forthwith, i put myself into active training, and got into splendid condition for doing “justice to ireland.” i read moore's melodies; i played nora creina upon the flute, not perhaps with that rapidity which is usual outside the peepshows, but with much more expression; i discoursed with reapers; i tried to pronounce drogheda, till i was nearly black in the face; i drank whiskey-punch (subsequently discovered to be hollands); i ate irish stew (a dish never heard of in that country) and i bought the sweetest thing in portmanteaus, with drawers, trays, pockets, compartments, recesses, straps, and buckles, more than enough to drive that traveller mad, who should forget where he had placed his razors. amid these preparations, i am ashamed to state, that i became disgracefully oblivious of my little disappointment in the shrubberies, and soon realised the chinese maxim, more truthful than genteel,—“the dog that is idle barks at his fleas, but he that is hunting feels them not.” indeed, to make my confession complete, and to descend the staircase of inconstancy to the lowest depth of humiliation, i must acknowledge that on the day of our departure i fell violently in love at crewe station, whence my heart was borne away, in the direction of derby, by the loveliest girl, that is to say, one of the loveliest girls, that ever beautified an express train.

i begin to fear that my unhappy tendencies to this kind of fierce, but fugitive attachment, have not been at all improved by communion with mr. thomas moore, and i tremble to find myself listening complacently to the fickle philosophies of marmontel,—“quand on na pas ce que ion aime, il faut aimer ce que l'on a.”

“the rows” of chester are very picturesque and quaint, but do not make a favourable impression upon a giant with a new hat, and, being on the upper side of six feet, i was glad to leave them for that pleasant, briny, breezy, railway, which takes one, via conway, to bangor, and thence,—thundering through the britannia tube, and just allowing a glimpse of telfords triumph, the bridge of the menai, grand and graceful,—over drear anglesea, 1 to holyhead. and, oh, how glad we were, to find old neptune in his mildest mood, only now and then just raising his shoulders, as some good-humoured athlete, who should say, “i'm in the jolliest frame of mind, my lads, but i could pitch the biggest of you into the middle of next week, any moment, with the most perfect ease.”

1 in the time of the druids it was called “the shady

island,” and, though no longer umbrageous, the name is not

altogether inappropriate.

pleasant it was to pace the broad, clear deck, with perfectly obedient legs, and to ask what we could have for dinner, with a real curiosity on the subject. frank c————, not distinguished for deeds of naval daring, began, in the joy of his heart, to sing songs of an ultra-marine description, alluding to the land with severe disparagement, and stigmatising that element as “the dull, tame shore.” i must say, that when i heard him chanting,—

“give to me the swelling breeze,

and white waves heaving high,”

i trembled to think what a change would take place in the keynote of that cheery vocalist, and what dismal misereres would ensue, should his rash petition be conceded. happily it was not attended to, and we had but one invalid, a lady (the captain very properly put a young man in irons, for saying something about no cyc-lades in these seas); and she, i believe, only wanted sympathy and sherry from her husband, who was evidently a recent capture, and who administered both these cordials in due proportions, first a sip and then a kiss, ever and anon, when he thought that no one was looking, taking liberal gulps for his own private refreshment.

it was very beautiful, as the day declined, to watch the vivid phosphorescence of the sea, myriads of those marine glow-worms, whose proper names i know not, but who cause this brilliant phenomenon, lighting up their tiny lamps. then the light of “ireland's eye” (bright and clear, though there must be a sty there), seemed to welcome us, blinking bonnily; and entering the bay of dublin, with grateful recollections of its haddock, we were safely landed upon kingstown quay. forty minutes more on the rail, and we reach the city, some of our fellow-passengers having only left london that morning, and having travelled from one capital to the other in little more than twelve hours.

we had our first experience of ireland proper when, emerging from the station at dublin, we called for an “outside car,” and a son of nimshi, responding in the distance, charged down upon us through a phalanx of vehicles, and reached us, i know not how, amid the acrimonious observations of his brethren. the first feeling, as we sat on the low-backed car, “travelling edgeways,” as sir francis head designates this style of transit, was one of extreme insecurity, and though we laughed, and made believe that we liked it, we were glad enough to hold on by the iron-work until we arrived at morrisson's. our account with the charioteer was as follows:—

s. d.

to driver..........................................16

to small boy, seated at drivers feet,

whipping the horse, and exciting him with cries of

“yap”..............................................06

to man, for holding on our luggage, by

embracing it with extended arms....................10

total..................................................30

in the next place, we committed the pious fraud of making a hearty supper under pretence of tea, instructing mark the waiter, very willing and active, but with no time for works of supererogation, to brew us a large vessel of that beverage (which we never touched), as though it gave a dignity to the proceeding, and justified, by its respectable appearance, our large potations of guinness. so we drew on to midnight, and to (ay de mi! won't my friend with the bandy legs denounce “this wine-bibbing book”? ) irish whiskey. nevertheless, of irish whiskey this must be said, that, when tastefully arranged, it's a drink for dukes; and he who skilleth not to brew it, more hibernico, may thank me, perhaps, for thus instructing him,—imprimis, to take the chill off his tumbler (just as he would air his best bed for a beloved friend) by holding it for a few seconds over the hot water; secondly, to dissolve three lumps of sugar, medium size, in a small quantity of aqua calidissima; thirdly, to pour in the whiskey (kinahans “ll.”) from one of those delightful little decanters, which would make such charming adjuncts to a doll's dinner party; fourthly, to fill up and drink. frank suggests a soupçon of lemon; and this was the sole point upon which, throughout our tour, we were not quite unanimous!