existence of a good road, made by the military engineers in 1798, I might have supposed that human foot had never trod before. Pursuing this line, which is called by way of eminence the Military Road, a great variety of wild, bare, and picturesque scenery is presented to the view, which I am informed is, notwithstanding its vicinity to the city, very little known or frequented by the dwellers therein. This road leads to the place, where, in the ancient days of Ireland's glory, the city of Glendalough stood. It is now called the Valley of the Seven Churches, and there are remains of antiquity still standing, which, when viewed under the impressions produced by the gloom and grandeur of the scene around, cannot easily be forgotten. I spent a day, and half a moonlight night, wander ing about the dark lake which bears the same name which tradition assigns to the ancient city ;—

"Glendalough, whose gloomy shore
Skylark never warbles o'er."

My rambles had now brought me into the month of June, and I began to feel the country too hot to hold me. London I hoped by this time had dispatched some of its crowds to the haymaking, and I thought of returning, to lie still until September again brought weather fit for exercise. I was cogitating by what route I should again seek the English shore, as I strode over the hills; my meditations now interrupted by some striking prospect which opened on the view, and now by the recollection that it was neither wholesome, nor like a Tory, to walk before breakfast until dinnertime. Suddenly I found myself upon the margin of a small deep lake of dark water, which lies so completely enbosomed in the hills as not to be visible until one is just upon it. My route lay right across the water, and as the distance did not appear above two miles, I stood a moment to consider whether I should plunge in, and swim to the far side, or walk round, when I perceived a man, whom I guessed to be a forty-shilling freeholder from his appearance, which indicated that he was not worth sixpence in the world. I hailed him without delay, and found I was right in my conjec ture. In answer to my queries about the lake, he said it was Lough Dan,

not O'Connell; and as to breakfast,

that there was a cabin hard by, where there was "plinty of praties and buttermilk." To this cabin then I proceeded, where I presently found father and mother and seven sons and daughters round a table, upon which smoked about a bushel of hot potatoes with their jackets on, and each hand grasped a small wooden vessel, like a miniature tub, with one handle, which is called in Irish phrase a noggin, and was then and there filled with churned milk.

I don't know whether my announcement, that I wished to partake of the victual, caused more surprise or pleasure,-certes, it produced no small quantity of both, and the good woman wiped a stool with her apron, that I might sit down, and sent Mary, and Judy, and Nelly, all at once, to "fetch a clane noggin for the gintleman," which being procured, and filled with the buttermilk, I set to work, and, I flatter myself, did as ample justice to as good a breakfast, as did any other man in the United Kingdom, on Thursday morning the 5th of June, A.D. 1828. It was after I had dispatched about seven pounds of this excel lent food, that a young lad, Hibernice, a "gossoon," entered with a bundle of newspapers and some letters, which he was conveying from the nearest post-town to the residence of the great iman of the district, who bears a strange name, with a Spanish sound, and, as I have no doubt, a Milesian. As the youth seemed in no particular hurry with his parcel, I took up a newspa per to see what was going on in that part of the world where there were neither lakes nor mountains; and then first I learned that Huskisson, and all the Liberals, were absolutely and irrevocably out. I had learned a few evenings before to dance the Irish jig, and sing a tune called "Lilly bolero,' and now, by an irresistible impulse, I jumped up from my stool, and holding the newspaper in the one hand, while I snapped my fingers with the other, I set about practising my vocal and saltatory lessons, with astonishing ve hemence and good-humour. Had I been in England, I should undoubtedly have been considered mad, and the constable would have been promptly and privately sent for, to have his sage advice taken upon the subject; but here, the people being more than half-mad themselves, the thing was

looked upon as no more than a sudden fit of sprightliness, and the man of the house, with a sly look and a smile, observed, that "by his sowl I futted it well," and hinted something about bringing out his pipes, if it would be agreeable. I afterwards understood that he was a proficient upon this in strument of mirth and music, and the reason he did not bring forth the pipes at once, was from a feeling of delicacy, lest I should suppose that he consider ed my humming of Lilly bolero, inadequate music. Such is the ordinary politeness of an Irish peasant, who would doubtless, if he had been so ordered by his priest, have had no hesitation in assisting to pitch me neck and heels into the lake. I, however, wanted no music to make me dance, or rather let me say, the imagined sound of the hundreds of thousands of joyful voices repeating" the Liberals are out," was to me all-sufficient music. I burst forth into soliloquy. "Now, indeed," said I, "there is good hope of the revival of our former glory.-Shade of Castlereagh, (for by that name you were best known,) rejoice! Eldon, stanch and true, thou veteran champion of the Tories, rejoice! Health, and honour, and long life to the Duke, intrepid every where, whose stern honesty stands triumphant over prostrate Whiggery and Liberalism, defeated, and cast down by the mean and miserable cunning which was intended for their support. Now shall England feel again as it ought to do. Now shall the Tories unite once more in their strength, and carry all before them, as they always must do, when they act with firmness and unanimity. All England, all the empire shall rejoice. "The dumb shall sing, Kit North his

crutch forego,

And leap exulting, like the bounding

roe.'

