We had two more beautiful drives while we were in the _Kingdom of Kerry_: one along the perilous Irish _Cornice_, known as the Coomakista Pass, where one prayed one might not meet the coach, to Park-na-Silla; the other from Kenmare over a rocky road to Glengariff. The Cornice drive beggars description, and I never knew Joe to be so enthusiastic over a view. Shallow little coves fringed with brilliant golden seaweed--upon which herons stand feeding at times--indent the shore itself; but the Sound is studded with numberless islets--some clad with heather, others with semi-tropical shrubs, and faintly ringed with the silver foam of a streaked and gentle sea. In an opal haze beyond them, the opposite shore of County Cork lies as a dream; but the two great guardian cliffs of Ballinskelligs’ Bay with their outriders--the Bull and Cow Rocks--stand in firm and grand outline away whence we came where the Sound joins the Ocean. The coach driver draws up when he reaches the best point, and tells us all about it, and points out the Great Skellig Rock--twelve miles out to sea, and close at hand the bridle path by which O’Connell rode over the mountains to his home at Darrynane. As we near that Bay and its multitude of tiny islets, upon one of which stands the ruined Monastery of St. Finnan, he shews us the “Liberator’s” very house and then we turn inland again among undulating moors--our road fenced with the fuchsia and every variety of fern, till of a sudden the beautiful bridge and square church tower of Sneem village seem to beckon us into the very heart of a fiery sunset. Our second drive from Kenmare was again quite different and not without incident. In the first place Irish unpunctuality caused us to start two hours late, and in the second, when the carriage arrived at last, the harness had to be tied up with cord before we could proceed, a beginning which filled me with alarm though it reminded me of youthful days in Italy: but to Joe it only afforded opportunity for pleasant raillery with his compatriot, and I only wish I could remember all the _bon-mots_ with which they capped one another. The last part of the ascent was very wild, but when we emerged from the tunnel that pierces the topmost granite cliff, the view that burst upon us--though wild still in its freedom from the intrusion of human interest, was soft and tender with all the glamour of the South. Range upon range of finely-chiselled hills stood crossing and re-crossing one another with gentle valleys between, and the glint of water here and there made visible by the golden splash of sunset; and presently the hills--so soft and so solemn upon the mellow evening sky--were cleft to their base, and Bantry Bay lay spread in the distance beneath us.