MR. EDITOR,-I dare venture to guess that many of your readers, during the summer months, will have a ramble to some part of Her Majesty's dominions or other; and as I and my friend Mr. Stanley have taken advantage of the late fine weather, and had a rather early trip, I will, by your permission, and for the information and entertainment of your readers, jot down a few incidents and scenes which came under our notice by the way. It would be useless for me to tell you that Mr. Stanley is about the most successful caterer for excursionists in the United Kingdom; but I may tell you that his journey on this occasion was undertaken for the purpose of making arrangements, and clearing the way for the tourists of the coming season. He felt anxious, before he sent crowds from Manchester, to the beautiful city of Cork, and the enchanting Lakes of Killarney, to go and see these places for himself, and make matters square on the line.

Away then we went, on Wednesday the 19th of April, from the Victoria station, by the one o'clock train. The railway engine had not puffed and blowed very long, before we found ourselves at the Chester station-a structure which has few equals in England. Here we alighted for a few minutes, and after entering the waiting apartment, we took our seats for a few minutes. The traveller no sooner gets here, than he is struck with the idea that he has found his way into some foreign land. Women dressed most fantastically, and looking like the wives of country farmers, or the hardy matrons of agricultural labourers, are seen on all sides; and what inevitably makes you stare most is,

that they all talk at a fearful rate in some outlandish language. Their tall and formidable hats defy all Paris fashions for a century of seasons. You soon remember, however, that you are on the borders of Wales, and that all the chattering you hear, is nothing but the natural outflowing of the spirit and temper of the feminine descendants of the ancient Celts; and that all these long hats are only an exhibition of the excellent taste of the Cambrian ladies.

When we had bustled out of one room into another, a time or two, we again took our seats, and left the ancient city, with its crowd of antiquities, to pursue our journey through North Wales. As we passed we looked through the carriage windows, and felt glad that we got a glimpse of the crumbling old churches in which the Saxons and Normans had once worshipped; and especially when we saw the old walls on which William of Normandy had once stood, and the scene where the legions of Rome used to frolic. Chester was soon left behind, and we exchanged the calm and quiet scenery of England for the bolder and more diversified of Cambria. We now entered Flintshire, where we were treated to as fine a view as this island can produce. On the right, for many miles, the railway skirts the sea, or rather, the estuary of the Dee, and as far as the eye can reach, you see the silvery sides of the waves as they roll and push each other onward towards the land; while to the left, in singular but pleasing contrast, are the proud mountains and ver dant vales of Flint, Denbigh, and Carnarvon. The little, and ap parently happy villages, which lie

80 gracefully on the mountain slopes, surrounded by beautiful woodlands of the richest green, make you think of so many Edens; and the trees and shrubs seen here and there in isolated clumps, on which are pendant life and beauty, impart to the whole a poetic air, which cannot fail to awaken pleasurable feelings in the most soulless spectator.

We passed a number of stations, none of which we can stay to notice, except one named Holywell; the town from which it takes its name being very prettily situated, if we remember right, on the slope of a hill. One of the greatest curiosities in North Wales-Suint Winfrede's Well-is in this place. Tradition tells us that St. Winfrede was a cleverish sort of fellow, and we doubt not, if tradition says true, that he worked many remarkable impostures at this well. (Nothing better fitted, we should say, than good mineral water for the manufacture of popish miracles, if you will give it time.)

We dashed at length, by a tunnel, through that huge headland, "Great Ormes Head," a burly, rugged, massy rock, rising to a great height, and the whistle had not long ceased its scream, before we reached the interesting town of Bangor. There are several magnificent works of art between this and the Island of Anglesey, which every Englishman should see, at least, once in his life. The most splendid achievement of modern art is, perhaps, the Britannia Tube, running across Menai Straits. The view from this point along the Straits, and on the mountain sides, is truly exquisite. Nature and art seem here to struggle for rivalry, and as the latter appears to put on a dignified frown, and to look down on all below with a proud superiority, the former preserves a constant smile, and appears conscious that she triumphs by a gentler majesty. The man who wishes to commune with nature in her richest forms, who cannot help feeling, and who loves to feel the deep and solemn stirrings of religious emotion in his breast when he wanders silently

