below, and a horse draws it to the saw
mill, where the block will be raised again by
more airy machinery, and placed in the right
position for the saws. It weighs only about
three tons. A single horse can draw a weight
of five tons. The largest size is, as has been
said, fifteen tons.

We go down to the saw- mills—down,
among, and round, hillocks of refuse. The
noise in the mill is so horrid—in kind as well
as degree—that we cannot stay: but a glance
is enough. The engine works the great saws,
which here do not split the blocks, but square
them, and smooth their sides and ends. The
rest is done at the works below—at the port.
The grating and rasping can be better
conceived than described or endured. Above
the blocks are suspended a sort of funnel, from
which sand and water drip, in aid of the
sawing process. We see this, glance at the
curious picture of grey blocks—perpendicular
saws, apparently moving up and down by
their own will—and superintending men—and
thinking how good a spectacle it would be,
but for the tremendous noise, hasten away.

On the road down hill is one of the broad-
wheeled trucks, laden with an enormous
block. We wonder how we shall pass it.
We do so, by favour of a recess in the road,
and jog on. On the left, opens a charming
narrow lane, overhung with ash and birch,
gay with gorse, and bristling with brambles.
We jump off our car, dismiss it, plunge down
the lane, waste a vast deal of time in feasting
on blackberries—the dessert to our biscuit-
lunch—and at last sit down on some stones
to say how good Valencia blackberries are,
and how gaudy a Valencia lane is with gorse
and heather; and then we talk over, and fix
in our memories what we have seen; and
finally emerge from the bottom of the lane,
explore the dairy and old house of the Knight
of Kerry, and proceed on our way to the
works at the port, heedless of how the time
slips away while we gaze at the lighthouse,
and the opposite shore, and far away over
Dingle Bay, to the faint blue Dingle
mountains. We do, however, at length reach the
gate of the works.

We miss the terrible noise of which we had
been warned, and which had made itself
heard in our inn. The works are, in fact,
stopped for the repair of the machinery; and
as they will not be going again while we are
in Valencia, we can only look round and see
what we can. We see on every hand noble
slabs of slate, many feet long and broad, and
from half-an-inch to three inches in thickness.
Scores of them are standing on edge, leaning
against each other, as if they could be lifted
up, and carried away like sheets of pasteboard.
By picking up a bit that has been cut off, one
finds the difference. It is very heavy; and
this, I suppose, is the impediment to its adoption
for many domestic purposes for which it
is otherwise remarkably fit. One boy was at
work on a great piece that we could make
nothing of without explanation. It had large
round holes cut out, as if with a monstrous
cheese-taster, the slab being an inch thick:
and the boy was cutting out pieces of what
was left between the circles. It was for the
ridge of a house; and in a moment we saw
that the pattern was like that of many barge-
boards of ornamented cottages. We found
that the carving, turning, and ornamental
manufacture of slate articles does not proceed
far in Valencia, as the London houses do not
like rivalship in that part of the business;
but in the abode of the proprietor we saw, in
an amusing way, what might be done by any
one who has a mind to furnish his house
with slate.

On entering the garden door, we found, as
might be expected, a pavement of slate,
smooth and close-fitted, leading up to the
house. The borders of the parterres were of
upright slates; and there was a little
gravestone in the grass—in memory, doubtless, of
some domestic pet—of the same material
The narrow paths between the vegetable
beds were paved with slate, and reasonably,
considering how wet the climate is, and how
quickly slate dries. The sundial and garden
seats followed of course. Entering the house,
we found, not only the pavement of the hall,
but its lower panels, of slate; and this
reminded us of the excellence of granaries and
barns which are flagged instead of boarded,
and have a skirting-board of slate, which
keeps out rats and mice altogether, supposing
the door to be in good order. The saving in
grain soon pays the difference between such
a material and wood, which rats always can
and do gnaw through, sooner or later.

In the hall were an umbrella and hat-stand,
a slab, and a standard-lamp, all of slate. The
weight is a favourable quality in the first and
last of these articles; but, great as is the
advantage of the lamp not being liable to be
upset, the colour of slate is too dark. Dark
lamp-stands absorb too much light. In the
dining-room was a very handsome round table
of slate—variegated somewhat like marble,
and delightfully clean-looking, smooth, and
level. Its weight makes it all but immoveable;
and this may be an objection: but
there is no doubt of its beauty—with its
moulded rim, its well-turned stem, and
finished pedestal. At the Knight of Kerry's
house we had seen a carved mantel-piece, with
fluted pillars of slate; and here we saw other
mantel-pieces, variously carved. The fenders
were delightful;—smoothly turned slopes,
which invited the feet to rest and be warmed;
—simple, effectual, and so neat as to be really
pretty. There was nothing that we liked so
well as the fenders—unless it was the
paperweights, simply ornamented; or the
bookshelves—perfectly plain, with their rounded
edges, and their evident capacity to bear any
weight. No folios, however ancient—no
atlasses, however magnificent, can bend a
shelf of slate; and I very much doubt whether