Saturday.—I have seldom seen a ruin which pleased and interested me more than Carrig o'Gunniel castle. The bold and rocky height on which it is situated commands a most extensive and beautiful view over the majestic Shannon, and the mountains and plains of nearly five counties. This favored spot is adorned too by a variety of old trees, which grow in picturesque groups and natural avenues on the sides of the hill sloping down to the plain. These stately trees, and the tall fern which grows in luxurious profusion amid their twisted roots, give a park-like appearance to the scene which contrasts well with the stern grandeur of the high and abrupt rocks immediately beneath the castle on the river side. It was by this sunny slope we approached the old castle; and a pleasant walk we had among hawthorn-trees in full bloom, brilliant colored heaths, and wild flowers; and over that sort of soft mossy grass which feels so pleasant and springy to the step. I delight in sudden transitions; I love to turn from an extensive view—a view of land, and sea, and sky, which makes the heart expand with adoration to the Great Author of eternity and boundless space; and then look upon the little flower that grows in tiny perfection beneath the feet. The awful sensations excited by the contemplation of immensity, often make us unconsciously exclaim, “Lord, what is man that thou art mindful of him, and the son of man that thou so regardest him!”—and depress us by a feeling of our own insignificance.