And surely on a bright clear morning, with just
enough of sunlight, it is as fair a scene as mortal eye can rest on. The
Dublin and Wicklow hills, which at first seemed to rise from the shore,
recede by degrees, and with their undulating graceful outlines, become a
charming background. Wicklow Head drops quietly out of the landscape,
and Howth to the north, and Bray Head to the south, now become the bold
gigantic flanking towers of what is more strictly regarded as Dublin
Bay. The traveller's eyes, beaming with enjoyment, survey the fine
perpendicular rock of Bray Head, with the railway marking a thin line
upon its side nearly midway above the sea, and almost suspended over it.
And then there is that beautiful cone, the Sugarloaf mountain; further
still away, the loftier Djous, overhanging a dark, misty valley, which
marks the spot where the waters of Powerscourt tumble down the rock a
height of three hundred feet; on, on across the Dublin range to
Montpelier, the valley of the Liffey, the city--notable to the
north-west by its dusky-brown atmosphere; then the historic plains of
Clontarf; Howth once again, and the panorama is complete. But he nears
the shore rapidly, and the harbour grows more distinct, Kingstown,
rising from it with its terraces, and spires, and towers, looking
important and aristocratic.
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