When, at length, he heard of the sweet bells of Limerick, he was very old and feeble, but he set out at once on what he knew must be his last pilgrimage. The vessel on which he sailed went up the Shannon, and anchored opposite the city. The old Italian took a boat to go on shore, at the close of a calm and beautiful day. He was very weak and ill, and reclined in the stern of the boat, looking longingly toward St. Mary's Cathedral. Suddenly, from the tall tower, rang softly out the vesper chime. The Italian started up joyfully at the sound. Then he crossed himself, looked upward, and murmured--"I thank thee, blessed mother of Jesus! _I hear my bells at last!_" Then he sank back, and closed his eyes and listened. The men rested on their oars, and all was still, except that sweet, solemn ringing. The Italian seemed to hear in his bells more than their old melody--all the music of his happy home--the deep murmur of the sea below the convent cliff--the sighing of the winds in the cypress and olive trees--and sweeter and dearer than all, the voices of his wife and children. _They_ seemed to be softly calling his pious soul to leave the trouble and weariness of earth for the blessedness and rest of God. And his soul obeyed the call,--for, when the bells ceased their ringing, and the boatmen rowed to land, they found that the aged stranger was dead. About six miles above Limerick are the Rapids of the Shannon, usually called the Falls of Doonas. These can be part way descended in long, narrow skiffs, constructed for the purpose, but the feat is a very hazardous one. I went down, with a friend and two brave boatmen, but though I enjoyed the adventure, I would not advise any one to follow my example. Not far from Limerick are the ruins of Mungret Priory, said to have been founded by St. Patrick, and which once contained no less than one thousand five hundred monks. "As wise as the women of Mungret," is a saying among the Irish, which had its rise, according to tradition, in this way:--