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nothing, whereas the charge of running through the estate would have been enormous. When I had proceeded along the shore for some distance, I got to some rocks, and, undressing, jumped into the sea. I like not the general resort of bathing-places situated near a city, where numbers of persons frequent, and make the water muddy. I like the clear, pure, deep, serene water, where one can stay in long and swim about unobserved. To take the pleasantest of summer exercises,
The purest exercise of health,
The kind refresher of the summer heats,
these remote localities by the rocks are truly desirable. To swim about in the clear sunshiny waters, to lie on your back on the water, watching the clear, blue, uncloudy sky, is a charm which citizens, and those who herd in the sojourns so much frequented by tourists in summer, have little idea of. How healthful, how pleasing, how invigorating and refreshing, is the sea-bathing such as I describe. I know not whether it is generally known, but it is no less a fact, that lying backwards on the water, with your ears under it, you cannot sink. Of course, of a stormy day, when the surge is high, you might by chance be nearly stunned by the force of the water dashing over you, but unless you lose your presence of mind and begin to struggle you do not sink. I recollect a very tragical occurrence happening in the harbour of Corfu, in the Mediterranean, near a spot where I had myself been swimming the very same day. Three soldiers had gone out in the afternoon of that day to swim; one of them was lying on his back in the water, and his companions were swimming near him. Suddenly they missed sight of him, and swimming up to the place where he had been, they found it tinged with blood. At some few yards' distance was a steamer lying-to, and they swam up to it and called out to the sailors on board to let them up. These last told them to come up to the forecastle of the ship. The soldiers did so, and when they got up and were on board, they told the ship's crew all they had seen of their comrade having been missed from the surface of the waters, and that the waters had been tinged with blood. The circumstances of the case left no doubt upon the minds of all that the poor soldier had been carried off by a shark, and some short time afterwards, on the waters having been dragged, they drew up his body, with one arm off it, which had been no doubt severed from his body by the shark, or by some other ravenous fish. I thought then of the merciful warnings which an Almighty Providence is frequently vouchsafing to incultate upon us the lesson of the uncertainty with which we hold the tenure of our existence. Every day serves to prove the truth of this, and yet it is only when the feelings are shocked by such events occasionally that it is forced upon our notice.
My return to Dublin in the train was not marked by much of incident. It appeared to me that Bray had quite ceased to be a country residence, and that the strand was so much built upon, and the hotels were so extensive, that if any person who had known it in former days were to return now to it, he would not see a trace of what it had been. Of Dublin, so much has been written, that the subject would not, I think, interest the general reader. The present viceroy is good-tempered, kind, and benevolent, and from his being so liberal in his sentiments, so accomplished in his
literary talents and acquirements, and so happy in oratory, both in public and in private, is deserving of great popularity there. No one can help noticing the breadth of the principal streets, the vast size of the squares, and the striking architecture of the principal buildings in Dublin. Of the statues they have nothing to boast; the one last erected, a pedestrian statue of Moore, the great lyric poet, is devoid of grace or dignity in its attitude, and is placed on a low pedestal. King William-an equestrian statue in a prominent part of the town-is seated on a horse whose legs are out of due proportion. The best statue in the city is one of Nelson, who stands, leaning on a sword, at the top of a high pillar. There are, certainly, two other equestrian statues, but they are not seen much of by the public: one being in the Mansion House gardens, and the other in the centre of a very large square called St. Stephen's Green. But, unhappily, it could (as an emporium for trade) never, I think, hope to compete with some other seaports. The entrance to the harbour is completely barred for a ship of any considerable size, except at high water; and I cannot help thinking that this impediment to the progress of commerce has tended to deaden the enterprise of the Dublin traders during past years. However, the harbour of Kingstown, which is five miles off, is, for an artificial work, one of the most wonderful specimens of modern improvement. This last place has become a regular West-end resort for the wealthy of Dublin. During summer it is quite crowded, and what with its facilities for bathing, yachting, and the military bands which go there several times during the week from Dublin, it is a regular scene of gaiety. The trains pass between the two places every half-hour in the day, and when there is a regatta much oftener. It is an instance of a town having risen to greatness in a few years, as many of the old inhabitants in Dublin recollect when there was not more than a dozen houses in it, and now it comprises numerous series of terraces, streets, and avenues, which contain some very splendid houses. There are several large churches and chapels; and the increasing number of houses which are being built evince the fact of the situation being highly eligible for habitation.
