Hullo! hi! wake up.

Jump out of bed, and come to the window, and see where you are.
What a wonderful place! So it is: though it is only poor old Ireland.

Don't you recollect that when we started I told you we were going to Ireland, and through it to the World's End; and here we are now safe at the end of the old world, and beyond us the great Atlantic, and beyond that again, thousands of miles away, the new world, which will be rich and prosperous, civilised and noble, thousands of years hence, when this old world, it may be, will be dead, and little children there will be reading in their history books of Ancient England and of Ancient France, as you now read of Greece and Rome.
But what a wonderful place it is! What are those great green things standing up in the sky, all over purple ribs and bars, with their tops hid in the clouds?
Those are mountains; the bones of some old world, whose poor bare sides Madam How is trying to cover with rich green grass.
And how far off are they?
How I should like to walk up to the top of that one which looks quite close.
You will find it a long walk up there; three miles, I dare say, over black bogs and banks of rock, and up corries and cliffs which you could not climb.

There are plenty of cows on that mountain: and yet they look so small, you could not see them, nor I either, without a glass.

That long white streak, zigzagging down the mountain side, is a roaring cataract of foam five hundred feet high, full now with last night's rain; but by this afternoon it will have dwindled to a little thread; and to- morrow, when you get up, if no more rain has come down, it will be gone.
Madam How works here among the mountains swiftly and hugely, and sometimes terribly enough; as you shall see when you have had your breakfast, and come down to the bridge with me.
But what a beautiful place it is! Flowers and woods and a lawn; and what is that great smooth patch in the lawn just under the window?
Is it an empty flower-bed?
Ah, thereby hangs a strange tale.