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A FEW evenings after the foregoing incidents,
Edward expressed a desire to view the celebrated
cliffs called the “Gabbon Heughs,” being the only
part of the Antrim coast which he had not formerly
visited. The young ladies, Martin and O'Halloran,
agreed to accompany him; and it was settled that
they should set out after breakfast the next morning.
An invitation in the meantime was sent to the
eldest son of Mr. Wilson, a youth who was well
accustomed to navigate the coast, to attend with
his sister, a young girl scarcely fourteen, which was
accepted. Two of O'Halloran's servants were
also taken along for the purpose of managing the
oars in case of a calm.

The weather was as favourable as they could
wish; and at the time they left the shore the sun had
dispelled every cloud, and was ascending towards
his meridian altitude in unveiled majesty. The
water was smooth and glossy; for there had been
no high winds for several days. A moderate and favourable
breeze sprung up from the north-west, and
filling their sails, soon blew them from the land.
In about twenty minutes, they were opposite the
mouth of Larne harbour, and perceived the ruins

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of Old Fleet Castle, at about two miles distant,
standing on the narrow stripe of land called the
Curran, which projects from the bottom of the valley
in which Larne is situated, into the harbour,
which expands southward into a large lake, extending
upwards of five miles, between the main land
and the peninsula of Magee. Our party perceived
the bosom of this lake to be studded with
merchant vessels of various sizes, while numerous
yachts, barges and fishing boats, plied in the strait
between the Curran and the peninsula. They
soon, however, doubled one of the points of the
latter, and lost sight of this animating scene.

They now passed rapidly along Brown's bay,
at the eastern extremity of which O'Halloran informed
them that there was to be seen one of those
ancient monuments of superstition, called Rocking
Stones, by the instrumentality of which, the druidical
priests are said to have imposed on their followers,
the belief that they possessed preternatural powers.
The party stopped to examine this curiosity, and
found it to consist of a prodigious rock, upwards of
fifty tons weight, seated on two points so firmly as
not to be displaced by the united strength of twenty
horses, but so delicately poised as to be easily
moved by the little finger of the gentlest lady of
the party.

“What think you of this?” said Edward to Sir
Francis. “Do you suppose that this rock was
placed here by human means?”

“Tradition says so,” replied Sir Francis;” but
tradition ever loves to ascribe wonders to our ancestors.
It particularly delights to magnify their
personal prowess; and, indeed, if we could believe
that the raising and fixing of this extraordinary
balance was the work of our forefathers, we must
acknowledge that they were a wonderful race,
every way equal to those giants in strength and

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stature, to whom popular opinion has ascribed the
construction of the celebrated Causeway at the
lower end of this county. But I have formed a
theory concerning these moving rocks, which, indeed,
ascribes their construction to human hands,
but does not require that they should be larger or
more powerful than our own. Respecting this one
in particular, I can see nothing absurd or improbable
in the supposition that some dexterous mechanical
genius finding it favourably situated for
his purpose, attempted, and succeeded in the attempt,
to afford it the small capacity for motion,
which it possesses, by removing obstructions in
some places, and placing impediments in others.
But that it was raised and fixed in its present situation
by human means, is not to be credited, for
even if our remote progenitors had possessed machinery
sufficient to lift and adjust such an enormous
weight, it would have been nearly impossible
to have hit upon the proper adaptation of its axles
and their corresponding grooves, at the first trial, and
they must have had to lift and relift it an innumerable
variety of times, before they could get it to
fit.”

“What learned disquisition is this?” said Miss
Agnew, coming round to the side of the rock where
Edward and Sir Francis stood.

“It is concerning the creation of this moveable
rock,” replied Edward. “Sir Francis thinks that
nature, in one of her wanton freaks, left it here by
chance, either just as we see it, or more than half
prepared to be made what we see it, by the chissel
and mallet of some ingenious mechanic.”

“So he thinks that giants had no hand in the
affair,” said Martin, who had followed Miss Agnew's
footsteps.

“None in the least,” replied Edward. “Nay, he

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scarcely believes that in the days of the Druids,
our fathers were much larger or stronger than ourselves.”

“That is consolatory to our modern dignity,”
observed Martin; “for what a degenerate race
we must be, if our fathers could have set a rock of
fifty tons weight, on a place, and in a position, where
we could scarcely fix one of five hundred pounds!”

“It is time,” said Sir Francis, “that we should
prosecute our voyage, if we mean to visit the Gabbons,
and return home by day light.”

