dancing up the side of the line, anon leaping up to the wheels of the carriages, as if in their wanton sport to detain the machine which, alike regardless of pastime or pleasure, keeps on its way. With feelings of holy awe and reverence I passed the romantically situated burying-ground of Fahan, where lie the mouldering remains of my forefathers : "On an Irish green hill side, On an opening lawn, but not too wide, But green sods decked with daisies fair, If one were sure to be buried so."-Davis. From this the mind naturally ranges up the far-famed bosom of Fahan : "Wild is the region, yet gentle the spot, As you look at the roses the rocks are forgot, For garden gay, and primrose lawn, Peep through the rocks, as through night comes the dawn." Davis. And from thence over the hills to the mountain valley beyond, where the tall rush grows flat along the ground, in accordance, it is said, with the wish of a holy man of old, who was impeded by them in his flight from the persecutor. A few strokes of the piston brings you to the point of Runaraw, where there is a station for the accommodation of passengers who come from the opposite shore by the ferry boat. Over the lough is Rathmullan, always suggestive of thoughts of the notorious "trader" of the 16th century, who kidnapped the young heir of Tyrconnell, and carried him a prisoner to Dublin. As you round the point and whirl smoothly down the strand, the scene is perfectly entrancing. On one side, the hills rising just at hand to a considerable elevation, their sides beautifully variegated with patches of bright green grass and brown heath, creating all but irresistible longings to toil up the steep ravines which now and then open to view, and from their summit feast your eyes on the beauties of the landscape around. On the other, the broad bosom of the lough, calm and bright, without an air to disturb its tranquillity; the miniature surges chasing each other, as if in sport, and breaking in sparkles on the glittering sand; the seagull-but I will not attempt to describe him; nothing less than the pen of Griffin could do him justice—and the thousand and one other beauties, "Which I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal."-Byron. As you look down the lough it appears completely landlocked, the mountains of Fannet and Inishowen seeming to run into one another, and to shut out its entrance entirely from the view. On the Inishowen side, Deserteguey lies stretched out before you like a map, rising gently from the water's edge to the summit of the hills, which enclose it on the north and east, among which is the bare blue range of Mamore, which, even at this distance, is singularly attractive. On the opposite side the cultivated valleys are not so plainly visible, but the scenery is interesting enough to claim a portion of attention. Amid such surroundings the train arrives at the station; and were it not for the kind reception he is sure to meet from the friendly people of Buncrana, the tourist would think his journey only too short. CHAPTER IX. Lower Fahan and Desertegney. Proceeding northward, the next in order is the Parish of Lower Fahan, which is bounded on the west by Lough Swilly, and contains 24,783 acres. Population, 4,891. Much of the parish is mountainous, but the valleys are well watered and productive. Freestone is to be found, and there is abundance of limestone. All along the west of this parish, as far as it touches the sea, the inlet of Lough Swilly is deep and spacious, and large quantities of oysters, codfish, and haddock are taken in it. There is a Coast Guard station at Buncrana, and a battery at Neid's Point, which was erected in 1812. The living is a perpetual curacy, in the patronage of the Rector of Upper Fahan; tithes, £283 net. In the Roman Catholic divisions. this parish forms part of the union of Lower Fahan and Desertegney. The principal chapel is at Cockhill; it is a large and beautiful edifice, of modern construction, high sidewalls, pointed windows, and lofty square tower, in which a handsome and sweet-toned bell has lately been suspended. In the buryingground are deposited the earthly remains of the illustrious Bishop Maginn ; but more of this by and by. The Protestant Church is in the town of Buncrana. There is a Presbyterian Meetinghouse and Methodist place of worship. The principal seats are Buncrana Castle, once a residence of the O'Doherty's and O'Donnell's, but now fallen into decay -one of the towers and the dungeon beneath only remain. A new castle was built by Sir John Vaughan, in 1717. There are also the Lodge, Rockfort, Riverview, The Cottage, St. Helens, and Westbrook. There are National Schools at Ballymacarry, Tullydish, Buncrana, Cockhill, Illies, and Drumfries. A curious fort, or cairn, composed of loose stones, having similar ones as outposts, may be seen near Ballinary. In this parish is the town of Buncrana; its population in 1861 was 685; it is distant ten miles from Derry, with which it is connected by rail. Markets are held on Tuesdays and Fridays, and fairs on the 9th of May and 27th of July.