Mrs. Sullivan had agreed to leave Dublin in that packet boat which proceeds westward, at nine o'clock in the morning, and which would take her party to the Canal Inn to sleep, the same night: they were to spend the second at some convenient resting place on the borders of Connaught, and early on the morning of the third day expected to reach Ballinamoyle.

Adelaide had employed herself the evening previous to their departure, in writing Mrs. Temple an account of all she had seen worthy of remark in the Irish capital, not forgetting to make honourable mention of her friend Colonel Desmond. This letter was written in much better spirits than the one she had sent from Shrewsbury by Lamotte; and when it reached Mrs. Temple, she was as much gratified by observing this circumstance, as by the tone of affectionate gratitude towards herself and her husband, which pervaded it throughout.

At half past nine o'clock the bustle of leaving Dublin had completely subsided, and the party assembled on the deck of the packet boat had full leisure to view each other, and the surrounding country. As they passed slowly along, one fine seat after another presented itself to their eyes. The country being, hereabouts, principally laid out in parks, lawns, and plantations; that want of wood is not felt for the first twenty miles from Dublin, in this direction, which renders a large proportion of Ireland so desolate to an eye accustomed to woodland scenery. The boat was towed along by two stout horses; but the poor animals were scarcely equal to the laborious task assigned them, and went sideling along in a manner most painful to a humane eye to see. They were driven by giddy boys, and some faint hearts on board quaked lest any accident should occur from their carelessness. Passing the locks is by no means a pleasant operation: you are shut up for a few minutes between massive stonewalls, with a watery abyss beneath, which seems to threaten to swallow you up; and one or other of your fellow passengers is sure to take that opportunity of informing you, that a packet boat was once upset passing a lock, that every soul on board perished, by a variety of deaths, more or less horrible, according to the vivacity of the imagination which the relater may happen to possess. The bell which announces the arrival of the packet boat at the places appointed for changing horses, assembles every individual within reach of its sound, who can accomplish reaching the spot ere its departure. Men, women, and children, of all descriptions, throng to gaze at the passengers, and inquire the news from Dublin. Here are to be seen the landlord, the physician, and the curate of the district, debating the politics of the day. Some passenger gives them the newspapers, or reads an extract from a pamphlet just come out, or relates rumours in direct contradiction to those they heard the day before, which however reign with unquestioned credit, till the next diurnal importation of lies reaches them, which banish, in turn, their ephemeral predecessors, and are themselves dispossessed of their authority by as short-lived usurpers.

Colonel Desmond, as our party passed along, pointed out every thing worthy of notice. He was an excellent cicerone, and there were few questions asked he could not satisfactorily answer. Mrs. Sullivan was much delighted with the good natured attention he paid her, partly from his natural urbanity, partly from his regard for Adelaide, and for his deceased friend, whose widow and child he could not see without wishing to serve them.

Mrs. Sullivan, looking on him quite as a friend, made him the confidant of her suspicions regarding Miss Wildenheim's birth, which she had resolved to keep secret in Ireland, lest they should tempt her brother-in-law to bequeath any part of his fortune from Caroline. In answer to a long string of interrogatories, respecting her late husband's life abroad, Colonel Desmond laughingly replied, "I really can't affirm that poor Maurice was always immaculate, but he certainly was guiltless of the sin of giving birth to this angelic girl. And I must, as a friend, inform you, that his brother would more easily pardon his presenting to him a dozen such claimants to multiply his name, than you for taking a single letter from it: if you don't call your daughter Miss O—Sullivan, she will never possess an acre of the Ballinamoyle estate, which, I assure you, is well worth having, though it should entail the ugliest name in the world." Mrs. Sullivan thanked him; and, profiting by the hint, there was such a practising of the most pathetic of interjections that day, that a stranger might have supposed, some half dozen of the party were in the last agonies; or that they were a set of strolling comedians, rehearsing for a tragedy, whereas they were only getting up the farce, which was to be played at Ballinamoyle.

