and then a rim of fire, intensely bright, pierced the watery horizon. For an instant it was motionless, then it grew larger, and the vast globe of flame ascended resplendently up the morning sky, its piercing rays chasing the mists before them over the burning deep. It was a glorious scene: the waves were like liquid fire dancing in the sunlight, and the flying mists were rushing like frighted spirits over the waters: the sky was brilliant with crimson, sapphire, purple, and gold, and it seemed to me as if water and cloud, sea and sky, were singing a morning hymn to the Deity. Such a scene will repay a man for the anguish produced by sea-sickness, and that amounts almost to agony.

On our twentieth day out, we found ourselves off the coast of Ireland. We were all on the look-out for land. Sails were frequent, and the less venturous sea-birds numerous. Our captain announced his determination to run into Cork for coals, provided we could get a pilot. We were not long without one. A coarselooking, sloop-rigged craft, in appearance like a dull sailing, dirty fishing-boat, hove in sight on our port-bow, and bore down for us. She was a sorry-looking affair compared with the beautiful fairy little cruiser of our Cape Henlopen pilot. As she approached us, we could make her out distinctly; but I am sorry to say that she did not improve on inspection. She was a beggarly, begrimed tub, filled with a crew of Corkonians and they were unmistakable. One "jontleman" hailed us: we lay to-he lowered a cockle-shell of a boat-two or three of his men tumbled over him into it-the oars were plied lustily, and the first representative of her majesty's subjects that it was my lot to see fairly on the European side of the Atlantic came on board our ship. He was "Ould Irelan" complete, even to the pipe, and as exacting as possible. The pilot was called into the captain's cabin for business purposes, while we scrutinized his beautiful craft a thing that looked to me as if she might have been the tender to Tom Hood's phantom ship, the Mary Ann, of Shields :

Her mast was black, her decks were black,

And so her hull and rails;

Her shrouds were black, her flag was black,

And so were all her sails.

She evidently wanted scrubbing "aloft and alow," and her crew were quite as much in want of a treat to soap and cold water as any of the race I ever saw before.

We soon resumed our course, the pilot directing it, and keeping the ship towards the land. The miles grew fewer between us and it, and before mid-day the cry that has cheered many a despairing soul rang through our ship-Land! land, ho! and every eye was turned to catch a glimpse of Pisgah's top-a faint line which appeared a dull leaden cloud resting on the horizon, but gave to the uninitiated eye no indications of solid earth until we approached to within a few miles. As the distance diminished, it became distinct, and the bold rocky shores arose, towering over the sea. We soon could trace the roads, the hedges, the stone walls, the thatched huts; and then we saw men and women moving to and fro in the fields, at the labor of the farm. There was the Emerald Isle, or a portion of it; and treeless it was, too. Kinsale Head was passed, and then other points followed, and our ship soon gained the entrance to the famous Cove of Cork. As we approached, there was evident curiosity among the people on shore as to our craft and her errand. Numbers of small boats came out to meet us, and cheers and shouts went up on all sides. We were hurried on past forts Camden and Caroline, two frowning defences, one on either side the strait. They ran up their flags as a salute; and as all things were in readiness with us, guns loaded and primed, ensigns rove and men at their post, an order was passed to the crew to stand by their colors; and at the sound of the bell our carronades were fired, and the "starry banner" and the blood-red flag of St. George floated from our mast's head. The hills echoed and re-echoed the report of our guns, until the sound came back to us for the twentieth time, and the hollow booming roused like magic the entire population of Queenstown. As soon as we were cleverly into the harbor, our vision was greeted by some splendid scenery. There lay the town, directly in front, with its beautiful villas and white houses rising in terraces on the hill-side, until they crowned the top. The noble sheet of water stretched out for several miles to the right and left, while Spike Island, with its barracks and formidable fortresses, reposed like a sleeping war-dog near by.

We were all excitement and admiration; the town was full of bustle and curiosity about the stranger, boats full of the natives were around us, and "Huzzas for America!" welcomed us as we moved on.

We soon gained a favorable point; an order was passed to the men we all could hear, as it was clear and intelligible, "Let go that anchor!"

"Ay, ay, sir!" was the response; and the huge cable began to grate and ring as the heavy mass slipped into the sea. The hoarse roar of the ponderous chain soon ceased-our ship swung slowly round with the tide, and lay like a tired giant at rest upon the placid waters.

CHAPTER II.

SOMETHING ABOUT IRELAND.

