Turning into another street, another and similar crowd was encountered. This time the coffin was covered with black cloth, but decorated like the other, with mouldings, nails, and iron plates. In five minutes more came another. We were told the bodies were to remain in the cathedral till to-morrow, when mass could be held and they would be buried. This is a custom of the place each evening, and has been continued from time immemorial. It results from bad judgment as to what is a good use of the present, or what is a befitting preparation for the hereafter. It is a type of superstition gone to seed, and shows a love for sitting in "the region and shadow of death." Now we ramble over the town, and through some of the well-kept and stone-walled roads. In spite of the condition of the most populous parts, there is a delight and charm in these suburbs. In that pleasant evening air, within sound of the vesper bells, enveloped in the general stillness of that village atmosphere, there came good and vivid impressions of the antiquity of the place. Without an effort came the remembrance that, through the past centuries, thousands and tens of thousands of sight-seers, poets, historians, and people of great and of small renown, had walked these streets, meditated, used the time as we were doing, and passed on,--their feet never to press this historic soil again,-- Like the snow-fall in the river, A moment white, then melts forever. The next morning we took a jaunting-car, and began our tour of the lakes. A most elegant day it was, like good old George Herbert's Sunday--the "bridal of the earth and sky." Admirable in all respects were the roads and their surroundings,--a perpetual reminder of worse kept ones at home. We pass an elegant stone building, the Union Workhouse and County Lunatic Asylum, on the right, leaving the cathedral on our left, and ride on through that lovely scenery. It is not wild or romantic, in the common signification of those words. On our right, off in the fields and on elevated ground, are the ruins of Aghadoe, overlooking an immense valley, where reposes--out of sight to us at our left, Lough Leane, the lower and largest of the three celebrated lakes.