More and more grandly they continue to rise as the steamer cleaves its swift way through the waters, until the heights of Howth and Killiney, which form the opposite boundaries of Dublin Bay, are plainly distinguished when the distant mountain summits are hardly noticed, even as a part of the general view. Dublin Bay never fails to impress the stranger with unexpected delight. It is one of the most beautiful, if not the most beautiful, bay in the kingdom. The points of the semicircle, nearly seven miles apart, form bold headlands, enclosing a splendid bay, six or seven miles deep, which is pretty thickly besprinkled with ships of various sizes, with yachts, and steamers, and fishing-boats; the fine sweep of coast being bordered with neat villages, terraces of handsome houses, and scattered villas; in the centre the estuary of the Liffey guides the eye towards the city; while beyond are the pointed summits of graceful mountains. It is a scene which every Irishman is, as he well may be, heartily proud of, and of which every one who has beheld it cherishes the memory.

Kingstown, where the steamer disembarks its passengers, is nearly seven miles from Dublin. Here the stranger, as he makes his way to the railway-station, catches his earliest bit of Irish experience from the clamorous crowd which beset him, all proffering service, or exposing their wants, abusing each other and bothering him, in a quite new dialect. By the help of a few stray coppers (and of the policemen, who seem in a perfect fever of anxiety to keep a clear road,) he soon gains the railway that as quickly forwards him to the city, and an outside-car speedily deposits him at his hotel.

These outside-cars, by the way, are excellent things; and we must give them a passing word of commenda. tion. A stranger cannot desire a better means of making a rapid general survey of the city before he proceeds to examine it in detail, than that of driving on one of these conveyances through the principal streets. Some travellers recommend ascending to an elevated spot which commands a good view of a town, as the best means of getting the coup-d'œil; and, doubtless, it is a plan which has its advantages. You come to understand readily the topography of a place which is thus spread, as it were, in ground-plan, at your feet but you get an unfair and unfavourable notion of it: the buildings appear distorted, the nearer parts assume an undue prominency. In driving at a moderate pace through the main streets of a city, the relative importance of its parts is tolerably well understood, and the chief objects are fixed in the memory as landmarks which effectually direct you in future explorations. For such a ride a solitary stranger will find the Irish car a capital contrivance, and the carman, who sits with him so comfortably dos-à-dos, a very useful and amusing commentator and guide, if he only be treated with a little sociality. Of course some care must be exercised in crediting what he says. Carmen and guides all over Ireland are, as they say of each other, "rare boys for romancing ;" and the Dublin

boys beat all the rest. The traveller does not need to be reminded that he must exercise, too, some discretion about admitting the fares which carmen charge: he has, no doubt, had sufficient experience already on that subject. London cabmen contrive now and then to make mistakes about distance: Liverpool cabmen have the reputation of being (as they doubtless are) the greatest cheats of the fraternity in England: but both these are mere novices and bunglers compared with their Dublin brethren. Pat does it with such a grace-so coolly and civilly, as well as broadly! It is hard if he does not, either by barefaced assertion or blarney, get something more than his due. One we hired the other day from one of the railway-stations, may serve as an example. After our ride, we put into his hand the exact fare. "Sure now," said he, looking from the coin to the giver with a comic stare, as if unable to contain his astonishment, 66 sure now, your honour'd never be for offering this to a poor man ?— look at the long ride yez been having now: by dad! it's above four hours and a half you have been driving about!" Thinking we had him tight enough for once, we said, with all the mildness we could muster, "Haven't you made some mistake in reckoning the time?-the train came in at eleven, and see, it is not quite twelve yet!" But Mike, without the least discomposure, answered, "Why then, it's some sort of mistake I must be making; but this is a rare nate horse for going,—and, anyhow, it's a mighty long way yez have bin:" and then he proceeded to enumerate the distances, which, according to his reckoning, came to almost his four hours' work; winding up, as he put on his most persuasive face, with "Yer honour 's a better scholar than I am just put them together, and —give me whatever you plaze; for bad luck to me for ever if it shall be said Mike Casey took a dirty advantage of sich a free-spoken honourable gentleman, anyhow-poor as he is!"

The result of an Englishman's rapid examination of Dublin will probably be that it is larger, grander, more modern, and less English in appearance, than he anticipated. At least, that was our impression of it. Dublin has, in form, a decided "tendency to circularity." The diameter is about three miles; the 'Circular Road' by which it is nearly surrounded is somewhat under eight miles in extent. The population of the city is above a quarter of a million. The river Liffey runs due east and west through the city, dividing it into two nearly equal portions. Old Dublin, which contains the castle and the two cathedrals (and which Mitchell described as the stronghold of Young Ireland), occupies the western portion of the southern half: the remainder of the city is comparatively modern. the old part the streets are narrow, the houses mean ; but in the modern part-that is, in the chief partthe streets are broad and straight, the houses of fair size and well built, and the public buildings, which are numerous, generally of commanding appearance, both from their extent and architectural character. All the streets are thronged with passengers; and if there is