OUR visit to Ireland was unexpected and of short duration, but sufficiently long to give us a fair opportunity of seeing how the lower class of Irish live. We landed at Queenstown on Friday afternoon, May 30th, 1851, where we were immediately surrounded by a throng of beggars, at once the lowest and meanest I ever saw. They followed us, pleading for pence, and hung to us like wax. There was no shaking them off, unless you put them aside by force, or gave them into the charge of a police officer. In addition to their half-starved appearance, they were barefooted, and not one in every ten had sufficient clothing to hide his nakedness. No drunken Indian ever presented a more revolting spectacle than did these beggars of Queenstown. They were filthy, and covered with vermin; so much so, indeed, as to make me shudder to think of them for days after, and cause my flesh to creep with the idea that I had unfortunately come into too close contact with them, and gotten a share of the wandering tribes that roamed unmolested over their skin. This, fortunately, was not the case; but I could not divest my mind of the idea, until a thorough bathing and cleansing relieved me of the dust and atmosphere of the town.

Old and young men and women-naked and clothed-they gathered around us in a regular mob, and begged with as much earnestness as a lawyer pleads a cause. There was no means of getting them away but by violence, or flying for refuge into an open door, and it was doubtful whether you would succeed then. We drove the mendicant throng off as well as we could, and managed to shelter ourselves in a hotel. Here, while partaking of refreshments, we were welcomed, on behalf of some gentlemen present, in a neat and appropriate speech by one of the company. He spoke in a slow, distinct manner, selecting his words with great care, and took occasion to say many flattering things of the United States. The incident was happy, and, to us, agreeable, as it was unexpected. Each Irishman here was a gentleman, and each educated and refined, genteel in dress and manners, and possessing most excellent social qualities. They were in every sense polished and friendly, and gave us abundant proof of their sincerity and hospitality. I do not believe that a more appropriate reception of strangers could be gotten up than the one so unexpectedly tendered our company, or that a more gentlemanly set of men could be found than the Irishmen of whom I speak. They were candid, bland, sociable, and refined; and their conduct made a lasting impression on our minds. One of the passengers returned thanks for the reception given us, and we joined in three hearty, enthusiastic cheers for old Ireland, and separated, each and every one highly delighted with the true Irish gentleman, and with a more favorable opinion of the inhabitants of Queenstown than we thought it possible for us ever to entertain at the time of our landing. In an hour we had the two extremes of Irish social distinctions set before us, and were glad to find so much that is really noble in a place where at first we thought there was nothing but ignorance, sloth, mendicity, immorality, and suffering.

Queenstown is romantically located, and presents an attractive appearance to the stranger. The houses are built on streets which rise like terraces one above the other, until they crown the hills which overlook the spacious Cove of Cork. Some of the residences of the gentry are really splendid, and in them is to be found all that a man can desire to make him happy.

All along the river Lee, a beautiful little stream which runs into the Cove, and on which the city of Cork stands, there are many handsome mansions and a great deal of fine scenery. Trees are scarce, except in the parks, but the land is cultivated down to the river's brink, and that in the highest state. At one point along the stream we noticed a large building, with two high towers, rising like sentinels up to heaven, and, on inquiring, learned that it was a memorial to Father Matthew, erected by a tailor of Cork in commemoration of the services of that distinguished man. A number of pretty little cottages peeped out from ivy and flowers as we passed, and the ruins of an old building, hung over with ivy, reminded us that we were in one of the lands of Eld. The dwellings of the poor, when seen and compared with those of the wealthy, were the merest hovels imaginable. At a distance, the shores and villages looked inviting; but no sooner was foot set upon the soil than wretchedness and misery met us at almost every turn.

Cork has ever been famous on both sides of the Atlantic for the beauty of its harbor and the hospitality of its inhabitants; but no traveller has yet given the world a correct picture of the degradation and wretchedness of its pauper population. On our side of the ocean, we occasionally hear vague accounts of the condition of the peasantry in the south of Ireland; and at one period, when a desolating famine prevailed in that portion of the island, a ship was freighted and sent from our shores with succor to the famished and dying. This exhibition of a nation's benevolence and charity is remembered by the inhabitants of Cork and the adjacent country with the liveliest feelings of gratitude, and no American visits that city, at present, without receiving a cordial and affectionate welcome from the upper classes of society. The wealthy portion of the community praise our philanthropy, while the poor heap benedictions and prayers upon our heads. We are regarded by them as a favored and prosperous people;