The Miss Webberlys were as much pleased with Mr. Donolan as their mother was with Colonel Desmond. He was the first gentleman they had ever associated with, in Adelaide's company, who did not prefer her to them. The dilettante, a few degrees higher than Mr. Webberly in the scale of intellect, appreciated Miss Wildenheim's merits sufficiently to dread the use she might make of her talents; he felt her superiority, though he did not confess, even to himself, that he did so: it is true, she listened to him, when he spoke, with extreme politeness, but her replies betrayed no sister vanity, that encouraged him to display his own. Besides, she was better acquainted with the continent than himself, therefore he could not hope to astonish her by his relations of the wonders of foreign parts. He therefore transferred all his attentions to the Miss Webberlys, paying them the most exaggerated compliments, which they received as unblushingly as he bestowed. When he, for instance, called the one Venus and the other Minerva, Amelia said in reply, "Now, if Juno had but black hair, Miss Wildenheim there (pointing to Adelaide) would do for her; and then we'd be the three Graces!!!" Colonel Desmond having sufficiently paid his devoirs to Mrs. Sullivan, left her in earnest conversation with a woman, not more elegant in appearance than herself, who was entertaining her with an enumeration of the titled guests she received at her house, whilst at every high sounding name Mrs. Sullivan's reverence, and her companion's consequence, visibly increased. Adelaide's friend, happy to be thus released, seated himself beside her, and entered into conversation immediately. Mr. Webberly, who had exhausted all the tender speeches he had conned for that morning, was standing near her in total silence:

Notwithstanding he was so much displeased at Colonel Desmond's thus engrossing the object of his speechless passion, that, unable to bear the odious sight of his rival, he repaired to another part of the boat, to listen to some young Irishmen, who were canvassing the conduct of ministry with more warmth than wisdom. Colonel Desmond and Adelaide rapidly passed from one subject to another: in the course of their conversation he abruptly asked her what she thought of young Donolan? She blushed deeply, and he saw her meek brow bend to chide the arch smile that seemed to bid her lips pronounce words partaking of its own nature.—"Come, come," said he, as she hesitated to reply, "out with it Adel—Miss Wildenheim I mean: you were not always so prudent, but used to trust the friend of your infancy with the first thoughts that rose in your mind, without considering and reconsidering them; I am afraid your residence in England has made you very reserved." "Indeed you mistake me, Colonel Desmond," she replied: "the fact is, I am almost as much ashamed to acknowledge any inclination to satire to myself as to you. If I were once to give way to that propensity, I have so many provocatives to indulge it in my present companions, I should never afterwards get rid of the habit; and no heart or understanding can long withstand the destroying powers of a love of ridicule. If you would permit me to parody Shakspeare, I would say that the spirit of personal satire 'Is indeed twice curs'd:' it often abashes the modesty of worth, and paralyses the energy of genius; but oh! how surely does it, with tenfold sterility, blast every generous feeling in the mind it inhabits—first destroying integrity, for no retailer of bon-mots and ludicrous narrations will long respect the rigid exactitude of truth; then the feelings of benevolence fall its sacrifice; and finally, it perverts the understanding, which, having exercised itself more willingly in detecting absurdity than in discovering truth, soon becomes incapable of relishing any serious reflection; and thus this fatal talent, like the flame which dazzles our eyes by its vivid lustre, ends by consuming the substance from which it derived its brilliancy."

"And pray, may I ask," said Colonel Desmond, with an arch, incredulous smile, "how happens it that your present theory and former practice differ so widely? You surely never could have suffered in your own person from the effects of satire; no understanding could be so inept, no heart so cold, as to aim at you the shafts of ridicule; to what cause am I indebted for this eloquent tirade?" "I have indeed," replied Adelaide, blushing no less at his encomiums than at the confession she was about to make, "suffered severely from the effects of satire: those 'Best can paint them who shall feel them most.' You may remember, that very early in life I was suffered to be present at those assemblies of literary characters, who used to meet in my happy home at Vienna." Here she sighed, and paused for an instant, then repressing the starting tear, continued, "Incapable of appreciating their merit, or understanding their conversation, I was fully alive to the peculiarities of their manners, so different from the model of refined elegance I had daily before my eyes. Somehow the frank Étourderie of my remarks amused; and the smiling pardon, that was granted to the folly of a mere child, I mistook for an applause bestowed on wit. My first sallies proceeded from the gaiety of a guileless heart, accustomed to express every idea as it rose to the most indulgent parent and partial friend; but, as I grew older, a besoin de briller seized me, and I was on the point of becoming one of that despicable class, who, while they importune the goodness of Heaven for their daily bread, apply no less earnestly to the weaknesses of their best friends for their daily sarcasm, and rejoice more on finding one foible than ninety-nine good qualities; when my enlightened monitor awakened me to a sense of my danger. And now may I pronounce you au fait of the cause to which you are indebted for my 'eloquent tirade' against satire?"