The county of Wicklow was described some time ago by a writer in Blackwood as the "Eden of the Land." This I suppose to bear reference to the beauty of its landscapes and the genial disposition of its inhabitants. There seems to be no part of the eastern and southern provinces of that island where the population is more generally composed of Protestants than in this county. It is pleasing to see their regular attendance at church, and their honesty and good conduct are so remarkable that such an occurrence as a theft or an outrage, either in the small villages or throughout the whole district, is seldom heard of.
Sept.-VOL. CXXII. NO. CCCCLXXXIX.
BY W. CHARLES KENT.
XVII.-THOMSON AT RICHMOND.
A SOUTHERN fruit-wall basking in the sun,
Among the green leaves burn, and where towards one
A pearly peach, its plump cheek all a-glow
Warm, luscious velvet to the touch, whence flow
Mellifluous promptings to a thirsting bite
Where brim to lips, as erstwhile blushed to sight,
And he, that Sybarite with sensuous soul-
To whom the whole world's but one peach, the whole,
That sauntering dreamer in loose morning-gown— (Cream chintz with sprigs of roses)—
A careless robe that, when asunder blown,
Within the loving hollow of whose palm,
With autumn draughts as of ambrosial balm
A kindly, comely, plump-fed, rosy bard,
While beams the effluence of thought's calm regard,
A linen kerchief round his smooth-shorn pate,
He lacks (poor Moslem!) even one lonely mate
As closely to his heart as Adam's, cleave
Here crowns God's fair creations.
Breast-high beside the outer path-line, here,
Like flowering corn, the sweet-breath'd lavender
Beyond the inner box, sweet herbs and flowers-
With mint and thyme that, nursed by rays and showers,
Where yonder wall-trained cherry-trees unfold
Rich lumps of blossoms that, on sultry eves,
Seem thrilling first through all their wealth of leaves,
Between which prickly bushes, whose sweet blooms
Plants, rarely touched with summer's spent perfumes,
The tiger-lily, with curled tromps of gold
In clustering shafts, slim golden rods—and blue,
And hollyhocks, bright-ringed with every hue,
Such glimpses caught from Eden's lavish dyes,
In verdant pomp, through his delighted eyes
He yearns, through every colour, form, and sound
To chant that boundless Power that strows around
One Prayer to Heaven, the rapture of his verse—
Like vocal incense burnt, shall aye rehearse
One votive wreath those reverent hands will twine,
A chaplet woven from every bloom divine,
GRANVILLE DE VIGNE.
A TALE OF THE DAY.
PART THE NINTH.
HOW A PORTFOLIO WAS UPSET IN ST. JAMES'S-STREET.
"ОH, mamma, she is such a sweetly pretty girl, and Ashton is so abominably stupid, he must have knocked them down on purpose. Open the door, Colonel Sabretasche, and let me out. It is no use telling me not-I will!"
With which enunciation of her own self-will the Hon. Violet Molyneux sprang to the ground in the middle of St. James's-street, just opposite the bay-window, to the unspeakable horror of her mother, and the excessive amusement of De Vigne and Sabretasche, who were driving in the Molyneux barouche. One of the powdered, white-wanded, six-feet-high plushes that swayed to and fro at the back of the carriage, having dismounted at some order of his mistress's, had happened to push, as those noble and stately creatures are given to pushing every plebeian peripatetic, against a young girl passing on the pavement. The girl had with her a portfolio of pictures, which the abrupt rencontre with Mr. Ashton sent out of her grasp, scattering its contents to the four winds of heaven, and to jump down to apologise was the work of a second with that perfectly courteous, but, according to her mamma and her female friends, much too impulsive and unconventional young beauty the Hon. Violet, whose fatal lessons, learnt on the wild moorlands and among the fragrant woods of her beloved Corallyne, the aristocratic experiences of her single season had been sadly unable to unteach her.
"Ashton, how can you be so careless? Pick those drawings up immediately and very carefully," said the young beauty, looking immeasurably severe and dignified. Then turning to the young girl, she apologised with her polished courtesy and her beaming smile for the accident her servant had caused, while Ashton, in disgusting violence to his own feelings, was compelled to bend his stately form, and even to so far fall from his pedestal of powdered propriety and flunkeyism grandeur as to run-yes, absolutely run-after one of the sketches, which, wafted by a little breeze that must have been that mischievous imp Puck himself, ambled gently and tantalisingly down the street, leading poor Ashton chasing after it. The young girl thanked her with as bright a smile as Violet's, and votes were divided among the men in the club windows as to which of the two was the most charming, though the one was a fashionable belle with every adjunct of taste and dress, and the other an unprotected little thing walking with a woman-servant in St. James'sstreet; an artist, probably, only she was too young, or a governess -no! she was too distinguée. She took her portfolio-by this time we in the clubs were all looking on, heartily amused, and Sabretasche