While the Irish counties differ very materially in extent, the provinces show the following proportions: Munster, 6,064,579 acres; Ulster, 5,475,458; Leinster, 4,871,118; Connaught, 4,392,043. The island is further subdivided into 316 baronies, 2,532 parishes, and 60,760 townlands, which average about 300 acres each. These are figures with which every student of Irish history should be familiar. The country is, in general, very fertile, and grows cereals luxuriantly. The green crops, such as turnips, parsnips, cabbages, and kindred vegetables, are unexcelled. Its grazing capacity is very great, and Irish horses, homed cattle, sheep, and swine are among the choicest in Europe. Apples, pears, plums, and the smaller fruits grow abundantly in the mild, moist climate, but the Irish sun will not ripen peaches, grapes, or tomatoes, unless they are under glass. Poultry thrive wondrously, and there is a large exportation of fowl and eggs to the British markets. Irish butter ranks high also. Yet the country is poor, chiefly because of the scarcity of manufactures, and for other reasons that will be explained as we proceed. The Irish climate is equable, but, in general, damp, when compared with that of America. Neither summer heat nor winter cold produces discomfort, except at very rare intervals. Violent storms are infrequent, except along the western coast, and electrical disturbances are much rarer than in our atmosphere. Only one cyclonic storm, that of January 6, 1839, visited Ireland during the nineteenth century, and it is known to this day as “the Big Wind.” Irish scenery is peculiar in character—soft, yet bold of outline, as regards its mountain regions. The cliffs on the Connaught, Ulster, and Munster coasts are tall and beetling—those of Moher, in Clare, and those that flank the Giants’ Causeway—a remarkable basaltic formation in Antrim—being the most notable. All the elevations that rise above a thousand feet are clothed with the heather, which is also peculiar to Scotland, and this plant changes its hue with every season so that there is a constant shifting of color, which adds much to the charm of the landscape. The Irish sky, too, is changeful, so much so that an Irish poet, in paying tribute to the beauty of his wife, wrote: “Eyes like the skies of dear Erin, our mother, Where shadow and sunshine are chasing each other!”