There are, I doubt not, some persons writhing in the agonies of disgrace and disappointed cunning, who, had they seen me striding about over threelegged stools and small children, and the other furniture which occupies the floor of an Irish cabin, pronouncing this my soliloquy in a voice between speaking and chanting, would have called it "buffoonery;" or, if I happened to be a very respectable

looking old gentleman with grey hairs and heavy eyebrows, would perhaps have termed it " venerable buffoonery;" but let such persons howl on; I care not. What shall we hold our tongues when our hearts rejoice? Shall our cachinnatory muscles remain rigid and fixed as those of a dead man, while inwardly we shake with laughter? Shall we, to please defeated Liberals, put on a vinegar aspect like theirs, and be, like them, hypocrites? Forbid it, mirth and honesty. No-we shall cheer and laugh, and laugh and cheer, until universal England rings again. England, now waving with standing corn, teeming with fruits and flowers, rich with leafy woods, and rejoicing in the glad prospect of peace and plenty, shall re-echo our merry shout. Nor shall Scotland be without its peal of triumphant laughter; for North is there to lead the chorus; and his voice shall be heard over hill, and lake, and level plain. No ordinary lungs are his; and his joyful cheer shall be heard over all the land; and sweeping across the sea, shall startle the mermaidens as they sing, and wring the spray from their dripping locks, upon the rocky shores of Staffa and Icolmkill. How very wretched does the spite of these Liberals appear, who would give to the just and natural expression of a conqueror's exultation the name of "buffoonery!" It is very possible for a man to preserve his respectability even in defeat, if he bear it like a man, with calmness and good temper; but this waspish irritation, this pitiful bitterness, exhibited in paltry vituperation against the wisest and most respected subject in the empire, is exceedingly worthy of the Liberals, and of the contempt of all opposed to them. They have, however, with their usual short-sightedness, exceedingly mistaken the man whom they have assailed. They perhaps considered that he was too old, or too careless of any spirit of virulence they could put forth, to stand up and crush them; but Lord King has found the contrary to his cost. It is really wonderful the vigour, the almost youthful elasticity of mind which Lord Eldon still possesses. He parries and thrusts at the same instant, with as much readiness and vigour as if he were not "the old Lord Chan

cellor," and is as powerful with an epigrammatic retort, as with a deliberate argument. His reply of a single sentence to Lord King, when he presumed to speak about "buffoonery," was a complete smasher, and if the noble Baron was capable of feeling shame, would have made him very silent and serious for the remainder of the session.

But to return to my travels. I in quired from mine host of the cabin what was the best means of getting across the lake; and learned from him that he possessed a boat, in which he would be "proud to take my honour acrass the wather." I availed myself of his offer and his boat, in which he stuck a pitch-fork to serve for a mast, and hung his jacket upon the handle thereof for a sail, and having but one misshapen piece of wood, which he called an oar, he steered with it to the other side, telling me many incredible stories by the way, of the fish he had caught in the lake by moonlight, which it appears is the best time for the angler's sport in these parts. Having, by the blessing of Providence, and the assistance of the pitch-fork and old jacket, got safe to the opposite shore, I made my friend, whose guest I had been by land and by water, very thank ful and happy by a small sum of money, which in England would have been considered as a bare remuneration for his services, and continued my walk, in, as near as I could guess, the direction of Dublin. A description of my walk that day might form a pretty poem in eight cantos, with prose notes to explain what was unintelligible in the rhyme; but this is for future consideration, and for the present you must be content to learn, that I walked right over the top of a hill about three thousand feet high, which lay directly in my way, and enjoyed from it a most superb view of land and sea. The coast lay within a few miles of me, and the day was so beautifully clear, that from the mouth of the Boyne to Arklow, an immense stretch, it was distinctly visible. The ground between and the sea is beautiful and well laid out. Upon the whole, the county of Wicklow is as pretty a place as one could wish to see. Descending with rapid steps from this eminence,

