ide a
rude altar of stones, it made us shudder to think that hundreds of
human beings had probably been cruelly sacrificed there as offerings to
the gods of the Druids. What a happy, blessed thing it is to know that
such dreadful crimes can never again be committed here, under the name
of religion.

I should like to tell you about some of the admirable charitable
institutions of Belfast--in which I became interested--and describe
some of the beautiful scenery of the neighborhood, but I have so many
things and places to speak of in this chapter, that I must not allow
myself to linger longer here.

While at Belfast, we made a delightful excursion to Shane's Castle, the
seat of Lord O'Neil.

The O'Neils were for many centuries kings of Ulster, and were a very
proud and warlike race. There is a curious tradition of the manner in
which they came into possession of their kingdom: "In an ancient
expedition for the conquest of Ireland, the leader declared that
whoever of his followers should first touch the shore, should possess
the territory. One of them, the founder of the O'Neils, seeing that
another boat was likely to reach the land before him, seized an axe and
with it cut off his left hand, which he flung on shore, and so, was the
first to 'touch' it."

Shane's Castle and the O'Neil estate are situated upon Lough Neagh, the
largest lake in Great Britain. There is a legend that this sheet of
water covers land that was once cultivated--cottages, castles, and even
villages. The peasants say that there was once a well in the midst of
this country--an enchanted well--which was always kept covered with a
heavy stone, lest its waters should rise and overwhelm the land. One
day, a careless woman went to this well to get water to boil her
potatoes in, and hearing her baby cry, ran home without waiting to
cover the well--which presently began to leap up in a great column,
like a water-spout of an under-ground sea--and poured out so fast and
furious, that before many hours the whole valley was overflowed, and
that night, the moon smiled to see herself reflected in a new lake.

On our route from Belfast to the Giant's Causeway, we passed through
several towns, of little importance now, though of some historical
note--such as Carrickfergus, Larne, and Glenarm. This last is a
beautifully situated town, with a pleasant little bay, which usually
affords a safe shelter for shipping on a coast somewhat renowned for
wrecks and