These innocent, or rather imbecile, blunders or fictions are followed by another blasphemous satire upon our Church service--coupled with the remark, that Ireland is "debased by the stupid intolerance of the English priesthood," and that, therefore, out of a party of twenty persons, nobody knew where Carlsbad or Prague was; they did not even know where Bohemia was; in short, "everything out of Great Britain and Paris was a country in the moon." All this is at Limerick,--where the sexton of one of the "Catholic churches" told him they had rung the bells as soon as they heard of his arrival, and begged ten shillings as a gratuity; though we strongly suspect, that in 1828, the "Catholic churches" had no bells; where his highness is offered the order of the Liberators, which he declines, and compounds for dining with the Agitators; and where also occurs that scene of his being mistaken for young Ney, which we took leave to transpose to the earlier part of our observations, in order to identify the author. The great object, however, of his highness's Irish excursion was, as might have been anticipated, to visit Mr. O'Connell; and accordingly he gets a horse (a friend's, of course) to ride to Derrinane, by a route which man on horseback never went before. On the journey a "soft rain began to fall," and his delicate highness (who, be it remembered, always prefers, or, at least, adopts the fashion of "travelling outside") writes thus:--"As I am seldom in the way of enjoying such a bath in the open air, I waded with a great feeling of satisfaction and pleasure through the streams, throwing myself in some degree into the pleasurable state of mind of a duck. Nothing of that kind is, as you know, impossible to my mobile fancy." What are we to make of this? His "thorough-lustre," the Prince Puckler-Muskau--the "dignified," "prepossessing," all-accomplished, admired of Goethe, the frank and favoured correspondent of Julia, and the personal friend of Lady Morgan,--to be able to throw himself into the pleasurable state of mind of a duck! and then appealing to his "beloved soul" to bear public testimony that he is capable of such an exertion. But perhaps the translator is in fault, and "duck" is not the right word. In his progress to Derrinane, a series of Munchausen adventures await his highness:--he contrives to keep his seat in the saddle six miles after having broken his saddle-girths--he subsequently saddles himself, and leads his horse, (his carriage and people not being there)--and at length, after fording bottomless torrents, ascending inaccessible hills, and avoiding various inevitable accidents, the least of which would have been mortal, he reaches "the Abbey," and, after much thumping and ringing, obtains admission. As many of our readers may never have had the honour of inspecting this distinguished _interieur_, we must let his highness speak:--