among her sublimest outstretchings; the man who lingers, and loves to linger under old walls, grey with the suns and winters of many ages, and within whose precincts kings and princes of "olden time" have sometimes held high banquet, and at other times trembled with fear; the man who feels the inspirations of awe, mingled with reverence, when he gazes at the sides or on the sum-` mits of old castles, and remembers that six or eight centuries look down upon him; and the man who wants to see what modern art, aided by the hand of modern science can do, should spend a week or two in the neighbourhoods of Bangor and Conway. As the train crosses the island of Anglesey, you see little that interests. One dead flat from end to end, without any appearance of fruitfulness; a number of large fields, as brown and bald as a common waste, and innumerable stone walls, all looking as if they existed in one perpetual winter, are about the only things which strike your attention. We arrived at Holyhead, and were not long before we saw that we were not in an English town. The aspect of the place, the appearance of the inhabitants, and their peculiar twang; the arrangement of the buildings, the names on the sign-boards, and the huge hats worn by the women, told plainly enough that we were nearly at the "Land's End,” in that direction. To us it appeared a rather miserable sort of place.

The fine steamer, Cambria, lay in dock, awaiting our arrival; and quickly were we on board, and on our way to fair Hibernia. Her large paddle-wheels struck heavily the Atlantic waves, her keel ploughed its way through "the great deep," and on we floated over the Irish Channel, with something of English pride, at the rate of fourteen knots an hour. As we sailed on, the large breakwater now being thrown across the bay told us of the power and skill of man; and as we conversed with the sailors on the peculiar dangers of the passage, and as they pointed out the spot where cross-currents had often threatened

the safety of the vessels, we felt whata short space intervened between ourselves and several fathoms of water. But the sea was peaceful, her blue waters, so often lashed into fury, were as smooth and tranquil as an autumnal eve; and we stood on deck, conscious that we were safe in the hands of Providence, watched the sea-gulls skimming the surface of the sea, gazed in awe along the distant horizon, until at length the last beams of golden light from the sun gilded the placid tops of the sinall, blue waves, and down we went into the cabin to await-prostrate on velvet cushions-the arrival of the moment which would land us safely on the soil of Erin.

For ourselves, we always feel safest on good terra-firma, and we were in no wise sorry when we came "along-side," in Dublin Bay. One would have thought, as it was now eleven o'clock (p.m.), that there. would have been few people at the docks at such an unreasonable hour. But late and dark as it was, such a crowd of porters stood on shore, as we never witnessed before; enough, we should say, to hurry up all the luggage on board; and no sooner were the steps thrown across from the shore to the boat, than they rushed down into the vessel like a herd of hungry wolves, every one greedy to seize on trunk or box, or whatever might promise to bring them a few coppers.

We made at once for the Kingstown Station, which is not three minutes' walk from the docks, and immediately we were on our way to Dublin. It was fast on twelve o'clock, when we found ourselves in the Irish metropolis; and we had no lodgings secured. The lodgings, therefore, were the first thing to be thought of. It must be borne in mind that we had made some inquiries previously on this score, and had been directed to a certain hotel, where we should procure everything clean, and at a moderate charge. We had about a mile and a half to wander at midnight, before we could reach the inn, but as it had the character of respectability, com

bined with moderate charges, we determined, late as was the hour, to march through the streets of Dublin in quest of it. We did not forget, when we met with any one, to inquire the locality, and most people could tell us; but we had so many streets and public buildings to turn up by, or to pass, that we really could not retain the recollection of the first part of the directions until the last was delivered; it was all done with such substantial Irish minutia. We found the inn, but there was no bed. "I'm very sorry," said the landlord, "but it's our cattle-fair, and we are quite full." Back we went to another hotel, which lay about a mile distant, but here again the people were very sorry that they were quite full. We tried another, but we got the same answer; it really began to appear that we should secure no bed that night, and as midnight had already turned, we began to speculate as to the pleasantness of tramping the streets till daylight. We, however, met with a policeman, who soon directed us to an inn, where we succeeded. It was cheering to hear that there was a bed for us; we partook of supper, and prepared for rest.

