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of one cabalistic word-straight jacket;a charm which at once dispossessed the fanatic, dethroned the monarch, dumb-founded the alchymist, deposed his holiness, and knocked off the tremendous wig of the Chief Justice! In the midst of all these horrors, the nurse sat stewing near the fire, and had the appearance of a damned soul in some infernal bagnio!

The Botanical Garden near Dublin, is extensive and well planted with all the varieties of indigenous and foreign productions. The walks and the hedge-rows green,” render it a delightful academic retreat. Sir Richard Steele and Addison, wrote several numbers of the Spectator on the spot where the garden now is. The knight had a house here, and spent some of his happiest moments in it, with his friend, and that constellation of wits which shed such a halo of glory over the commencement of the 18th century:

" In front of these came Addison. In bim
Humour in holiday and sightly trim,
Sublimity and attic taste combined,

To polish, furnish, and delight mankind." They were the first writers who retailed their labours in periodical sheets. If there was any defect in those early productions, it was the frequent habit of dreaming which their authors fell into, and the aniles fabellas which now and then fill


pages. You think you hear at every new story, the “Dinazarde, my dear sister, are you asleep,” of the Arabian Tales!


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The Foun.lling Hospital of Dublin is a very important institution. It is supported by a tax on the inhabitants of the city, at 5 per cent. on house rent. There are about 650 children now in the wards. Infants are brought here from every part of Great Britain and Ireland, In one room I saw 15 babes-2 in each cradle, newly sent in. They are all marked on the arm, or tatooed so as to be known afterwards. The names of the persons who sent them are registered in the grand hore. Soon after their arrival, they are sent to the country to nurse, and when they are old enough they are taught to read and write.

These little creatures have been torn away from the maternal bosom, they have been deprived of the tender caresses, and of the vigilant care of a mother; they will not receive those early parental lessons which become engraven on the “tablets of the brain," in indelible characters. They will never pronounce the sacred name of the dearest of beings,

“ Ils n'ont jamais vu lo souivre d'une mère." Perhaps, in that crowd of orphans, there are some hearts"

pregnant with celestial fire"Some d'Alembert, whom his depraved parent will be afterwards proud to own-or, perhaps, (says a French writer, speaking of the Enfans Trouvés,) perhaps the child of a Rousseau lies in the same cradle with the offspring of a Cartouche!


S'est la campagne qui fait le pays, et c'est le peuple de la campagne qui fait la nation. C'est là que les bons et les mauvais effets du gouvernement se font le mieux sentir; comme aa hout d'un rayon, la mésure des arcs est plus exacte.

J. J. Rousseau, Emile.

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J'irai semer partout ma erainte et ses alarmes,
Et ranger tous les cours du parti de sès larmes.

RACINE, Britannicus.

Dublin, June 20, 1819, I HAVE been enjoying a short excursion to the South, in order to make myself acquainted with the condition of the Irish peasantry. I passed through Naas, Monastereven, Athy and Carlow. A part of my way was through the famous bog of Allen, which is nearly 40 miles long. Do not imagine that I intend putting you asleep with a dull account of the number of inhabitants, churches, &c. of the different towns I visited: there are stupid travellers enough, Heaven knows! without my being of the number. Near Monastereven, I walked to Vinegar Hill, where the patriots were mas. sacred in 1798, by the Orange men. Near it is Moor Abbey, the seat of the Marquis of Drogheda, who is one of the numerous Irish noblemen, who spend their money in the common sewer of vice, London, and let their lands to rich men, who let them out in parcels, which are subdivided into smaller lots, and thus ad infinitum. Athy is 32 miles from Dublin, and is picturesquely situated on the


tíver Barrow, which serpentines very beauti-
fully. The church is small and very ill-at-
tended. There is a canal near this place, the
écluses of which are extremely well construct-
ed. At Carlow much blood was spilt in ’98.
As an instance of the execrable conduct of the
orange men, a number of these sanguinary
monsters applied a torch to a hospital which:
was crowded with unresisting and wounded
patriots, and consumed them in one general
conflagration! The destruction of these help-
less wretches, by a death which gives an idea
of the torments of the damned, seemed to af:
ford heartfelt gratification to the hellish fiends
who revelled in the excrutiating pangs of their
fellow creatures. During the Rebellion, more
than 500 peopie were massacred in the streets,
or burnt in houses set on fire, at Carlow! Blue,
I observe, is the fashionable colour at this
place: the walls of the houses are blue, the
doors with their “frappant and tintina-bunt
appendages,” (as Johnson would have called
them,) are blue; the windows, shutters, ladies
hoods and mantles are blue; and even (horresco
referens:) the drop and pulleys of the gallows,
kissed by the breath of heav'n, seem colour'd
by its skies.”

Port Patrick is the Gretna Green of the
Land of Erin. Here


carry the heiresses they can persuade to run off with them; which, by the way, is the easiest method for a lawyer or doctor to get into practice!" If a young fellow, (says Addison,) finds he can


make nothing of Coke and Littleton, he provides himself with a ladder of ropes, and by that means very often epters upon the premises.” Seriously all the old duennas, antiquated virgins and cross uncles and guardians, should reflect that“ Love laughs at Locksmiths,” and that unless they resort to man-traps and spring guns, they will never be able to keep off fortune hunters from their Hesperian fruit.

As I travelled about the country in my shabby Highland dress, I was enabled to visit the hovels of the peasants, the greatest part of which, (to use Charles Phillips' expression,) are wretched bazaars of mud and misery; and I could ask questions for information, without being looked upon with the eye of distrust which the poor man casts towards the trappings of opulence. I will describe one of these huts, and let it suffice as an example of the rest. As I entered the door, I was stopped by a pig, which almost broke my shins, in attempting to rush out into the open air. I should have been tempted to indulge my risible muscles at this accident, had not the scene I witnessed cast a gloom over my spirits. Like the pathetic Sterne, I would not have Tet fallen an unseasonable pleasantry in the venerable presence of misery, to be entitled to all the wit that Rabelais ever scattered! The foor of the hovel was the ground; the wall was covered with cobwebs, hanging from the broken plaster," where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red”-and was so abominably filthy as to turn

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