* Buncrana was of considerable importance in the reign of Elizabeth, but it afterwards fell into decay, and was restored and laid out in its present form by Sir John Vaughan, in 1717. It is beautifully situated on the western shore of Lough Swilly, and is much frequented as a watering-place. A very costly and spacious building, erected by a local building company on the very edge of the lough, and designed for a hotel, has just been completed. This establishment is well calculated to enhance, among bathers and excursionists, the attractions of Buncrana and its neighbourhood. Lough Swilly here expands into an arm of the sea, bounded by mountains and rocks of majestic character, and forming a capacious harbour, of easy access, suitable for vessels of any burden. Vessels are engaged fishing for sole, plaice, and turbot, which are taken in large quantities, and of a superior kind. Buncrana is the head-quarters of a Constabulary district. In the centre of the town is the Courthouse and Bridewell, a Other fairs are held at Buncrana, though, as I believe, they are not enrolled at the Patent Office. large and handsome building, erected by the late Wm. Todd, Esq., at an outlay of £1,300, and presented by him to the county on this being made a town for holding Quarter Sessions. In the immediate vicinity are extensive mills and factories for spinning and weaving fine and coarse linens, the property of the Messrs. Richardson, of the neighbourhood of Belfast, which employ a great number of hands. The scene of the following legend is the banks of the beautiful river Crannagh, which flows into the sea on the north-west of the town. Slieve Snaght is at the north east end of a short but beautifully serrated range of peaks, which gradually diminish in height in the direction of Lough Swilly, until they are lost in the steep abrupt crags near the confluence of the Ooanbwee and Crannagh rivers. From their junction the river is called the Crannagh, and at its mouth is situated the town of Buncrana; hence its name, "Foot of the Tree-clad River." Within the memory of the present generation, or perhaps I should say the lingering remains of the past, the valley of the river was one magnificent forest, and, as I heard old people tell, you could walk upon the branches of the trees from Buncrana along the whole course of the river, far up on the mountain sides. A fringe of stunted oak, hazel, and birch, still grows along the water's edge, the sole remaining indication of its former leafy grandeur. But at a period long anterior to the past and preceding generations, and during one of those many exciting struggles so common in the end of the 16th and beginning of the 17th centuries, between the ancient Milesian possessors of the soil and their Saxon successors, a Gow, or smith, famous for his skill in manufacturing warlike implements, was driven before the victorious conquerors from place to place, until at last he thought he had secured a safe retreat far up among those mountain fastnesses. Whether the patriot smith was any relation to the Gow Crom of Scott's Fair Maid of Perth, or the famous Neal The Man, I know not, but certain it is that for a long time he continued, in defiance of edict and proclamation, to supply the hardy mountaineers with arms of the finest tempered steel, in their many sanguinary raids on their slowly, but surely, advancing foe. At last the keen scouts of the vigilant enemy found out his wild hiding-place and armoury, up at the hill foot, behind those grand old woods, and taking him in the act of preparing supplies for their now broken and scattered, though still undismayed assailants, they determined to quench F for ever, in his heart's blood, that hearth which so often glowed with the red hot iron in preparation for their own destruction. They cut the head off the poor smith, stuck it on a pole, and left it there to give a name for ever to the village which in aftertimes sprang up around the spot, Kin-y-Gow, (pronounced to rhyme with low) or the Smith's Head. But the most wonderful part of the story remains yet to be told; for though his life-blood was shed by the incensed soldiery, still his hearth was not extinguished, nor his patriotic labours concluded. Ever since, from night-fall till morning, in the calm of the summer and the angry tempests of winter, the ruddy glow of his fire can be distinctly seen by every inhabitant of that wild mountain valley. Often have I gazed upon it at the distance of two miles, with supernatural awe, softened, it is true, by the nightly recurrence of the scene; and though I could plainly observe the iron borne from the fire to the sounding anvil, yet, owing to the distance, I could never "hear his bellows blow," nor the ring of his ponderous hammer. Let no incredulous philosopher attempt to explain away this nocturnal phenomenon by a Willo'-the-Wisp theory; this light is much too fiery red, too steady and unchanging for that. He is engaged, as every old woman can tell you, in the manufacture of arms for the enchanted band of Elagh; and, from his former dexterity, and his close attention to business, there is every likelihood of his having, "when the time comes," such a supply of needle-guns for them as will enable them to enter the lists with the best military tacticians of the day. As Lower Fahan was so long the scene of the pastoral labours of the illustrious Bishop Maginn, it is but right that the following precis of his life should be inserted here. Edward Maginn was born at Fintona, County Tyrone, on the 16th of December, 1802. When he was four years' old his parents removed from Fintona to Buncrana, and, at the same time, he was put under the tuition of his granduncle, the parish priest of Monaghan, where he remained for eight years. He then rejoined his parents in Inishowen, where he pursued his studies until his 16th year, under Mr. Thomas M'Colgan, of Cregamullin, Clonmany, a graduate of the University of Paris. Mr. M'Colgan was intended for the priesthood, but was obliged to give up his studies on account of ill health. At the age of 16 young Maginn left Ireland, and entered the Irish College, Paris, where he spent seven years. As a scholar he was re |