"If you don't convince," said Colonel Desmond, "you at least persuade: but, you know, there is no general rule without exception; so do be ill-natured for once, and let me know what you were thinking of Felix, when I detected those tell-tale smiles." "Well then," said she, "since I must satisfy you, I will at least only be satirical at second-hand, and answer you in the words of Mondon,

"A propos des fous," replied Colonel Desmond, taking advantage of that language in which so much can be conveyed to the mind without shocking the ear, "ce Monsieur la," looking towards Mr. Webberly, "est amoureux—cela ce peut bien; mais Mademoiselle est elle amoureuse?" "Ah! Dieu l'en garde!"[13] exclaimed Adelaide, with unfeigned horror, involuntarily raising her hands, lowering her brows, and throwing back her head. "Tant mieux! then I will act the part of Wall in this new tragi-comedy of Pyramus and Thisbe; Pyramus shall truly say, 'O! wicked wall, through whom I see no bliss,' and will perhaps find our entertainment 'Very tragical mirth.'" Colonel Desmond faithfully kept the promise thus conveyed; and, when present, completely shielded Adelaide from Mr. Webberly's conceited love, and thus saved her the trouble of standing on the defensive herself. And though the captivating youth would willingly have sent his rival, like the pious Æneas, to visit his father in the realms below; yet such was the unwilling respect that rival's manners extorted, that he never presumed openly to manifest his real sentiments. All this time Caroline had been sitting at Adelaide's feet on one of the small packages, dressing and undressing a huge wax doll, which was her usual travelling companion, and occasionally reading to it the "Memoirs of Dick the Pony," which her indulgent friend had bought for her in Dublin. Colonel Desmond was delightedly listening to her gay laugh, and watching her infantine merriment, when her mother called her over, in order to display her beauty to the obsequious acquaintance she was so much pleased with, who had been profuse in Caroline's praise. As the little girl skipped along, with the favourite doll closely pressed to her innocent heart by one hand, and the open book in the other, her eyes dancing with delight at the thoughts of Dick's adventures, he said to Miss Wildenheim, "I am surprised to see how little Mrs. Sullivan notices that charming child; every body but you seems to treat her with absolute unkindness." "I assure you," replied she, "you do Mrs. Sullivan great injustice; she does not behave unkindly to Caroline, though certainly she is not too prodigal of her caresses to the dear infant. I have heard this indifference is not uncommon towards the offspring of second marriages. I really believe some people's affections are of the oyster kind, sticking through life to the spot they were first deposited on, without ever having exercised the smallest volition in the affair." "I beg," said he, laughing, "that when you undertake to give my character in short hand, you will recollect that 'No heart or understanding can long withstand the destroying powers of a love of ridicule.'" "Thank you for the memento," she replied, with one of her sweetest smiles; "the habit I deprecate gains strength but too quickly."

Colonel Desmond now pointed out to Adelaide's notice the hill of Allen, from whence the bog so called takes its appellation. The English name of "Isle of Allen" is only a corruption of the Irish Hy alain, that is, the district of the great plain country. This bog contains three hundred thousand acres, extending through parts of the King's and Queen's counties, and those of Kildare, Meath, Westmeath, Roscommon, Galway, and Tipperary. The hill of Allen, according to the traditions of the country, is the scene of action of Ossian's poem of Temora. On the south declivity of the hill is said to be the cave where Oscar's body was laid immediately after his death, over which his faithful dog Bran watched, as so beautifully described by the poet. A few feet from the front of the cave is a well, sacred to his manes, which is still much frequented by pilgrims: on the same declivity is the tomb of the hero, marked by one gray stone: through the valley below runs the rivulet, near which the battle was fought in which he lost his life; and to the west of the cave is seen the extensive plain of Molena, in the King's county, from which rises the ancient Cromla, now called Croan Hill. Colonel Desmond produced a beautiful edition of Ossian he had bought for his niece Miss Desmond, and reading parts of Temora, pointed out these coincidencies to Adelaide; who, when he had done, begged to look at the volume, and happening to turn to the episode of Oithona, read the following passage with no common interest: "Why camest thou over the dark blue waves to Nuath's mournful daughter? Why did I not pass away in secret, like the flower of the rock, that lifts its fair head unseen, and strews its withered leaves on the blast?" As he marked the altered hue and mournful expression of her angelic countenance, he accused himself of cruel thoughtlessness in having raised painful associations in her mind; now recollecting, that though Baron Wildenheim never spoke the language, yet he was well acquainted with English literature, and that Ossian was his favourite poet, whose sombre images peculiarly accorded with the dark melancholy that seemed to overshadow his soul. "Happy the man," thought Desmond, as he gazed on Adelaide, "who shall dry the tears I see from time to time rise in those beautiful eyes! How different is she now from what she was at Vienna! Then her brilliant charms dazzled the eye and the mind; but though her youthful bloom and her playful vivacity seem to have been laid in her father's grave, yet she is more lovely than ever: she is, as Ossian says in the poem she has now turned to, 'Like a spirit of Heaven half-folded in the skirt of a cloud.'"

