heavy matter that surrounded him. Orpheus-like, his soft and harmonious soul has softened the rugged nature of brutes; and a stranger of sensibility may contemplate Liverpool with some satisfaction, gracefully as he has thrown the rosy wreath of his own brilliant imagination round the massy pillar of rough and barbarous wealth. He has been the promoter of almost every institution (and it has many) that this town has to boast of-of societies to save, of hospitals to prolong, and of libraries to gladden and instruct life; nor are his private charities less numerous, and would fill a much larger volume than this—they are written in the breast of the widow and the orphan, in the heart that melts, in the eye that overflows, at his approach— "When the ear heard him, then it blessed him; and when the eye saw him, then it gave witness to him.The blessing of him that was ready to perish was on him; and he caused the widow's heart to sing for joy. He was a father to the poor; and the cause which he knew not, he searched out."

CHAPTER III.

Departure-Passage to Dublin-Remarks on sea-sicknessDublin Bay-Hotel-Dialogue at a tavern.

Dublin, August.

WE sailed about an hour after I went on board, and for once Fortune has been propitious to me; our passage was of the most favourable kind, and breezes, soft as the breath of love, wafted us gently to the emerald isle. The distance from Liverpool to Dublin

is about forty leagues, which we ran in something more than twenty-six hours. I passed the greatest part of the day on deck, and contemplated, with all the security an unruffled sea affords, the rough and lofty coasts along which our vessel glided: illuminated as they were by a cheering sun, these gigantic and craggy rocks inspired no terror; though it required little stretch of the imagination to picture them blackened with tempest, and threatening destruction to the mariner struggling, " often vainly struggling," to avoid their fatal shock. The whole of this coast is dangerous, even to a proverb; and many sea captains have declared they felt more anxiety in going from Holyhead to Liverpool, than in their passage from the West Indies to England. I would recommend every person who goes to sea for the first time to keep upon deck as much as possible: it is the most effectual method of avoiding sickness; and, if at length he is obliged to yield to it, the tone and refreshment, which the pure and cold air has given him, shortens its duration, and weakens its violence. It is, I think, impossible to enter the cabin of a packet without feeling nausea and disgust, the air is so confined and suffocating the society in a Liverpool one is generally of the lowest kind, and that of the fair sex, so agreeable in every other situation, ceases to be so in this Ovid gives rules for the cure of love—he has omitted, or perhaps did not know, the most effectual of all. But I will draw a veil over this subject; I have no pleasure in dwelling on the dark side of a fair picture, and the fairest picture, alas! has its dark side. The writer of romance has great advantages over us humble authors of tours and voyages-in the calenture

one.

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of his working brain, he is not, like us, confined to sober realities--he dips his pencil in the glittering dewdrops of fancy, and decks, with all the colours of the rainbow, poor, naked, shivering human nature: his head is in labour; and, like Minerva of old, a fullgrown goddess, with no human failings, and subject to no human weaknesses, bursts forth, ready dressed, and armed at all points: he conducts her, weeping and wailing, with a cambric handkerchief to her eyes, through four, sometimes six, thick volumes of distress, "through antres vast and deserts idle," with no money in her pocket, often without a shoe to her foot, or a shift (if I may be pardoned so antiquated a word) to her back! But, such are the happy privileges of a poet's offspring, she is never a jot the less lovely, or the less attractive-she is still an overflowing fountain of sweets, a hill of perpetual love; her food is ambrosia, and she transudes frankincense! Would (I cannot forbear saying) some such had been in our cabin! for I am sure it wanted sweetening prodigiously.

Sir George Staunton, in his learned ("learned and dull are frequently synonymous terms") account of the embassy to China, has defined the nature of sea-sickness with great precision, and describes it with so much justice and minuteness, that it almost made me sick to read it.-(I have here to acknowledge the favours I owe this worthy author for the many sound sleeps his valuable work procured me last winter, when I was afflicted with a severe rheumatism, and every other opiate had failed.) As I am, however, no writer of folios, I have no pretensions to make my readers either sick or sleepy; I shall not, therefore, meddle with the history of this nauseous disease, but say a few words of the method

of treatment only.-When a person is compelled by sea-sickness to quit the deck and betake himself to his birth, he should stretch himself as much at length as possible, with his head low and firmly pressed to the pillow, endeavouring to lose all motion of his own, and to accommodate himself to that of the ship. Wine or brandy is bad; though, of the two, the latter, diluted with water, is preferable. The drink I should recommend is highly-taken bottled porter, soda or seltzer water: I have derived great benefit from a teaspoonful of æther taken in a glass of the latter; and once prevented sickness altogether by a small opiate plaster, applied to the pit of the stomach.

We got into Dublin Bay about four in the morning. The beauty of this bay has been often noticed. Some person who was a great traveller, or was willing to be thought so, remarked that it bore a striking likeness to the Bay of Naples, and hundreds have echoed the observation, who know no more of Naples than of the Straits of Thermopyla. A brother tourist, who visited this country last summer, is of a different opinion, and says they are no more to be compared together than Brentford and Bath. I am sorry I cannot decide this important question--I never was in the Bay of Naples; and though I have just sailed through that of Dublin, I must candidly confess I did not see it. I was in a sound sleep at the time; but had I been even broad awake, and on deck, the matter, I fear, would not have been much mended-for I must take this opportunity of mentioning, that I am remarkably short-sighted-far too much so, indeed, for distinguishing prospects. Were I to attempt to describe the present one, I fear I should so confuse earth, sky, and

C

water, that it would be impossible for the reader to tell the hill of Howth from the silver cloud that rests on its head, or the blue waves that break on its base. I must therefore pass through this bay as quietly as our vessel did; nor has he any reason to regret that I do so a description would be unnecessary for him who has seen it, and the best description would be unintelligible to him who has not.

We went ashore at a small custom-house near the Pigeon-house, lately erected for the examination of passengers' luggage. I had two or three steps to ascend to the pier: in an instant a couple of stout fellows in ragged great coats started forward to assist me, and helped me up with as much caution as if I were bent under the burthen of fourscore years: they kindly followed me to the custom-house, wishing me health and long life and a happy sight of my friends: unlike the bishop in the fable, they did not, however, choose to give their blessings for nothing-they hoped I would remember poor Pat, and begged a tin-penny or two just to drink my honour's health. The examination of the trunks was a mere form, and over in a few minutes-mine was just looked into and closed again. I concluded that the gentlemen of the custom-house sold their civility much dearer than my late supporters did their blessings, and had my purse ready to comply with the demand which I expected. I was disappointed, however; there was no fee either asked for or expected. A traveller sometimes sees strange sights, and almost always says he has seen them: I have travelled a good deal myself, but never till this morning did I witness the novelty of a disinterested custom-house.

I stepped out of it into the long coach, as it is called,