I gradually came upon a level with the top of a conical mountain called the Sugar Loaf, and shortly afterwards found myself at the top of a far-famed waterfall, which tumbles down from this height into the domain of Powerscourt. Following the steep descent of the water by a slippery and perilous path, I reached the domain below, which vies in beauty with any in the kingdom. At the extreme end from the waterfall is a village charmingly situated, called Enniskerry. I was astonished at the neatness and good order apparent in this place, so different from the general aspect of Irish villages; and, on inquiring the reason, I learned that it was the property of the Powerscourt family, who are distinguished by a wholesome aversion from dirt and papistry, which manifests itself in something more substantial than mere words. Some part of the family, I was inforined, was constantly resident here, and the benefit of their active and personal superintendence of the tenantry, was abundantly manifest in the decent, orderly, and industrious aspect of the country around their magnificent and beautifully situated mansion. I can hardly tell you the pleasing sensations which crowd upon one's mind, when one finds in Ireland a beautiful little rural village, with its day-school and Sunday-school, and house of industry for the children of the poor-when one sees the wild, and almost riotous, spirits of the young subdued into decent cheerfulness, and the headlong recklessness of the elder people exchanged for quiet confidence in their own industrious habits, and the protection of their landlord. Yet must the landed gentry, who effect all this in Ireland, lay their account with receiving the most violent and coarse abuse. They must either submit to the direc tion of the Roman Catholic clergy, or these clergy will endeavour to prevent their tenantry from submitting to them but principally if they attempt to teach religion; to make the young acquainted with the Bibleeven the Roman Catholic version of it-the priest instantly directs all the influence he possesses to thwart and annoy them. This makes the task of improvement very troublesome, and

sometimes very painful; but still these priests may be baffled in matters which are not of a purely public and political nature; and landlords who will take as much pains, either of themselves, or through some branch of the family who will be respected in their place, as the family whose residence I have just alluded to, will be likely to conquer the priest, and oust him from all influence, beyond that just and proper respect which all people should pay to the ministers of religion, so long as they behave them

selves as such.

If you get to Enniskerry in the morning, breakfast there by all means. The place is famous for eggs, and cream, and butter-you may trust them to make tea too, but as to coffee, I have my doubts; indeed that is a beverage which must be either excellent or execrable, and therefore I should advise that a man should proceed with deep caution, and be well aware of where he is, before he order it. Should you arrive somewhat late in the day, as I did, and come from the waterfall side, order your lunch, and while it fizzes on the fire, run out to look at the Scalp, an imposing sight. A chain of moun tains once ran across the line which is now that of the Dublin road-this has been by some convulsion of nature rent asunder, and the road passes through the chasm. The rent is quite palpable, and the inequalities in the surface on either side exactly correspond, so that if you could suppose any power strong enough to push the separated masses together again, it is manifest they would fit as nicely as the dovetailed joints of a ten-guinea dressing

box.

Go back and lunch, but as you value your happiness, do not stay to dine. No, that must be done at Bray, to which you proceed with renovated strength, amazed, as you walk along, that any one could feel satisfaction in being an absentee from so beautiful a country. Arrived at Bray, order dinner at Quin's, and proceed to view Bray Head-a very bold and precipitous headland, standing out into the sea which, viewed from the water, is in time of calm a very formidable-looking, and in time of storm, must be a very dreadful-looking affair. When you get back to Quin's, you find yourself in a place where the degree of civilization is such, that but for a slight taste of the brogue from master and

men, you would forget you were in Ireland. Once more you are in the region of silver forks and napkinssauterne and madeira tolerably fair→ ish, and the claret excellent. In short, after a few hours, you become excessively comfortable, and then you may get a post-chaise, as well appointed as any in England, or fifty of them, if, like the sailor in the story, you be too rich to travel in one coach, and you are hurled in your thirteen miles into Dublin, along a road, almost as good, as if the great MacAdam himself had superintended its formation.

I made the mistake of coming all the way to Dublin, instead of stopping at Kingstoun, which is on the way thither, and lies on the shore outside the bar of Dublin bay. From this place the large steam-packet starts, and I had therefore to return to it in the morning, and embarked for Bristol, a huge way off, some seventy odd leagues, I think; but we dashed along so merrily, that we were under the terraces of Clifton in twenty-four hours. England-England-let us go where we will, how are we struck with its splendour, its rich comfort when we return!