A summons to dinner now assembled together below all the front cabin passengers, and there was collected together such a groupe as none of the young ladies had ever before seen, but which is to be met with at any stage-coach dinner. Mrs. Sullivan and her new friend laboured to outvie each other in airs of consequence, whilst some would-be beaux put their gallantry on active service, to be overpoweringly civil to the ladies in general, and to Cecilia Webberly and Miss Wildenheim in particular. One little smirking man was peculiarly sweet upon Adelaide, watching each word she spoke, and helping her to every thing she even looked near. When she first applied to Colonel Desmond, who sat next her, for the salt cellar, her inamorato seized the only one within reach, and presenting it to her, said with a facetious grin, as he leaned across Desmond with his chin projecting six inches out of his well-tied cravat, "Excuse me for not helping you to it, Miss; it's the only service you could require I would not with all the pleasure in life perform, but should be loath for us to quarrel; they say salt is very unlucky in parting friends." At the moment in which she bowed her thanks to this dapper wight, a very tall man stood up to help himself to something at the extreme end of the table from that where he was placed: somehow his foot slipped, he reeled a few paces back, and, in his retreat, effectually stopped Mrs. Sullivan's mouth with his elbow, who had just opened it to its utmost extension, in the endeavour to raise her dignity to a par with that of her companion, who the instant before asserted "She had every thing in the highest style at her house, and hoped to have the pleasure of seeing her there soon;" her auditor, in emulation, was just proceeding to vaunt the glories of Webberly House, when the thread of her discourse was broken off in the unexpected manner just mentioned.

The moment the cloth was removed, the ladies made their escape from the cabin, Mrs. Sullivan exclaiming, "My ocular faculties can't stand the smell of the hung beef, and the cabbage, and the mutton, and the blacking, not to disparage the gentlemen's boots; and except that fat lady in the yellow poplin pelisse and blue satin bonnet, they are all such low-lived people as I never see'd before in my born days." Her "ocular faculties," (by which we rather suppose she meant the "olfactory nerves," which Miss Webberly had remarked to the dilettante at dinner "were much offended by the hydrogen and ammonia emitted from the viands," in order to tally with his scientific recommendation of "carbonic acid gas, in the shape of bottled porter,") were, however, not much better off above than below. The smoke of the fire by which the dinner had been dressed filled all the deck; the servants were at their meal in the second cabin, from whence proceeded another edition of the beef and cabbage, et cetera, with the addition of the fumes of tobacco and whisky punch. Adelaide's admirer presently appeared on deck, bearing a great jug in one hand and a glass in the other: he addressed her saying, "I have brought you some real ladies' punch, sweet to your heart's content, and strong enough by Jasus to make any man in the packet drunk, if he would only take enough of it." In vain Adelaide declined the cup her Ganymede presented. "Don't be dashed," reiterated he; "it won't do you a ha'porth of harm: a good beginning makes a good ending. If you'll only set the example, I'll be bound to say all the ladies will keep you in countenance. It's the true Inisowen, I'll take my Davy it is?" "The true Inisowen" is a sort of smoked whisky, whose smell is the most horridly sickening thing that can be fancied to those unaccustomed to it. Adelaide found it quite overcoming, but luckily espying Colonel Desmond ascending the ladder signed to him to come to her relief, and when he obeyed, said, "Will you have the goodness to assure this polite gentleman, I am no lover of ladies' punch?" so saying, she removed to another part of the deck, to escape the odour of the "true Inisowen." The disappointed youth retreated on Colonel Desmond's remonstrance, saying, "No offence I hope, sir, to you nor the lady neither:" and, as he went down below, muttered, "With all her delicate airs, by my conscience if she was behind the cabin door she'd take a good swig of it."

The travellers had now fairly entered on the dreary bog of Allen. No human form or habitation met their sight. Its only vegetable productions were a little heath, sedgy grass, or bog myrtle, which were crossed here and there by a half-starved cow or sheep; but they sometimes proceeded miles without even seeing one of these, to remind them that the world contained other living beings besides those in the boat. The road seemed to shake as the horses passed over this

and they almost feared that the breaking of the thin stratum of earth, that seemed to separate the waters above from the waters below, might precipitate them

Their passage through this dismal region seemed intolerably slow, as no object marked their progress, but one unbroken sea of black lifeless matter encompassed them on every side, from which the eye perceived no escape. When the sun set, the heavens, like the earth, seemed dark and uninhabited; no cloud travelled over its gloomy face, but one even fall of misling rain made the aspect of the ethereal regions as unvaried as that of the land they overhung. The passengers long looked in vain to leave this abode of desolation,—