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There are few, if any, amongst the beautiful scenes of our beautiful island that present a fairer picture than the valley of the Boyne; and its rarest beauty lies in that part which history has made famous. In this sketch the writer does not intend to sketch the "ill-fated river" along its whole course, but, beginning at Slane, merely to follow its windings to the sea below Drogheda. No justice could be done to the noble river in such a brief sketch as this must be, were the attempt made to show its beauties as it winds along through the rich rolling valleys of Meath. At Slane, then, we begin. It is a spot full of romantic as well as historic interest. On a noble lawn, sweeping up from the river, stands Slane Castle, the seat of the Marquis of Conyngham,—one of those grand old battlemented structures that bring back to the mind the days of mail-clad knights of tournament and chivalry. High over the river it rises in its pride, and its grey massive outlines show clear and sharp against the dark background of wood that lines the opposite side. Then sheer from the water’s edge rises Beauparc wood, spreading a dark shadow over the river beneath. Above the little town rises the celebrated hill of Slane, commanding an extensive view all round; and on its summit is the hoary ivy-clad ruins of an old Abbey, the tower of which stands yet with a broken winding stone stairs winding to the top. It is neither easy nor safe to attempt the ascent, but they who brave the toil and the danger are amply repaid for their toil and trouble. To the hill of Slane, it was that Saint Patrick proceeded, after landing at Colp below Drogheda: here on its summit he boldly lighted his fire on the night when pagan superstition commanded, under pain of death, that all fires should be extinguished with the exception of that of the