The Clyde and the Forth, you sayYes; and I acknowledge it, they are very beautiful, and abounding in spiritstirring objects, but still there is some slight touch of the " Caledonia stern and wild," which makes them still more dear to a native, but less gorgeous, less emblematic of social strength and peace, and huge prosperity. How many steamers did we meet going up to Clifton? Some twenty, I suppose, crowded with people, streamers flying, and bands playing on the decks, and then would come occasionally a big West Indiaman, its tall masts rustling the leaves of the trees which overhang the deep and narrow river. The magnificent terraces of Clifton too, the residences of British merchants, who can keep houses, appearing without, and furnished within, like palaces, these were in view, and supplied the imagination with additional materiel to swell the idea of British greatness.

I don't suppose the Bristolians could exist at all without Clifton. Bristol seems to me a horrid place. I could as lief live in a sugar hogshead-what a thick, dingy, sluggish atmosphere, and black toilsome streets! Did not Southey or Coleridge, or both, once lecture there? I wonder they did not

choke; but poets are a race by themselves, and not subject to all the rules of ordinary humanity.

Now we are at Bath-delicious retreat of ancient ladies and invalid gentlemen. Fair Bath, how pleasant are thy chairs, how eloquent of carefulness and quietness, is the gentle pace of thy chair-porters! I could almost fain be sick-not very sick, but have a gentle all-overness-a tranquil debility, a mild necessity for the waters, and a soft and silent roll along the circus and through the gardens. And then the evening, the quiet confab, and the game at whist,-sixpenny points, no higher, and that benevolent old lady for a partner, who does not get cross, notwithstanding that you have played the last game most atrociously, while listening to that beautiful girl with the soft blue eyes, her daughter, who has been playing on the harp, and singing in the next room.

What a glorious fine country it is, the most part of the way from Bristol to London. Rich in woods-substantial, ancient woods-enormous timber magnificently going to decay-huge and hollow, and beautifully useless. I like them not the less; we'll think about utility another time. What farming, too! the land is tilled like a garden. Look at that huge field of thirty acres, with a thick hedge round about it, in which, at every interval of sixty feet, there is a big tree; it has been ploughed, and harrowed, until you might almost suppose it had been every bit raked, as if for a flower garden. The soil looks as if it would pass through a riddle, and on the whole of the smooth surface, you cannot discover even the vestige of a weed. Yet the man who occupies that field has no lease. He works away, carrying the ground to the very highest pitch of improvement. He knows his landlord can put him out at Michaelmas, should he be so disposed, but he relies on the honesty, the honour, and the protecting care of his landlord. He feels almost as sure as he is of his own existence, that no extortion will be practised, no unfair advantage taken of him, nor of his children after him. He respects his landlord as his superior in society, but he does not fear him as one who exercises, or wishes to exercise, over him a despotic sway. There is no one to go be tween, and destroy this excellent feel ing; there is no Roman Catholic priest,

as in the country I had just quitted, to teach him, and his children as they grow up, to hate the landlord as an enemy and an oppressor-to point out his religion as a thing to be abhorred, and the ministers of it as robbers of the poor, to whom resistance is meritorious. Yet if Whigs got their way, this, or something like this, is the point to which happy England would come. The men without hearts, and with heads filled with the doctrines of Political Economy, have no room for the entertainment of those higher and better feelings-that something so far above the mere pursuit of wealth, which makes English gentlemen the kind protectors of their tenantry, and makes the tenantry feel secure in the protection of their landlords. These men, forsooth, take “ larger views❞— they see nothing more worthy protection in the farmer, whose sole resource is in the land upon which he and his fathers before him have lived and sunk all their earnings, than in the artisan of yesterday, who carries his capital in his fingers, and in his box of tools, and who is prepared to quit the coun try to-morrow, and take all his wealth with him, if, by crossing the sea, he can better his wages. They will tell the farmer, too, that what he pays the Church is an unreasonable expense to support a useless monopoly; that his landlord supports the Church, because his family reap the benefits of it, and because they thereby obtain an excuse for taking more money out of his, the farmer's, pocket; they would, in short, make him like themselves discontented, by all manner of specious representations, which are every one of them as hollow and as false as they are productive of unhappiness.

I got to London, and found Westminster Abbey and the Duke's Ministry about as firmly fixed as any work of human hands can be expected to be, the funds 2 per cent higher than when I left town, and every thing indicating the highest degree of confidence in the force and steadiness of the Govern ment. The Whigs and Liberals are in a most pitiable, yet ludicrous, condition. They absolutely grin with rage as they walk along; yet they are almost afraid to open their mouths, for as soon as they do, people begin to laugh. They are found out. Many were deceived by their swagger, and now, when it is discovered that it was but swagger, there seems to be the