While here, three Irish gentlemen, of the middle class, entered the room, one of whom, from the conversation, we learned, was in the habit of quarrelling with an acquaintance, who, as it appeared, was not present. The most intelligent of the three began to lecture his friend for his quarrelsome disposition, and he told him, in his excitement, "that he was nothing better than a fool thus to disagree with one with whom, immediately. after a rupture, he was invariably on the best of terms." These two now began to cross each other, and the lecturer at length began to warm up, and was as ready for a "fall out" as his friend whom he had been so earnestly counselling. He immediately proposed a fight, when I and my friend retired to rest. Ten minutes had scarcely elapsed, when the two men were

fighting in the streets. They thrashed each other till they were tired, and then they separated. We could not but think, what a thing of inconsistency and folly is poor human nature, when not influenced by loftier principles than are found within itself.

We here slept tolerably until the next morning; when we rose, took breakfast, and then hired a cab for a drive to some of the principal objects of interest in the city. We met with a man as cab-driver, who had more than an ordinary amount of intelligence. He could converse a little about politics, and a good deal about the want of enterprise in the Irish character; and something about "Dan O'Connell," and Smith O'Brien, and a few other matters. "Those fellows,” he said, "broke Dan's heart. He would have been living now, if they had not used him so bad. Dan was the best man we have had for Ireland. Dan was all for pace," he said; "but Mitchell and these were all for daggers and war, and it broke poor old Dan's heart. Mitchell," he said, I was a fool, and a rogue, and ought to have been hung many years ago. He went wild mad, and was not fit to go loose." So said the cabman.

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I intimated that those were the best men, as politicians, who succeeded in causing food to be cheapened, and in placing within the reach of the poor something on which to live. He replied: "Ay, Cobden and Bright were the men; God prosper them; they had the constant prayers of thousands of Irishmen." "What would you have done this winter," I inquired, "had not bread been cheapened " "Ah," he cried out with enthusiasm, "and faith, had it not been for Cobden and Bright, every man in Ireland would have been starved before this day;" and then he stretched out bis hand, and said, "there would not have been a man of us left."

We drove through the city, saw many of the public buildings, and

were

much delighted. Nothing interested us more than that magnificent pile of buildings-the Dub

lin University. We ran through the different squares, and, as we gazed with a sort of awe on the amplitude of its dimensions, we thought it was an honour to the country, and an evidence of the Irish appreciation of the value of education. As the youths walked about in their four-cornered hats and literary-looking coats, we wondered how many of them would one day be men of mark; and the thought flitted across the mind, of how many great characters had emerged from within these walls; and, to say the truth, we concluded there had been, besides, a certain per centage of simpletons, unless, indeed, the Dublin University differed very considerably from most other Üniversities. The entire range of buildings has, in truth, more the appearance of a little town than a single institution and we left its venerable precincts with reluctance, hoping one day to spend a few hours more among its more attractive curiosities.

We then drove for Phoenix Park, and the cabman, anxious to make the journey there as pleasant-and, we dare say, he thought—as instructive as possible, began to describe the different objects as we passed them. The thing was done with the pure Irish accent, and with something of Irish enthusiasm, combined with its invariable concomitant-Irish exaggeration. His description of the bridges of the Liffy, were quite minute, and especially his account of the old one, called the Bloody Bridge. He gave us a most terrific picture of the celebrated battle there, in which he jostled together an together an immense number of frightful adjectives, qualifying such nouns as screams, blood, murder, and death.

We hurried onward, and passing a couple of soldiers, I remarked, "You have a few soldiers here yet, I perceive;""And we have but a very scarce number;" he replied. "Indeed!" we returned. "And are they not all gone to the east, to punish the Russians?" "Are they all gone," I inquired. "Indeed, they are all away; yer honour would