In

a smaller number of coaches and of carts than in London, there appears to be a much larger proportion of cars; which are indeed so numerous, and in such general request among all classes, that one is led to believe that in Dublin everybody makes a point of riding who has sixpence in his pocket to pay for a 'set-down.'*

Besides the broad, well-built, and thronged streets, there are several very large squares, surrounded by handsome mansions. The river, in its passage through the city, is confined within thick granite walls, and is crossed by nine bridges, below the first of which it is crowded with ships and steamers, moored along the quays. The whole conveys the impression of a noble, a wealthy, and a busy city. So long as he keeps to the main thoroughfares, the visitor is full of admiration of Dublin; but as he extends his peregrinations, he soon becomes aware that it is encircled with an undue proportion of wretched, poverty-stricken, and unwholesome streets and alleys, which do, indeed, not merely surround the city, but, at every turn, force their way up into the very heart of it.

We cannot give even a cursory view of the history of Dublin, as we have done in noticing other cities and towns. The history of Dublin is too intimately blended with the history of Ireland to allow of its being told without running to greater length than our space permits, and trenching on matters we wish to avoid. Its epochs, its changes, and its fortunes, are involved with all the great and small events of the national story. Yet the history of Dublin would be an interesting theme in the hands of one who, while master of his subject and able to treat it without party spirit, could also reanimate the past, and restore to present times the Dublin of old. Strange have been its changes, and curious would be its domestic history. The Town of the Ford of Hurdles (for so native historians translate its Celtic name of Bally-ath-cliath); the Eblana of Ptolemy; the Dubh-lynn, or Black-pool of somewhat later times, must remain hidden in the dim mist that envelopes all the early history of the land of Erin; and even the Four Masters, were they to return to earth, would hardly be able to dissipate the obscurity. What was its condition in the glorious days of Brian Boroimhe, or of Malachi of the Collar of Gold; or in the gloomier days of Strongbow, and later Saxon conquerors, we can scarcely expect or desire to learn; but as we descend the stream of time clearer pictures become visible. Till recently, the very houses spoke of the influence of the English spirit which prevailed in the reign of queen Elizabeth.† Hints as to its state in the succeeding century are not wanting. Then come abundant notices of the Dublin in which Swift lived and ruled. How remarkable was the state of society * A drive direct from any part of the city to any other part, without alighting on the way, is called a 'set-down ;' and the legal fare for it is only sixpence-which, as the car carries four passengers, is enough to tempt those who do not like walking.

See Whitelaw's History of Dublin.'

there half a century later, may be seen in the 'Sketches of Ireland Sixty Years ago:' and what it was before and after the Union is told in many a grave volume and scattered memoir. That well-abused event unquestionably wrought a vast alteration in the Irish metropolis. When Parliament no longer assembled there, the notables' ceased to make it their residence ; and the tone of manners gradually changed: yet the city itself suffered no decay, but has rather gone on steadily increasing in size and population, and improving in appearance: may it continue to increase also in prosperity.

We will now, if you please, look a little more closely at the city. The main streets, we have said, are of striking appearance. The two grand thoroughfares are the Quays, as the roadway by the Liffey is called, which, as was mentioned, runs east and west, through the centre of the city; and Sackville and Grafton Streets, which run at right angles to the quays, or north and south. There are several other streets hardly inferior in importance to these, and many more that are in nowise remarkable: altogether the city is said to contain 800 streets,-but we should think the number overrated.

Sackville Street deserves all the admiration which the citizens bestow upon it. It is one of the noblest streets in the kingdom. Its unusual width-120 feet throughout-imparts to it an air of majesty which the style and arrangement of the houses, and also of the buildings which terminate the vista in each direction, are, on the whole, well calculated to sustain. But it is not so rich in public edifices as some other streets, and perhaps its great width is an inconvenience to foot-passengers, while it certainly makes the houses, though really lofty, appear to want elevation. Near the centre of Sackville Street stands the Nelson Column,-one of those erections which the perversity of architects and committees have so superabundantly inflicted on the memory of our great naval hero. On the top of this, as on all these pillars, the unlucky admiral is perched, like another St. Simon, for the edification and contemplation of rooks and skylarks; he is beyond the ken of human eyes, unless assisted by a good telescope. The column is Doric; the shaft, which is fluted, is, with the capital, about eighty feet high; it stands on a pedestal about thirty feet high; the podium on which the statue is placed is twelve feet and a half high. Nelson himself is thirteen feet high, and his height from the ground is about 125 feet. We can say nothing as to the sculpture, for we were unable to make it out, but certainly the column (though in itself as little to be commended as that in Trafalgar Square) assists in giving an appearance of dignity to the street. It presents an imposing central object for the eye to rest upon, and prevents the sort of straggling unconnected look which the two sides of an extremely broad street have a tendency to exhibit. Standing, too, as it does, at the junction of the long line of Henry and Talbot Streets with Sackville Street, it is seen conspicuously from many points. Close by the Nelson Pillar is the Post Office, a very handsome