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Seldom had I experienced so delightful a sensation as the present prospect occasioned. All was so calm, so quiet, it seemed, indeed, “the Happy Valley.” Shortly after, however, we found that no golden pleasure is entirely free from alloy, for on turning a projection upon the road, we were nearly stifled from a lime furnace, and what was worse, another and another still succeeded, resembling a line of batteries blazing and vomiting forth smoke and destruction, while upon the opposite mountain an uniform body of iron works were firing away from their tall chimneys, and steadily maintained the never-ceasing conflict.

At length, however, having happily passed these belligerents, my companion led me in triumph into a little public house on the road side, which overlooked a precipice, the Aqueduct Tavern, the exterior of which promised little better accommodation than is met with in an Irish cabin. We entered, nevertheless, and although the floor was of brick, it was very clean, and the household utensils glittered along the walls.