Looking east on a clear day the view is superb. From Claudeboye woods and lakes, Belfast Lough and the Antrim hills on the left, the eye sweeps round to Cantire and the Scotch coast, till distance is lost in the dim range of Cumberland hills. Descending again, we enter the principal chamber—octagonal, oak-paneled, with groined pointed ceiling and stained-glass windows. On these are numerous quaint designs, intermixed with the signs of the zodiac, showing the pursuits of mankind during the progress of the seasons—from the sturdy sower of spring to the shrivelled old man warming his toes by the winter fire. Over the fire-place is a niche for a silver lamp, and flanking the west window are two poetical inscriptions—that on the left, printed in gold and having reference to the lamp, is by Lord Dufferin’s mother; and that on the right, printed in bold black type, is by the poet-laureate. On reading Lady Gifford’s graceful verses, we are pathetically reminded that she was not spared to see her son’s brilliant career. I give them here, and the laureate’s sonorous lines stand at the head of this paper. TO MY DEAR SON ON HIS TWENTY-FIRST BIRTHDAY. [_With a Silver Lamp._—“_Fiat Lux._”] How shall I bless thee? Human Love Is all too poor in passionate words! The heart aches with a sense above All language that the lip affords! Therefore, a symbol shall express My love;—a thing nor rare nor strange, But yet—eternal—measureless— Knowing no shadow and no change! Light! which of all the lovely shows To our poor world of shadows given, The fervent Prophet-voices chose Alone—as attribute of Heaven! At a most solemn pause we stand! From this day forth, for evermore, The weak, but loving, human hand Must cease to guide thee as of yore! Then as through life thy footsteps stray And earthly beacons dimly shine, “Let there be Light” upon thy way, And holier guidance far than mine. “Let there be Light” in thy clear soul, When Passion tempts, or Doubts assail, When Grief’s dark tempests o’er thee roll “Let there be Light” that shall not fail! So—angel guarded—may’st thou tread The narrow path, which few may find; And at the end look back, nor dread To count the vanished years behind! And pray, that she whose hand doth trace This heart-warm prayer, when life is past, May see and know thy blessed face In God’s own glorious Light at last!—_Good Words._ Mr. Robert Browning has also written lines upon this “Tower,” and has consented to their publication in a late issue of the _Pall Mall Gazette_. In an introduction to the poem, the _Gazette_ remarks: “The difference in treatment of the same subject by the two poets will, we are sure, interest our readers. Mr. Browning’s tribute to the love-inducing qualities of the late Lady Gifford was no mere compliment, as all who knew her will bear witness.”