illsborough is the most perfect picture of a feudal establishment
that I know. On one side of the little, quiet, tradeless town are the
ruins of the old castle, with its park and its fine ancestral trees,
through the thick foliage of which pierces the spire of the church,
lofty and beautiful. On the other side, and quite close to the town,
is 'the new castle'--an immense building of cut stone, in the Greek
style, two storeys high, shut in by high walls from the view of the
townsfolk. Then there is the small market-square, with the court-house
in the centre, the hotel at the top, and other buildings of a better
class on the opposite side. From the hill, which is crowned by these
buildings, descend small streets, in which dwell the inhabitants, all
more or less dependent on the lord of the manor, all cared for by him,
and many of them pensioned when disabled by age or infirmity.

There is a monument erected to the memory of the late marquis's
father on a hill to the south of the town. The view from this point is
glorious. Belfast lies a little beyond, enveloped in the smoke emitted
from its numerous tall chimneys. To the left is the range of the
Antrim highlands, continued along the coast of the Lough towards
Carrickfergus, and from which the Cave Hill stands out in bold relief,
looking down on the numerous pretty villas with which the taste
of wealthy manufacturers and merchants has adorned those pleasant
suburbs. Westward towards Lough Neagh, swelling gradually--southward
towards Armagh, and round to Newry, the whole surface of the country
gently undulating, presents a vast picture of quiet beauty, fertility,
and plenty that can be rivalled only in England. The tall crowded
stocks along the ridges of the corn-fields attested the abundance of
the crops--the rich greenness and warmth of the landscape showing how
well the ground has been drained, manured, and cultivated. The neat,
white-walled houses gleaming amidst the verdure of sheltering trees
and trimmed hedges tell the thoughtful observer that the people who
dwell in this land belong to it, are rooted in it, and ply their
industry under the happy feeling that, so far as their old landlords
are concerned, their lot is one of 'quietness and assurance for ever.'
Nowhere--even on the high ranges about Newry, where the population is
far too dense, where the patchwork cultivation creeps up the mountain
side, and the hand of industry snatches a precarious return from a
poor