TRANSCRIBERS’ NOTE
The cover image for this e-book was created by Distributed Proofreadersand is being placed in the Public Domain
THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
| Number 5. | SATURDAY, AUGUST 1, 1840. | Volume I. |
If the citizens of our capital have to acknowledge, and perhapslament, that they are unable to compete with some othercities of the empire in the extent of their commerce, the numberof their manufactories, the wealth of their resident aristocracy,or, in short, any of the various results which a longand uninterrupted course of artificial prosperity is certain tobestow, they may still console themselves with the reflection,that in the singularly varied beauties of scenery withwhich their city is surrounded they possess riches of greatervalue, and enjoyments of a higher nature, of which they cannotbe deprived by any circumstance, and in which no othercity can ever hope to rival them. And although to the meregrovelling pursuer of gain, who is incapable of a single elevatedor ennobling feeling, such a consideration may seem amatter of trivial importance, to those of wiser, better, andmore happily constituted minds, it will always be a source ofself-gratulation, as affording pleasures easily procured, andwhich they would not exchange for any of a grosser kind. Itis, indeed, beyond a question, that there is no city in the Britishempire exhibiting around it such a variety of picturesquebeauties as our own dear Dublin. We have the villa-studded,pastoral plain—the spacious bay, with all its variety of coast,from the sandy beach to the bluff sea-promontory—therichly-wooded valley with its limpid river—the lonely mountainglen with its cataracts and tiny trout-streams—the purpleheath and the solitary tarn, or pool—the rural village and thegay watering-place; while in addition to all these, the interestimparted to natural scenery, by remains of ancient times, isevery where present. In short, there is no class of scenerywhich the poet, the painter, the geologist, the botanist, or themere man of pleasure, could desire, that may not be reachedin a drive of an hour or two from any part of our city.Nature has showered on us, with a generous hand, her variousriches—the riches derived from her and our Creator. It must,however, be confessed that, as yet, we have not learned sufficientlyto appreciate these gifts, and, consequently, do notsufficiently enjoy them. "The world is too much with us"—andthere are many scenes of striking interest within ourreach, which are more frequently seen by the stranger visitantthan by ourselves. Of these, one of the most remarkableis the mountain lake called Lough Bray, of which we givea sketch in our present number. How many thousands arethere of the citizens of Dublin who have never seen, perhapsnever heard of, this little mountain pool; and yet it is one of themost perfect examples of scenery of its kind in Ireland—oneof those spots in which nature appears in her most stern and[Pg 34]rugged aspect; solitary, gloomy, and unfit for the companionshipof man. Still it is not wholly a desert. The eagles whichbuild in its cliffs have seen a man of a kindred lofty spirit—aneagle among men—build himself a nest amongst these solitudes;and t