The party accordingly once more betook themselves
to their bark, and scudded gently forward,
before a pleasant breeze. They withdrew some
distance from the land, in order to double a small
island called “Muck,” the strait between which
and the peninsula being too narrow to admit of an
easy passage. When they had cleared this islet,
the whole party being in high spirits, felt disposed
to enjoy the luxury of music on the water. Edward
and Martin had provided for such an enjoyment,
by bringing flutes with them. After playing
a few tunes in concert, they requested of the
ladies a song. Ellen, after stipulating that Miss
Agnew should yield them a similar gratification on
their return homewards, complied, and sang the following
verses, the production of M`Nelvin, to the
tune of Coolin, her favourite air, which the gentlemen
had been just playing.

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The domestic contentment and tranquillity expressed
in verses so finely sung, contrasted with
the political exasperation and disasters of the times,
made a deep impression on all present, which had
not altogether subsided when they approached the
tremendous Gabbons, the very name of which, to
this day, makes the Roman Catholics of the North
of Ireland shudder. O'Halloran related the story
of the dreadful retaliation which, during the rebellion
of 1641, the Presbyterians of the neighbourhood
inflicted on the Catholics for a barbarous
massacre which the latter had committed on the
Protestants inhabiting the borders of the Black
water, in the county of Armagh.

“The English garrisons had been drawn from
that quarter,” said he, “to assist the parliamentary
army in making head against the famous
Roger Moore, who had raised the standard of rebellion
in aid of Tyrconnel, and a great many of
the zealous Protestant inhabitants accompanied the
troops as volunteers. This afforded an opportunity
to the discontented Catholics, of avenging what
they considered the cause of their country and
their religion, on a proud progeny of foreigners
and heretics. On an appointed night, they accordingly
arose in arms, and seizing the Protestants of
all sexes, ages, and ranks, murdered them, and
threw their corpses into the Blackwater. Intelligence
of this transaction soon reached the garrisons
of Belfast and Carrickfergus, among whom

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were many of the Blackwater volunteers, whose
families had suffered. Inflamed with grief and
rage, and giving way to feelings of barbarity unworthy
of the milder spirit and more philosophical
doctrines of their religion, they resolved to inflict a
terrible example of retribution on their enemies.
Assisted by a large party of the Protestant inhabitants,
the garrisons sallied out, and seizing about
fifteen hundred Catholics of both sexes, bound
them together in pairs, and drove them to the edge
of that very precipice, (said he, pointing to a long
continued perpendicular range of limestone cliffs
soaring upwards of two thousand feet above the
surface of the sea, and sinking beneath it perhaps
as many,) and from the top of that awful cliff, the
very sight of which turns one dizzy, those unfortunate
beings were whirled into the air, whence
they plunged into the watery gulph below, (for
there is here no beach) where they sunk to eternity.
The place is called, to this day, the “Catholic
Leap;” and it is currently believed by thousands
of that persuasion, that the blood of those who
were bayoneted previous to their being thrown
over, which streamed down the white front of the
precipice, still does, and shall to the end of the
world, remain there as a testimony against the
heretics. In this last part of their statement, however,”
he continued, “they are mistaken, for no
traces of blood are to be seen along the whole
course of this tremendous coast. There are, indeed,
at the top of the cliffs some veins of a reddish
ochry substance, which, in wet weather, is apt to
be washed down the precipice, and, at a distance,
may be mistaken for blood, and has, no doubt,
given origin to this absurd story. The Catholics,
indeed, seldom give themselves an opportunity of
being undeceived on this subject, for they abhor
the place too much to visit it; and, it is said, that

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none of their body have ever ventured since the
occurrence of this unjustifiable transaction, to reside
on the peninsula, for, although it is really very
fertile, and its present inhabitants prosperous and
wealthy, they look on it as an accursed place.”

Having contemplated this sublime shore, with
an intensity of interest, and solemnity of feeling,
which at length became painful, at the request of
the ladies, they turned their prow homewards.
Every one was so much absorbed in the reflections
naturally produced by the foregoing recital, and
the awfulness of the scene before them, that, for
sometime, they all kept silent. No sounds, but
those occasioned by the flapping of the sails, or
the rushing of the boat through the water, were
heard to interrupt the perpetual clamour of the
multitude of gulls, curlews, herons, and innumerable
other species of sea fowl, that flew to and from
the cliffs where they had erected their airy nests,
until the party had cleared the Gabbons, and came
opposite to the place where the green land shelves
towards the shore. Miss Agnew was then the first
to break silence. Addressing Ellen softly, she said,
“Ah! there is the green earth again! I begin to
breathe easier.” “Oh! how pleasant,” returned
Ellen “are the haunts of man, full of care, and
sorrow, and pain, and strife, as they generally
are, to those who have just emerged from such a
scene of wildness, terror and awful sublimity, as
that we have just left behind!”

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