put an end to his own existence, in sagaciously attempting to find out the feelings produced by strangulation; but somebody was mischievious enough to cut him down, before he had experienced all the enviable sensations of hanging! This mad trick of his lordship's, will explain his laudable conduct towards a wretched foundling. Over the door of the amphitheatre, is the following appropriate inscription from Dr. Hunter's Introductory Lecture. "It is by Anatomy only, that we can arrive at the knowledge of the true nature of most of the diseases which afflict humanity." The park is the promenade and recreation. place for the students. It is an extensive green of 8 acres, shaded with trees-and possessing every advantage for peripatetic study and agreeable relaxation. The students wear dark gowns with large flowing sleeves, stuck with tassels, and caps fitting close to the scull! topped by a flat square piece of some stiff article. The Trinity College was erected in the reign of the Virgin queen, in 1519. James I. endowed it with large estates in the province of Ulster. There are at present between 6 and 700 students. The medical lectures commence in November, and last 6 months; among the professors, Dr. M'Cartney lectures on anatomy and surgery, Dr. Barker on chymistry, and Dr. Tuomy on the practice of medicine. The vacation is in the months of July, August and September. His royal highness, the Duke of Cumberland, is chancellor of the University. The Dublin Society house contains a splendid museum of antiquities, minerals, and of the Fine Arts. The first room contains the casts from the Elgin marbles at the British Museum. Lord Byron satirizes Elgin very severely for stealing the marbles of the Parthenon at Athens, and takes occasion from that to advert on the unclassical phlegm of the Scotch, who, he says, are "Cold as the craggs upon their native hills, Their minds as barren and their hearts as hard." The casts are either badly done, or the marbles were too much ruined to claim attention from any one but a Scotchman, who took it into his head that he had a taste for the arts! Swift's Hospital is an asylum for lunatics; there are 180 patients-the boarders pay 80 guineas a year. As I walked along the passage, I heard "moody Madness laughing wild amid severest wo." In visiting the wards I was frequently stiffened with horror, and confounded with the dreadful display of demoniacal gestures. Some were in the agonies of religious madness; one who took himself for a king, was stalking about with great majesty; another awoke one fine morning and found self no less than the Pope! A third was busily employed in finding out the philosopher's stone! A fourth imagined himself the Lord Chief Justice! But the whole of them were silenced by the sound of one cabalistic word-straight jacket; 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 The Botanical Garden near Dublin, is extensive and well planted with all the varieties of indigenous and foreign productions. 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 him 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 up the pages. You think you hear at every new story, the "Dinazarde, my dear sister, are you asleep," of the Arabian Tales! The Foundling 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 le 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! LETTER Xxx. C'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 an hout d'un rayon, la mésure des arcs est plus exacte. J. J. ROUSSEAU, Emile. J'irai semer partout ma crainte et ses alarmes, 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 massacred 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 |